Alecclosed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath, like he was struggling to holdonto his patience, and he drawled, “All right, can ye tell me when she'll bein?”
Thewoman lifted her cellphone from the desk and tapped through the screen, untilshe nodded and with triumph said, “She will be here on Friday, if ye wanted tocome by then. But she'll only be in the building from eight to ten at night,mind ye.”
Alechummed contemplatively and shook his head. “Is there a way we could call her insooner?”
Islashrugged helplessly, an apologeticlookin her eyes.“I could try, but I’m afraid she’s out of town this week.”
“Isthere any way I could speak to her, then?”
Shenodded and promptly wrote the owner’s cell number down onto a piece of paper,then handed it to Alec. He accepted with a grateful nod and thanked her.
“I’llgive her a ring then,” he said. “Otherwise, I suppose I'll be back sometimebetween eight and ten on Friday.” He stood up straight and unsuccessfullysmoothed out the lapels of his jacket. “Thank ye again foryertime, miss. Ye’ve been a great help.”
Hepressed his hand to my back and steered me toward the door, as TJ walked by myside, his eyes trained on his phone. All these moments, as we left eachestablishment, had begun to meld into one. It felt like we'd just done this,and still had nothing to show for it. That painful fact weighed heavily againstmy shoulders, as we piled into the car and turned in the direction of thehouse. All I could do was put my trust in this man and have faith in hisability to lead us to the other side. And I tried not to fear what that mightentail.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ALEC
In theglow of my computer screen, I sat with two internet browser windows open. Onone, a picture of Grace Allan, and on the another, a picture of Madison Lang.
I'mnot sure exactly what I'd hoped to see. A resemblance of some sort, I suppose.The same hair color, stature, eye color—anything to link these two womentogether, other than the circumstances behind their mutual demise. But therewas nothing remotely similar about them, and yet, as I stared at their pretty,bright, smiling faces, it felt far more than coincidental.
Aknock came at my bedroom door, and I beckoned whoever it was to come in. Thedoor opened, and there was Rick, wearing his uniform of vest and pristineslacks. There was a stack of papers held beneath his arm, and before he couldclose the door, I jumped from my chair to take them from him.
“Rosiewas right,” he said quietly, pointing at the close-up photograph of Grace'spale leg and the dark purple mark. “That has to be a buckle.”
Inodded at the unmistakable imprint. “Aye. But what do ye reckon this is righthere?”
“Well,I had a thought about that,” he said, taking a seat at the edge of my bed witha picture identical to the one I held. “Before I came home, I looked into thebackseat and startedwonderin'.” He held up thepicture and ran his finger along the broken, jagged strip running the width ofher thigh. “What if this is the seam between the seats?”
Crossingmy arms and shaking my head, I asked, “Why would it look like that, though?”
“Iknow it seems farfetched, but what if there's a tear in the seat? A tear wouldleave a mark that looks like,” he pointed at the picture, “a tear … wouldn’tit?”
“Hm,”I grunted, peering at the picture once again. It was difficult to do, trying tovisualize what he was seeing, but when I considered thepointhe was making, I couldn't find any reason to believe he was wrong. “Y'know, I think ye could be right.”
“It'snot much evidence,” he said, sighing. “Idinnaekenhow ye'd even find the bastard on this alone. Yecannaesearch every backseat in Fort Crow—”
“Well,Icould,” I muttered, cocking my head and shrugging.
“Butye won’t,” he chuckled,standingand clapping a handto my shoulder. “Findyerselfa few suspects first.”
“Ah,a suspect,” I groaned, wiping a hand over my face. “Wouldnaethat be grand …”
Itold him about what had happened with James Eddington, and how I likelywouldn't have access to the inn's guest logs for another couple of days. Rickmade a joke about getting a warrant, and I snickered bitterly, wishing toChrist and whoever else would listen that I could have the resources of thedepartment at my disposal.
***
“Wehaven’t eaten in here since …” Rick shook his head disbelievingly, as Ifinished his sentence, “Sinceyerparents werealive.”
Rosiehelped herself to a heaping spoonful of potatoes and said, “I take it that wasa long time ago.”
Ashe sat down beside TJ, Rick nodded. “My mother passed away shortly after myfather, and that was well over ten years ago,” he explained in a way that seemedrehearsed, and I supposed, in a way, it was. “And they left all of this to me.”
“So,your father was a … laird,” Rosie said, meeting my eye with a smile.
“Aye,”Rick replied, chuckling. “And after he died, the title was passed to me, forwhatever it's worth.”
