I scooped Misfit up and deposited him on the couch before throwing myself down next to him. He gave me an indignant look, flipped his tail into my face, and then jumped down. He strode halfway across the room, turned to face me, and then sat down. He gave me a look that quite clearly said, “Come over here and pet me.”

  Cats. Always have to be in command of every situation.

  I ignored his silent pleas and dug out my phone. If I wasn’t going to relax, I might as well do some research. The more I knew about David Smith, the better chance I’d have of figuring out why someone would have wanted to kill him.

  I started with the Facebook app, which was quickly becoming my favorite investigative tool. I typed in David’s name, and about a zillion David Smiths popped up. I spent five minutes going through them before giving up. There were far too many of them, and since he wasn’t from around here, no one I knew would be his friend.

  But I did know a few names of people who had known him, and one especially closely.

  “Sara Huffington.” I spoke her name out loud as I typed it. If anyone was David’s friend on Facebook, it would be her.

  I found her almost immediately. Her profile pic made her look like a millionaire. She was wearing a black dress, hair pulled up off her neck in one of those stylish hairdos I could never pull off in a million years but was common enough with celebrities. Her heels were so tall, it was a wonder she didn’t pitch face-first into the pavement. Her pearls were around her neck, and she was wearing a diamond bracelet and ring. She was giving the camera one of those holier-than-thou smiles.

  “Geesh,” I grumbled. My pic was just a basic one of me sitting on the couch from a few years back, looking as boring as could be. She’d really gone all out for this one.

  I skimmed her basic info, learning little, before moving on to her friends. I used the search there to find any Davids and found none. I tried Smith next. Still nothing. From there, I scrolled down through the list of names and faces, hoping something would catch my eye, but found no one that looked like our favorite dead Brit.

  “Huh,” I said, closing the app. Apparently David didn’t use Facebook, or he hadn’t told Sara about his page. If he hadn’t told her, then I seriously doubted he would have told Albert or any of the others. I wasn’t sure whether that was important or not.

  I rose from the couch and headed for my laptop. I sat down at the little desk, opened the lid, and brought up the Internet browser. From there, I Googled “David Smith” in the vain hope I’d find something. I much preferred to do my Googling on a computer rather than on the tiny screen of my phone.

  My first search brought up nothing, so I added “Cherry Valley” to the search. Still, not a single thing about the murdered man appeared. It was as if he’d never existed, or at least kept his online profile to a bare minimum. It was frustrating to say the least.

  A paw reached up and whacked me on the elbow as I brought up Facebook again. I absently reached down and stroked Misfit’s ears as I considered who to look up next. There had to be someone out there who would know something, someone whose profile might give me insight into David’s life outside of the book club.

  A ping brought my eyes to the lower right of my screen where a message from Old Birnhul waited. It simply stated, Hey.

  I frowned at the message. I didn’t recall having a friend named Old Birnhul, and thought it a rather strange name. I quickly checked my friend list, thinking it might be some sort of glitch, but sure enough it was right there. The person could very well be someone I used to play Facebook games with, back when I was addicted to them, who had recently changed their screen name. I clicked on the message box, curious, and replied with a Hey of my own.

  What are you doing tonight?

  My frown deepened. Who would ask that, especially if it was someone I didn’t know personally? For a moment, I thought that maybe Paul Dalton might have changed his name for some reason, but it made no sense. The letters didn’t match up. This had to be someone else.

  Who is this? I typed, and hit send.

  I’ve been thinking about you. I want to smell you, to taste you. It’s all I can think about.

  My eyes bugged out at that message, and my heart started to beat a little faster. I knew of absolutely no one on my friend list who would talk to me like that. Had I somehow gained a stalker due to my minor celebrity status around town? I suppose anything is possible, but that didn’t make it any better. In fact, it made it worse.

  I typed in, I don’t know what you are talking about, before picking up my phone and dialing Paul’s number. It rang a good five times before his voice mail picked up. I stared at the laptop screen the entire time, dreading the next reply. I clicked off my phone without leaving a message and set it aside just as the reply popped up.

