See How She Runs (A Cape Trouble Novel Book 2) Page 3

One by one, he opened the other cupboards. Same deal. A couple of other places, the shelf paper gaped, but…would she have noticed?

  Her certainty wavered.

  “Look,” she said a little shakily, “I think the refrigerator might have been pulled out, too.”

  As if it had been pushed back in a little too far, an indentation and slight tear in the aging vinyl floor showed that she didn’t remember.

  He contemplated the worn floor, then her, the very tilt of his eyebrows skeptical.

  Beginning to feel like a fool, she led the way through the small cottage – living room, single bedroom, bathroom with an ancient, deep, claw-footed tub and inadequate storage. She kept seeing objects that might have been moved, drawers slightly askew, but she didn’t dare even say, I do think someone has been in here. And…the truth was, she began to fear that she was nuts. Or, at least, that her earlier panic attacks at the restaurant had primed her to see something where there was really nothing.

  “All right,” the detective said finally. “Why don’t we sit down in the kitchen?”

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked.

  “Not at the moment, thank you.” His mouth lifted on one side. “Reluctant as I am to turn down anything from your kitchen. You’re a fine cook, Ms. Kendrick.”

  “Thank you. I recognized you from the cafe.”

  He pulled a small spiral notebook out of an interior pocket, flipped it open and held a pen poised above it.

  “You didn’t say.” His eyes rested thoughtfully on her face. “Is anything missing?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t wear much jewelry except for earrings, and…well, I can look more carefully, but they seemed to be there.”

  Detective Payne nodded. He’d seen her open the wooden jewelry box on the dresser. “I saw a printer, but no computer.”

  “I take my laptop with me every day.” She nudged it with her foot. “It’s right here. The TV – well, it’s nothing special.”

  He nodded at that, too. His expression remained pleasant. He hadn’t said, You’re wasting my time, but he was thinking it, or worse.

  After a minute, when she didn’t rush into speech, he said, “Ms. Kendrick, you did the right thing to back out of the house the minute you suspected an intruder had been in it. Any signs were very subtle, however. I can’t help wondering if you don’t have reason beyond the ordinary to be nervous. If so, we’re here to help, you know.”

  Peculiar, alternating hot and cold sensations made her wonder if she was beet red one minute, blanched bone white the next.

  Oh, dear God, she shouldn’t have called the police at all. Because now…well, she either had to answer that question, or lie.

  And then what? Find a safe place to call Greg and say, We had a deal, and you just violated your side of it?

  When – it was entirely possible the whole thing was in her imagination?

  Probably was in her imagination. Please God it is.

  Because the idea of starting all over again was appalling. It was like teetering on the edge of an abyss. She’d spent almost two years trying not to stare down into that nothingness. She didn’t know how to disappear again. Didn’t have enough money saved to fund a new beginning.

  I put too much back into the business, she realized, belatedly. For all those panic attacks, she’d let herself feel too safe.

  Maybe this morning’s jitters were meant as a reality check. Her sub-brain saying, Complacency is dangerous.

  She managed a shaky smile. “I’m sorry. My home was broken into a few years ago, long before I came to Cape Trouble. When I walked in and saw a few things that seemed off, well, I guess I had a sort of flashback.”

  “I see.” Detective Payne studied her for a long moment before he restored the notebook and pen to that inside pocket and rose. “Don’t be embarrassed. And please don’t hesitate to call the next time. Most often, when our alarms go off, there’s good reason. Tamping them down isn’t smart.”

  She nodded and stood. “Thank you for saying that. And for coming so fast. Really.”

  He gave her a card with his cell phone number scrawled on the back. One more speculative look, and he departed, leaving her not so sure he had bought her little story there at the end. That bit he’d said, about listening when that voice inside said run, made her wrap her arms around herself for comfort. Had she just done something really stupid, awakening the interest of a cop? And not just any cop, oh, no. A detective?

  Run.

