I inched forward. “That’s right. Marina and I went through Sam’s client list and those four names are ones who have strong PTA connections. We think—”
Gus put his hands behind his neck and leaned back. “That due to the timing of Sam’s murder, the killer might have a connection to the PTA.”
“Oh. Um . . .” Talk about taking the words out of my mouth. “That’s right. The top salesperson at Wheeler’s Autos is Janis Velona, and her youngest is still at Tarver. Eric Stull owns Stull Systems, and he has two daughters there.” Rosie, Eric’s wife, had hosted a PTA party or two, but I couldn’t remember ever meeting Eric. “Andrew Bieber is—”
“The senior accountant at Croftman Accounting, with two boys and a girl at Tarver,” Gus said. “And Floyd Hirsch, with three girls, is a crew leader at Bluegrass Construction.”
My gaze slid away from Gus’s kind one. Floyd’s wife had been in the PTA for ages, but she’d gone back to college two years ago and I hadn’t seen her since. “I didn’t realize you knew all that.”
“I’m the police chief,” he said. “It’s my job.”
“Oh.” It suddenly seemed very important to play with my snow-soggy mittens. “Um . . .”
“Leave the police work to the police, Beth.” His words were kind, but firm. Kind of like a mom voice, only in this case Mom was a gray-haired male in a blue uniform who carried a gun. “The sheriff’s department is doing all the right things. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but please don’t. Besides the fact that you don’t have any authority, you’re not trained, you don’t have any legal resources, and you don’t have backup.”
I hung my head. Evan had said much the same thing. He was right. They were both right. But how could I just leave this alone? How could I stand by and do nothing?
“Remember what happened last time.” Gus sat forward, putting his elbows on the desk. “Oliver and Jenna were almost killed.”
My mouth went weak at the memory. This time it was only the bookstore that was in danger; it was merely their financial future that was at stake. Maybe it would do them good to live on less; it would build character and make them stronger in the long run. “You’re right,” I whispered.
“That’s my girl.” Gus smiled and got up. “Now, you call Marina and tell her to take up macrame instead of investigating murders.”
I stopped dead, my coat’s zipper halfway through its metallic whoosh. “You can’t be serious.”
He laughed and opened his door. “I’d love to see her face if you did say that.”
I flung my hood over my hair. “Pass. I’d like to live long enough to see my grandchildren.”
Gus’s full-throated laughter followed me down the hall, into the lobby, and out into the cold, where the snow was falling harder and the wind was whipping it around even faster.
“Goodness!” I said, but a chilling gust took the word away and carried it off, where, I did not know. Somewhere south, where it would whisper into the ear of some startled soul.
I amused myself with the thought as I walked back to the store, snow muffling all noise that the wind wasn’t drowning out. Who would hear my startled syllables? A minister, maybe, who would search for a parishioner about to take the Lord’s name in vain.
A car drove past, its engine noise nearly inaudible, its windows coated with white.
Or the person who heard my word might be a farmer out tending his cows. He’d jerk upright at the sound of a woman’s voice, startling Bessy, which would cause her to kick out in alarm. Her hoof would catch the farmer on the seat of his pants and he’d be limping for a week thanks to a snowstorm in Wisconsin.
Head down, I started across the street.
Or it might be a woman in Georgia, walking down the street after completing an errand for her children’s bookstore. She’d just picked up a box of doughnuts for her staff, when my word surprised her. She’d almost drop the box, but a handsome stranger would save it from plunging to the sidewalk. She’d invite him in, and a year from now—
Something made me look up. Perhaps an angel tapped me on the shoulder. Perhaps it was pure chance. Whatever the reason, I did look up and saw a vehicle headed straight toward me.
For the merest fraction of a second, I couldn’t—wouldn’t—didn’t—move.
He hadn’t seen me yet, that’s all. He was probably starting to swerve already, and if I moved I might move into his way and wouldn’t that be a stupid way to die; Marina would never tire of teasing me about that one.
Then primal instincts shrieked at me: “Run!
Adrenaline activated my muscles and I was running. Or at least trying to run. The snow, wet and slippery, provided no traction and my street shoes couldn’t find a grip. My feet wanted to move, but it was like one of those nightmares where you kept running and running and not going anywhere.
These shoes were going to kill me and it was going to be my own stupid fault.
Mad at myself, mad at the weather, mad at the world, I kicked off my shoes and ran stocking-footed through the snow, my toes gripping the thick white slop better than any boot would ever have done. Three lunging, running steps and I was up onto the curb. Two more and I was up and over the shrubbery. One more and I was safe against the wall of the antique mall.
Panting, I watched the back end of a white van fishtail down the street and out of sight.
Panting, I wondered what had just happened.
Panting, I tried not to think about what had almost happened.
Alan barreled out the door. “Beth? Are you okay? That guy headed straight for you!”
“Don’t be silly.” I tried to laugh, but it came out more like a cough. “He just couldn’t see in the snow.”
Alan shook his head vigorously. “I saw the whole thing. He was going slow, but when you started across the street, he speeded up. Gunned the engine, spun the tires, and aimed right at you.”
“Don’t be silly,” I repeated, but even I could hear the doubt in my voice.
“You should go talk to Gus about it,” Alan said.
“Mmm.” He was right; I should. But what could Gus do? The license plate had been snow-covered. The van was white, and if any business name had been painted on the sides, it had been covered by sticky slush. If I went back to Gus now, all I’d get was another scolding.
No, thanks.
“The sooner the better,” Alan said. “They say the first twenty-four hours are the most important for solving a crime.”
But in this case it would be impossible to prove a crime had been committed. Even if we figured out who had been driving the white van, how could you disprove a statement of, “But, Officer, it was snowing so hard I couldn’t see a thing. Sure, I gunned the engine a little. I was breaking through a snowdrift, that’s all. I sure wasn’t trying to hit anyone.”
Alan looked at me, concern in his frown. “Do you want me to go with you? I was a witness.”
Such a sweet man. “No, thank you,” I said. “But I’ll be sure to talk to Gus right away.” Or Sunday at church. Whichever came first.
Chapter 15
“Who’s that?” Yvonne asked.
“Who’s what?” It was the next day, and I still hadn’t told Gus about the Incident of the White Van. I hadn’t told anyone, actually. Not even Marina. The more I thought about it the sillier it seemed. Alan was an excellent judge of antiques, but I wasn’t so sure his eyes and ears, which were well past the enrollment age for AARP, were to be relied upon.
And why on earth would anyone want to run me over? The whole thing had obviously been an accident, and I wasn’t about to make a fool of myself in front of Gus a second time.
“Outside,” Yvonne said. “Right there in front of the store.”
I looked through the window and saw a small circle of women huddled together. The huddling made sense, because while most of yesterday’s snow had already melted, it was still cold and still windy. I started to turn away, but Yvonne’s face stopped me. Her lips were tucked tight together and she was dusting the books in the front window display over and over and over again.