  I know more about you than anyone else in the world. You know you want me just as much as I want you. Don’t deny it.

  So you think. I sat back, trembling. I racked my brain, trying to come up with someone in Pine Hills who would send such horribly invasive messages. Rita was a bit strange, but I doubted she’d stoop to this level, even if she was still mad at me about stealing Cardboard Dad. Vicki would never do something like this, and I’d never added Lena or anyone else at Death by Coffee to my friend list. And since I knew it wasn’t Paul, there was really no one else I could think of.

  I still have a pair of your underwear. It’s the silk ones with the little pink bow on the front.

  “Ew!” I just about puked as realization set in.

  Old Birnhul. I took a quick moment to move the letters around in my head. It was a puzzle, so it came pretty easily. Rob Dunhill.

  As in, Robert, my ex.

  You’re sick in the head, Robert. I typed it in a fury. Leave me alone, perv!

  Before he could reply, I found his name in my friend’s list and removed it. I then changed my password, figuring that was how he’d managed to get himself added. After that, I went through my friend list one more time and removed any names I didn’t recognize, just in case.

  It was pretty obvious what had happened. That cheating jerk, Robert, had my Facebook password from when we were dating. He’d gone in, added a few names, ones I wouldn’t immediately recognize as his, though like a dope, he used anagrams rather than coming up with something completely new. He’d probably been stalking me all this time, reading everything I ever posted. It gave me the heebie-jeebies to think of him sitting there, my underwear balled in his fist as he scoured my Facebook posts and pictures like some loony in his mom’s basement.

  There was a reason I’d broken up with the man. Now I was beginning to wonder why I’d ever started dating him in the first place. Could I really have been that desperate?

  Satisfied I’d excised Robert from my Facebook life, I closed my laptop and moved to the window. Officer Buchannan was still sitting out there, more than likely sipping his tea. Eleanor was gone.

  My house sat on a road that ended in a cul-de-sac, so there was little to no traffic this late at night. Buchannan could sit just off the road all he wanted, and the only people who’d know it would be my neighbors.

  And, well, anyone Eleanor Winthrow told, of course. I had no doubts that she was already on the phone, talking to her bestie, Judith Banyon, about me.

  With a sigh, I closed the curtain and went about turning out the lights. There was no way I was going to get back onto my computer tonight. I was tired and had to work in the morning, so turning in a little early wouldn’t hurt. I carried my phone into the bedroom, where I tried to call Paul one more time, only to hang up before it could even go to voice mail. I didn’t know whether he was avoiding me because I was a suspect or was mad at me for some other reason. Either way, it hurt, and right then I was too tired to care.

  I began stripping out of my clothes, dropping them into the hamper beside the bathroom door. Misfit jumped up on the bed and made himself at home. I was reaching for my pj’s when a brief flare of light caused me to freeze.

  I was standing in my underwear—all black, without a pink bow anywhere, thank you very much—and there was something outside my window. My hand moved toward my bathrobe, which was hanging off the back of the bathroom door. I put it on slowly, afraid if I moved too fast something awful would happen. I cinched the robe at the waist, eyes never leaving the reflection coming from somewhere outside.

  It was dark enough out that I couldn’t see much from clear across the bedroom. My curtains were parted in a way that told me Misfit had been lounging up there while I’d been out. Normally, I kept them firmly closed. I crept across the room, all kinds of horrible thoughts going through my head.

  What if it was the murderer come to kill me before I learned his or her identity? What if it was Buchannan, watching me with his own handful of my underwear clutched in his sweaty fist? What about Robert? If he could find my phone number and infiltrate my Facebook profile, then he could just as easily find out where I lived.

  It wasn’t until I got near the window that I realized what I was seeing.

  There were actually two small circles. The light from my bedroom was reflecting off them.

  And they were coming from the parted curtains in the house next to mine.