  No. She’d been on edge all day. No one had been in her small house. A busy detective wasn’t going to investigate her past out of idle curiosity. It was silly even to think he might.

  After a minute, she very carefully closed the junk drawer, the way it should have been.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Adam followed Ms. Varner – no, get used to calling her Kendrick, so he didn’t slip up – to work the next morning, making sure she made it safely inside through the back door of her restaurant via the alley.

  Didn’t she realize the perils of parking in a deserted alley, for God’s sake? Even if she didn’t have enemies, she was a woman. A woman on her own should avoid lonely places like alleys. Especially a young, pretty woman.

  Hovering at one end of this alley in his rented SUV, he scowled at his own mental addendum. What difference did it make what Naomi Kendrick looked like? He was here because of his belief that, at the very least, she’d lied to the cops after finding Frank’s body in her restaurant kitchen. The fact that she closed the restaurant and disappeared so soon thereafter had cemented his suspicion into certainty. And then there was the fact that she’d been dating Gregory Cobb. Nice women didn’t usually snuggle close with killers.

  No, she might not have murdered Frank herself – hard to see how she could have, given their relative sizes and strength – but by God she knew something.

  It wasn’t as if she was a raving beauty, anyway. More… It took him a minute to settle on a word, which was intriguing. Small, slight enough to qualify as skinny, which seemed unnatural in someone who could cook like she did. Didn’t she eat her own food? Her skin was unusually pale, particularly given her dark hair and brown eyes. The sharp chin and slant of her eyes made him think of pixies and other, mythical beings. Her ears should have been pointed at the top to complete the picture.

  Forget the fact that, in other circumstances, he might have been attracted to her. Wasn’t happening.

  At least she had a recognizable face. There was no question this Naomi Kendrick was the Naomi Varner he’d seen only in a photograph. The one significant change she’d made in her appearance was the hair, which had been long before, and was now boy-short, except on her all the feathery cut did was emphasize that subtly fey quality.

  Short of a gunman bursting in the front, she should be safe enough for now, tucked away in the back of her café. Adam decided he’d get breakfast elsewhere this morning, then go back to the Sea Watch Café for lunch. If she showed her face at all, he wondered if she’d recognize him from yesterday morning.

  The remainder of yesterday afternoon and evening, he’d kept an eye on her and tried to plan his own approach, altered by the fact she’d already had a scare. He couldn’t be positive her small house had actually been searched, although her reaction made it seem likely. He doubted she’d stowed whatever Cobb’s organization sought in anyplace easily found, anyway. The restaurant kitchen, now, might be worth a look, if he were willing to risk an arrest for breaking and entering.

  Under other circumstances, he’d have used these free hours to make contact with local authorities.

  He’d done his research enough to know that the Cape Trouble police chief, a guy named Daniel Colburn, had come from the San Francisco P.D., where he’d served in homicide. Adam had made a few calls and was left with the impression Colburn had been solid on the job. No one seemed to know how or why he’d ended up in a backwater like this. Still, he was likely more competent than your usual small town cop.

  Even if his
own intentions had been in the clear, Adam would have been wary of the detective who had showed up yesterday in response to Ms. Kendrick’s call. He might have come by chance – say, was the nearest officer in the good-sized rural county where average response time might run as much as half an hour – but it was also possible she’d called him personally. The fact they hadn’t touched made it unlikely the relationship was romantic, but they could be friends.

  Didn’t matter. For the time being, Adam had no intention of alerting any local law enforcement. The last thing he wanted was them to verify he was who he said he was with his lieutenant.

  After breakfast, he needed to find a place to stay. What catnaps he’d managed in the front seat of the Tahoe had left him tired and stiff this morning. He wanted a shower. To shave. A place he could stretch out. He needed to start looking as if he belonged. He’d been lucky yesterday that no one had called the cops on the strange vehicle parked on their block.

  There seemed to be no available rentals in Jasper Beach. He had spotted two For Sale signs, though, and written down the phone numbers for the agents handling them. Both houses were vacant. He could be persuasive.

