Thirty-Six and a Half Motives
Page 17

His tone changed to all business. “It’s no longer an issue.”
“Has it been taken for evidence? Will it be used in the trial?”
His silence was all the confirmation I needed.
“That journal could contain information that would help keep your father in jail.”
He groaned. “I’ve got it covered, Rose. I’m going to make sure he doesn’t ever hurt anyone again, okay?”
What could I say? That I had trouble believing him? Those would be hard words for him to hear, but they were true. While I trusted him more than I had a week ago, I wasn’t totally onboard the Joe’s going to protect me against his father express.
“With all due respect, Joe, that’s my property. If it’s not being held for evidence, I want it back.”
“Fine. It’s evidence.”
“Then why wasn’t it logged in?”
He paused. “Who told you that?”
Mason had heard it from Deputy Miller, but there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hades I was going to tell Joe that. “Maybe I had a vision.”
“Of who?” he asked suspiciously.
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I have no idea where my property is currently located, and I want it back.”
“You’ll get it back. I’m working on something that should play out soon, but I need the journal as bait.”
“Bait? Bait for what? Is this official Fenton County business or personal?”
“That doesn’t seem like it’s any of your concern,” Joe said, getting irritated.
“It is when you’re using the book my birthmother left me as the lure.”
“Rose, we’re on the same side here. We both want the same thing.”
I was pretty sure he believed that, but I wasn’t so sure the sides were separated by a straight line. There were so many people out to make J.R. Simmons pay for his various misdeeds, I was fairly certain the lines were as twisted and contorted as an octagon.
But I was too tired to fight him, and I suddenly regretted my decision to stay at the office. I really just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a month or two—until the pain in my chest over my breakup with Mason had faded enough for me to breathe.
“I don’t want to fight, Joe, but I’m going to ask you about it again soon.”
“Fair enough . . . and Rose?” I heard the hesitation in his voice.
“Yeah?” I asked, worried about what was coming.
“I’m sorry to hear that you and Mason are separated. I hope you two work things out.” Did he know we’d broken up? How?
Then I realized he was talking about Mason moving out. I fought back tears. “Thanks.”
I waited for him to gloat or suggest we get back together, but he surprised me. “Have a good night, and let me know if you feel like you’re in danger.”
I didn’t have it in me to remind him I was constantly in danger.
 
 
Chapter 8
 
 
I tried to concentrate on a landscaping design for one of the houses in Violet’s old neighborhood with the design program on my computer, but I gave up after it took me twenty minutes to place two trees. At this rate, it’d be next winter before I got to the beds around the house. When I got up and stretched, I realized it was already dark outside. The only light in the office was from the glow of my computer screen.
The streets were fairly deserted, but there was a man standing in front of the office window. I realized with a jolt that it was the guy I’d seen on Friday. Average height, dark brown jacket, jeans, and a dark gray knit hat on his head. He turned to meet my eyes, and we engaged in a staring contest that lasted a good two seconds. It also gave me a good look at the brown-pigmented birthmark on his cheek.
And a perfect set of scratch marks.
I was staring at Sam Teagen. The man who had posted my bail. The man who’d hired Eric Davidson, the manager of the Burger Shack, to run Mason off the road, steal his cell phone, and most likely kill him. Judging from the scratch marks on Teagen’s cheek, he was also the man who had kidnapped me.
And in his hand, hanging at his side, was a gun.
I took a step back, wondering what to do. Should I call Joe? Jed? But before I could do anything, the man looked behind him and then took off running toward the antique store.
My cell phone started to ring. I snatched the Taser off my desk before answering the call with trembling fingers.
The screen showed a number I didn’t recognize. “Hello?”
“Stay in your office, turn off all the lights, and make sure your door is locked,” a man snarled, out of breath.
“Who is this?”
“Merv. Now do as I said!”
I turned off my computer monitor, casting the room in darkness, and checked the door even though I knew it was bolted.
I sat in my chair, feeling a little foolish. Should I be hiding?
A gunshot rang out, and I ducked, wishing I had the gun that Jed had given me last week. The one I’d used to shoot J.R. in the leg. But it had been taken for evidence. I regretted sending Neely Kate and her trusty revolver home.
Another shot rang out, followed by shouting. Sirens were next, although for the life of me, I had no idea why the Henryetta police would need to use sirens when their headquarters was on the other side of the square—although, common sense had never ranked high on their list of new-hire qualifications.
Someone pounded on my back door, and I ran back to open it. “Who’s there?”
“Merv. Let me in.”
I unlatched the deadbolt, and Merv stumbled in when I opened the door. The first clue something was wrong was the fact he wasn’t standing upright.
“What happened?” I reached out to help him, but he flung his hand out to hold me off, his gun still in his grip. I backed away from it.
“The bastard shot me, that’s what.”
“Oh, mercy. Where?”
“In my damn leg. I need to call Skeeter.”
My heart was in my throat as I shut and locked the door behind him. “I take it you want to hide from the police, but the only places to hide in here are the bathroom and the small storeroom.”
“Bathroom.”
I opened the bathroom door and turned on the light.
“Turn that off,” he barked. “The damn police will come knockin’, wantin’ to question you.”