  Frustration and anger welled up inside me like a live wire. Eleanor Winthrow was spying on me while I was changing! How many nights had I forgotten to make sure the curtains were closed and she’d sat there in her room, watching me as I strutted about half-naked? What about after a shower, when I left my clothes on the bed, thinking I was safe and secure in my own house? What kind of horrible woman was she?

  I couldn’t let her get away with it.

  I slipped my feet into a pair of plain blue slippers and stormed out of my bedroom, down the hall, and into the living room, turning lights on as I went. I was breathing hard and very near tears. I couldn’t believe someone would spy on their neighbors this way, even though I’d seen her do just that many times before. I should have taken more seriously the warning Jules Phan gave me about Eleanor the day I moved in.

  I unlocked the front door and stepped outside. The night was hot and humid. My hair instantly plastered itself to my face as I pointedly turned away from Buchannan’s parked car and headed for the Winthrow place.

  A faint, repeated ping tried to tear its way through the haze of anger that was clouding not just my vision but my thoughts. I was going to have words with the old woman and nothing short of a nuclear bomb was going to stop me. I felt violated, mostly thanks to Robert’s icky messages, and maybe a bit because of Buchannan’s lurking and rifling through my stuff.

  I beat on the front door of the small house, fist hitting with a resounding boom as I shouted, “Eleanor! Get out here!”

  She didn’t answer right away, so I pounded harder. “I know you’re in there! I saw you watching me!” The old woman had probably watched me cross the yard.

  I glanced at the windows at the front of her house, fully expecting to see her watching me from one of them, yet the curtains remained closed and all of the indoor lights were off.

  “Eleanor!”

  Lights in the neighborhood began to click on. Faces appeared at many of the windows, just not in the one I was concerned with.

  “Miss Hancock. Step away from the door.”

  I turned to find Officer Buchannan standing about two yards away. His hand was near the gun in his holster like he thought I was going to do something stupid and attack him.

  Maybe I was. I wasn’t sure yet. And then there’s the fact I was wearing nothing but a robe, with my hair a mess, plastered around my face, and my eyes bugging out in my rage. I probably looked like a banshee from a horror movie.

  Or, well, maybe a reject from one. I wasn’t in good-enough shape to be in a movie, villain or not.

  The thought only made me angrier.

  “She was spying on me!” I shouted at him, gesturing toward Eleanor’s house. “I saw her while I was getting dressed.”

  Buchannan’s eyes moved from my face, slowly down my body, and lingered lower and longer than they should. Something snapped in me as Buchannan finally met my eyes again. I closed the distance between us in two strides and raised both of my hands at once. Something in the back of my mind screamed at me to stop, but I was beyond listening, even to what reasonable part of me remained.

  “Don’t. You. Stare. At. Me!” I punctuated each word with a pair of ham-fisted blows on Buchannan’s shoulders.

  He seemed stunned for a moment, letting me beat at him with punches that were so weak, they probably didn’t even hurt, before he took a quick step back. He caught both of my arms in mid-down-stroke and spun me around in one fluid motion.

  “Miss Kristina Hancock,” he said, his voice filled with anger. “You’re under arrest for assaulting a police officer.”

  I thrashed against him, so angry I could just spit. He held me tight, refusing to let me go.

  And then, slowly, reason returned. All of the fight went out of me at once and I sagged to my knees.

  Buchannan didn’t hesitate. He zip-stripped me just as Eleanor’s front door opened. She stepped outside, looking the part of an innocent old woman. I didn’t even have the energy to be mad at her anymore. I was too embarrassed for much of anything.

  Buchannan jerked me to my feet and spun me around. He marched me to his cruiser, hand on my bicep, and shoved me into his car. I went without a struggle. I’d lost control. This was my fault.

  He slammed the door closed and said something softly to Eleanor, who nodded, eyes watching me from her stoop. A moment later, he got into the car, started the engine, and then we were zooming down the road, heading for the Pine Hills police station.