  After using a gas station restroom to shave, he ended up having breakfast at a place called The Waves, attached to a beach-front hotel. Pancakes heavy in his belly as he left, he wondered that anyone chose to eat there when they could be having Naomi Kendrick’s French toast.

  Then, instead of phoning, he dropped in at the real estate office for the smaller of the two houses, and the nearest to Naomi’s. He found the listing agent in. She was young and eager, and, while her disappointment was obvious when he admitted he wasn’t in the market to buy, she agreed to call the absentee owner. This was the son, she explained. The former resident had recently passed away. She murmured that part, almost apologetically: passed away.

  He figured that meant dying of old age, versus the kind of deaths he saw day in and out. Those tended to be too ugly to qualify as a gentle passing.

  She provided him with coffee in a styrofoam cup and left him in the tiny conference room. He could hear the murmur of her voice coming from across the hall. She reappeared, bright-eyed.

  “If you’re willing to make a refundable, three hundred dollar damage deposit in addition to the daily charge, Mr. Ingersoll has agreed to rent you the house for the two weeks you’ve requested. In fact, he’s offered to add some very basic furnishings – a bed and a kitchen table and chairs, at least. The appliances stayed with the house,” she added. “Mr. Ingersoll had hoped for a quicker sale, so the idea of renting the place out occasionally appealed to him.”

  His smile made her blush. No ring on her finger. Maybe his lack of interest could be attributed to tiredness. He hoped that was it.

  Turned out, the agency managed a number of rental properties, so she was able to quickly produce a suitable contract. She said she’d call a local furniture store and have them deliver the promised furnishings.

  “Oh! And linens,” she added, making notes.

  He’d have been okay with throwing a bedroll on the floor and maybe buying a lawn chair, but wouldn’t mind being a little more comfortable than that.

  After writing a substantial check in return for a key, he headed inland rather than doing his shopping in Cape Trouble. The scenery during the drive was pretty, he had to admit. He’d noticed the ribbons of mist that clung to the aptly named Mist River near its mouth. They thinned and then vanished not far up-river, where the water, impressively clear, rushed between and over boulders. Occasional deep pools made him think trout. The trees weren’t big, but the forest was denser, wetter, with a thicker understory, than any he’d hiked in California’s Sierra Nevada mountains.

  The town of North Fork turned out to be somewhat larger than Cape Trouble, and also the county seat. As the Realtor had promised, he found a thrift store where he bought some basic cooking utensils and dishes. He’d do the next renter a good turn and leave them behind when he left. A grocery store was his second stop.

  Half an hour later, he let himself into his very own rental, situated not quite a block from Naomi Kendrick’s. From the front window, he could just see her place at an angle.

  The furniture hadn’t been delivered yet, but he plugged in the refrigerator, hoped it cooled quickly, and put away his groceries. There was no microwave, but he hadn’t expected one. He flipped on a burner to be sure the stove hadn’t been unplugged, too. It turned red. Good enough. With a little exploration, he found a washer and dryer as well. Handy, if he was to stay any length of time.

  He wandered back to the front window and gazed broodingly down the street to Ms. Kendrick’s bungalow. Here he was, in place, but lacking a plan. He’d been in such a goddamn hurry to get here, he hadn’t bothered worrying about his strategy.

  What might have worked before she had a good scare wouldn’t now. She’d be extra cautious. Still…something else was bound to happen. She wouldn’t have kept anything important shoved under her bed. No, if her place had really been searched, that was just the opening move.

  So…watch and wait, he decided. See if he couldn’t find an in with her.

  He grunted his dissatisfaction at what was no plan at all, checked his watch, and saw that it was almost lunchtime. Despite the heavy breakfast, his stomach growled. Meals eaten during a surveillance usually came in a greasy white bag. The café would make for a nice change.

  *****

  He was there again. Same table, even. When she looked out, those curiously light eyes met hers. He tipped his head the slightest bit in some kind of acknowledgement, but he didn’t smile.

