Deanna smiled blindingly. 'You won't be sorry!'
'Judge Ryan?'
Ben was accustomed to being stopped from time to time whenever he was out in public, but today it had taken him double the usual time just to walk from his parking place to the courthouse.
He had made it as far as the third step this time.
Wishing he had taken the back way in, he turned to find one of the more vocal citizens of the town approaching determinedly.
'What can I do for you, Mr. King?' He and Aaron had known each other for twenty years, but Aaron liked titles, insisting they denoted respect. He would have continued calling himself Major after his army service but had discovered to his chagrin that others only found it amusing.
'Judge, is what I've been hearing true?'
'That depends on what you've been hearing.' Ben made sure his tone was easy rather than sardonic.
Aaron scowled. 'What I've been hearing is that Sheriff Dunbar – and you – have been allowing some woman claiming to be a fortune teller to advise you.'
Ben was resigned; it was the fourth time he had heard some variation of the truth. 'And where did you hear that, Mr. King?'
'From at least three different people since yesterday. Is it true, Judge?'
'Not precisely.'
'Then what, precisely, is the truth?'
Ben paused a beat, briefly considered how much damage one angry voter with influence could do when election time rolled around again, then consigned the risk to the limbo of things unimportant and unregretted.
'The truth, Mr. King, is that Sheriff Dunbar and I are investigating three particularly vicious murders. We are using all means at our disposal to gather information that might prove helpful in that investigation, as is our job. We are not gazing into crystal balls or reading tarot cards, nor are we talking to anyone who does.'
Aaron ignored the denial. 'I heard it was Alexandra Melton's niece.'
Ben felt a chill. If this man had heard so specific a piece of gossip, then others had as well. Which meant it was only a matter of time before Cassie's identity was common knowledge throughout the town.
'Is it true?' Aaron demanded.
Ben wasn't a politician for nothing. 'Is it true she's a fortune teller? Of course not.'
Aaron's scowl deepened. 'She doesn't claim to be able to see the future?'
'No, she does not.'
'But you and the sheriff have been talking to her about these killings?'
Aaron also respected – to excess, in Ben's opinion – the red tape of a bureaucracy, and so found himself caught between rampant curiosity and the unhappy knowledge that he was in no way part of the official loop of persons involved in the investigation. He drew himself up to his full height – which was a good five inches shorter than Ben's – and said self-righteousiy, 'I have no intention of interfering in the official investigation, Judge.'
'I'm glad to hear it.'
Aaron wasn't finished. 'But if it should come to light that you and the sheriff have allowed yourselves to be deceived by a charlatan into pursuing false leads, placing even more of our women in danger from the resulting delay in apprehending this killer – then, Judge, then I won't hesitate to add my voice to those calling for your resignations.'
Ben wasn't tempted to laugh, even though the speech had obviously been rehearsed and was delivered with condescending relish. Aaron King was a pompous windbag, but he had the knack of rallying others around him, and considering the tension of the townspeople, it was likely he could gather quite a mob to demand action if the investigation didn't soon result in an arrest. Especially if there was another murder.
Calmly Ben responded, 'And rightly so, Mr. King. If we don't do our jobs, we should step down. But, I assure you, we are doing our jobs. Thank you for your opinion and your interest. I'll pass on both to Sheriff Dunbar.'
Faced with courtesy, Aaron could only incline his head in stately acceptance, execute a turn with military precision, and march away – a grand departure somewhat spoiled by the fact that he slipped on a patch of ice in a shady spot on the walkway and nearly fell on his ass.
Ben still wasn't tempted to laugh. In fact, he felt more than a little grim, and not because he feared losing his job.
Cassie was becoming all too visible, and despite the wild mix of rumor and speculation concerning the extent of her abilities, it would not require confirmation for at least one citizen of the town to view her as a dangerous threat.
And he had more than a job to lose.
Abby probably wouldn't have felt brave enough to leave the house on Friday afternoon, not after Gary 's sudden and menacing appearance the night before, if it hadn't been for Bryce. But luckily for her, the dog was not only companionable, he was also well trained.
It was also lucky for her that the snow had closed numerous businesses for the day, including the financial services office where she worked, because otherwise she might have upset her boss by bringing her dog along.
'I'll be much less jumpy by Monday,' she told Bryce that afternoon as she backed her car out of the driveway. 'We'll have a nice, peaceful weekend, and on Monday the security company will install all the new lights. But right now we have to go out to the mall and get that padlock. And some chew toys so you won't eat any more of my slippers.'
The Irish setter sat up like people in the passenger seat beside her and lolled his tongue out in a happy grin. He loved riding in the car.
He wouldn't much like waiting in the car, Abby knew, but the mall didn't allow pets. It would be for only half an hour though, just long enough for her to do her shopping.
The mall was safe enough, certainly.
It was two-thirty on the dot when Phillip McDaniel rang Cassie's doorbell. Since she had expected him to be prompt – he didn't seem to know how to be anything else – Cassie was opening the door while his finger was still on the button.
'Hello, Mr. McDaniel. Come in, please.'
'Thank you.' He stepped inside, eyed the growling dog at her side, and said, 'You can let go of him, Miss Neill. Dogs never bite me. I have no idea why, but there it is.' He was a tall and painfully thin man of perhaps seventy, with a snowy goatee and a full head of white hair, and there was an air of dignified elegance about him.
Maybe it was that gentle composure that prevented dogs from attacking. Or maybe it was just because there was so little meat on his bones.
Reluctant to put either theory to the test, Cassie performed the usual introductions, and Max followed them quite happily into the living room.
'Let me take your coat,' she said to the lawyer. He was the sort of man who wore a trench coat on chilly days; today it was accompanied by a muffler and kid gloves.
But McDaniel shook his head and gave her a pained look out of grave eyes. 'I can stay only a moment, Miss Neill. And, truthfully, you may order me to go when I have explained my errand.'
'Good heavens,' Cassie said mildly. 'Why would I do that, Mr. McDaniel?'
'Because I am guilty of a terrible breach of trust, to say nothing of duty and responsibility.'
He said it as though he fully expected to be keelhauled or drawn and quartered for the crime, but since Cassie liked him and since she couldn't imagine him deliberately harming anyone, she didn't hesitate to say, 'I'm sure whatever you did was quite unintentional, Mr. McDaniel.'
'That hardly absolves me.'
'Well, why don't you tell me what it is, and then we can put it behind us.'
He drew a sealed envelope from the inside pocket of his coat and handed it to her. 'This was given to me by your aunt some months before her death, Miss Neill.'
Cassie looked at her name scrawled across the envelope in what she recognized as her aunt's hand, and then looked inquiringly at the lawyer. 'And it was somehow forgotten during probate? That's quite all right, Mr.