  13

  I ran my finger through the dust lining the bunk. I gave it a long look before sitting down. A plume of dust and stale air wafted up, sending me to my feet, hacking, which only caused me to suck in more dirty air. I staggered over to the sink and tried it, desperate for water, but only a trickle of brown water dribbled from the faucet before petering out. I turned to the toilet, not sure I was quite that desperate yet, to find that there wasn’t even water inside it, and the seat was hanging on by a sliver of plastic.

  “Really?” I croaked, turning to Buchannan, who was leaning on a desk that was covered in just about as much dust as my cell. It was obvious no one had spent any time down here for quite a while. There were two other cells, both closer to the stairs out of here. I had a feeling they had working water and a less cloying atmosphere, yet I got the crappy one.

  Buchannan only grinned at me and crossed his arms as he leaned. He was enjoying watching me squirm. It was probably the highlight of his month.

  “Look,” I said, opting for diplomatic. I walked to the front of my cell, batting at my robe to knock off some of the dust. “I didn’t mean to hit you. I was just so upset, I lost control. Eleanor was peeping in my window and I lost it. Can you let me out of here so we can at least talk about it like civilized adults?”

  “Peeping in your window? From her house?” He said it like he thought it was the most ludicrous thing he’d ever heard.

  “She was!” I bit back the shouted insults I wanted to throw at him and forced a smile. “She was using binoculars. I saw the reflection while I was getting changed for bed.”

  “Have you ever heard of blinds? I understand they are quite useful.”

  “Argh!” I threw myself back down onto my bunk, sending another plume of dust flying into the air. It looked like I’d sat on an atomic bomb.

  I couldn’t believe Buchannan was actually sticking me in a cell like I’d gone and tried to murder him. I mean, I didn’t actually hurt him with my pathetic punches. I might have surprised him, sure, but hurt him? I don’t even think it was possible. The man seemed made out of stone—his brain included.

  What I really wanted was for Paul Dalton to come waltzing down the stairs to my rescue. I hadn’t seen him since he’d taken me home the night of the murder, and I was starting to worry he really did think I was responsible. He hadn’t taken my calls, which could be because he was working. Or it could be because he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore.

  I heaved a sigh and crossed my arms, mirroring Buchannan’s stance. His grin slipped a little at that, and he narrowed his eyes at me, but said nothing. Nor did he move like I’d hoped.

  Time ticked slowly past. I was afraid Buchannan was going to stand there all night and watch me rot. At least he’d taken the zip strips off this time. I wouldn’t have put it past him to cuff me to the cell and bind my ankles together, just so I’d suffer that much more. What did I ever do to him to deserve being treated like this?

  “Can I have some water?” I asked. My throat and mouth were dry from all of the dust. It felt like I’d been sitting there for hours, but I had a feeling only twenty minutes or so had gone by. “I’m really thirsty.”

  Buchannan gestured toward the sink.

  “Jerk,” I grumbled, moving my hand in front of my mouth as I did so he wouldn’t see or hear. He’d probably cite me for the insult. “What did I ever do to you?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Why do you hate me so much? What did I do to make you angry with me?”

  He was looking at me as if he had no idea what I was talking about. “I don’t hate you,” he said. It came out as if it surprised him to say it.

  “Then why this?” I gestured toward the crappy cell full of dust.

  His brow furrowed. Could he really not know why he antagonized me so much? Was it just a natural reaction for him? Could it go deeper somehow? Was there something in his past that made him automatically distrust anyone new until they were able to prove themselves to him?

  I didn’t get a chance to hear what he would come up with because just then Chief Dalton came in. She strode meaningfully down the short hall, eyes never leaving Buchannan. She was glaring so hard, it was a wonder he didn’t burst into flames.

  She stopped a foot away from him and eyed him angrily. “Why is Ms. Hancock down here?” she asked. “You know we only use these cells for overflow.”

  I rose and moved toward the cell doors so I could hear better. Before Buchannan could answer, Chief Dalton spun on me and released her wrath. “Sit down!” Her shout echoed off the walls.

 

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