  The other man had had breakfast at the Sea Watch again that morning. She’d been relieved this one hadn’t, but here he was for lunch, instead.

  Yet another lone man had taken the table in the corner. She’d come out to get a look at him, but she couldn’t tell if he saw her. He was older, forties or even early fifties, brown hair touched with gray at the temples, so ordinary in appearance she wasn’t sure she’d recognize him if she bumped into him on the street half an hour from now. He wore chinos and a sweater. The lack of drizzle today had brought colder temperatures, and everyone had added a layer. Naomi had, too, although she’d peeled hers off once she got to work. It was always hot in the kitchen.

  Once again, she retreated, her heart beating faster than it should.

  He’s back because he likes my food.

  Plenty of visitors ate once or even twice a day here, while they were in town. Without arrogance, she knew her food was the best to be found on this stretch of the coast.

  Calmer, she checked the newest orders Anita and Brianna, her newly hired second waitress slash dishwasher, had brought to her. Today’s soup was a spicy tomato and the specials a vegetarian chili and her own take on lasagna. Almost everyone was topping off lunch with one of the two pies – today, apple and chocolate walnut.

  She was almost grateful she didn’t have a larger dining room. She couldn’t have kept up alone, which would have meant more employees. More bookkeeping and paperwork. And a bigger kitchen, too, of course. No, she’d been there, done that, receiving the acclaim that had once been her dream. In one night, it had all crashed and burned, and she had expected to ache for what she’d lost.

  Instead, to her bemusement, she was satisfied with this small café. Locals weren’t exactly foodies, so she couldn’t get too creative, but she could still make good food, and she didn’t subsist on something like five hours of sleep a night anymore. She didn’t have to supervise half a dozen other chefs, there was no pressure to startle and delight restaurant critics, and yes, she often had to wash her own pots and pans, but didn’t actually mind.

  She might even have been happy, if only she could know she was safe, that she wouldn’t have to take off at any time. If she could make real friends.

  Both Anita and Brianna stayed to help with dishes. Anita left via the front door, accompanied today by Bri, whose boyfriend was coming by to get her. Since for once it wasn’t so
much as drizzling out there, Anita had walked today.

  Naomi regularly listened to stories from Anita’s life, about the kind, balding husband who was an insurance agent, the teenage son who played tight end on the high school football team, and the daughter who had applied for early admission to Willamette University and expected to get in. Making encouraging noises, she sometimes felt like a foreigner trying to understand this so-American family. She had never lived anything like that.

  If she had, she might not be able to bear the loneliness now.

  Annoyed because she’d let herself feel momentarily wistful, Naomi let herself out the back. She almost swore when her gaze went straight to her usual parking spot only to find it empty. She’d almost forgotten. That morning, she’d turned into the alley to find an unfamiliar pickup had taken her usual spot, forcing her to park a little farther from her door than usual. Now she walked quickly, staying observant. It was with relief that she reached her car and inserted the key in the lock.

  The blur of movement came from nowhere. Slammed face first into the still closed car door, she was helpless when her bag was yanked from her shoulder.

  “No!” she cried, and pushed off, swinging around.

  All she saw was a back. The man was charging away down the alley, her messenger bag – her computer! – clutched like a football in front of him. A black knit hat covered his head, leaving her without a clue who he was or what he looked like. Scared and furious, Naomi raced after him, yelling for help.

  Another man appeared at the head of the alley. Seeming to understand instantly what he was seeing, he put down his shoulder and met the other guy in a block that had to hurt.

  They grappled, and went down. Naomi saw fists flying, and heard them connecting. There were grunts of pain and effort, too. And – was that her screaming?

  She’d almost reached them when the original attacker rolled away. It wasn’t a hat he wore, it was a face-mask. No, a death mask. She could see only dark pits where his eyes should be and teeth as he snarled. He reached behind himself –Gun! a voice in her head screeched – but her rescuer lashed out with a booted foot, connecting with the masked man’s arm. Her bag dropped with a thud to the ground.