Captivating Witness. Melinda Di Lorenzo

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      “Yes.”

      Brayden hesitated. His instinct was to keep as many details under wraps as he could. The detective in him didn’t like the idea of oversharing. Especially with a civilian. He sensed, though, that not disclosing things would put up a wall, and he was sure he was going to need this woman’s trust. He sat down on the edge of his coffee table and met her eyes.

      “I don’t know,” he admitted. “The alley was clean. Except for one small thing.”

      “Which was?”

      “A half-inch-long, rust-colored smear on the wall.”

      “Blood.”

      “Likely.”

      “So it wasn’t just clean. It was cleaned up.”

      She was as intuitive as she was pretty, he had to give her that.

      “That was my first thought,” he agreed.

      She closed her eyes for a quick second, then opened them to meet his gaze. “Chuck’s a cop, Brayden. What does that mean about the rest of Whispering Woods PD?”

      Brayden didn’t even have to consider his answer. “They could be involved, too.”

      “But someone needs to be told what happened. State police, maybe?”

      “We don’t know what there is to tell,” he reminded her. “Definitely not enough to bring them all the way out here fast enough. And to be honest, they might just go ahead and alert the locals anyway.”

      “So what do I do?”

      This time, he took a moment to think about how to answer. It would be easy enough to tell her the truth—that he was a cop himself and would do his best to find out what was going on. It wasn’t technically a true undercover assignment. Just a covert one. An exploratory mission that was a lot easier to do when no one knew who he was.

      So you don’t need to leap in and give yourself away to a virtual stranger. Especially when you haven’t even finished what you came here to do.

      He decided to see if he could get away with not disclosing his identity—yet anyway—and instead asked, “What were you going to do, before all of this?”

      “Go home. Sip wine. Prepare for tomorrow.”

      “Tomorrow?”

      “I’m signed up to run the face-painting station for a few hours in the morning. I’ve got the lunch rush at work. Then I’m supposed to get into a really uncomfortable pair of shoes and get ready for the dinner.”

      “The lunch rush is the only part of that I understood.”

      “The Garibaldi Gala is tomorrow.”

      “Right.”

      The exclusive party had slipped his mind in the height of all the excitement. He’d spent the week hearing about it. Even inquired about somehow getting a ticket only to be told it was absolutely invite only. An event catered to stroke the egos of local businessmen. Every one of whom would be in attendance.

      Except Reggie, if she stays here.

      “No one will miss you at the fireworks tonight?” he asked, careful to keep his voice neutral.

      She shook her head. “I was skipping them in favor of resting. Is that bad?”

      “It’s fine. Just don’t want to draw any more attention to yourself than necessary. Chuck’ll already be on high alert. He doesn’t know for sure that you witnessed what happened. You said yourself you don’t think he saw you. And even though it’s not proof, he does have that shoe of yours. If I were him, I’d be trying to find out exactly what you knew.”

      Her face pinched with worry. “So you think he’ll be looking for me?”

      “I think you should find a way to let him know not to be looking for you.”

      “How?”

      “Got a friend you can call? One who’ll be at the fireworks and be willing to lie for you with no questions asked?”

      “I think so. Why?”

      “I want you to fake an illness. Nothing too serious. Just a good excuse for keeping out of sight unless you have to be seen.”

      “Okay. I think I’ll call—” Her face fell as she reached for the pocket on her uniform. “I left my phone in my locker at the diner.”

      “You can use mine.” He went for his own pocket before remembering. “Which you dropped outside.”

      She smiled ruefully. “Sorry. Again.”

      “Forgiven. Again. I’m almost done with your feet, and as soon as I am, I’ll go grab it.” He lifted a fresh wipe from the first aid kit, then said, “So. Your invitation to the Gala. Does that mean your family works for Garibaldi?”

      “No. We don’t work for him. But we do lease the diner from him,” she replied. “You don’t know Garibaldi’s story?”

      “Not really.”

      It wasn’t quite a lie; Brayden knew the man’s history, not his current story. It had taken him and the other guys nearly two years just to track him to Whispering Woods. So when he’d asked around a bit, he’d done his best to be subtle. All he got in response was a lot of people singing Garibaldi’s praises. Like he was the town’s personal savior. Something in Reggie’s tone as she explained made Brayden think she didn’t necessarily share the sentiment.

      “Well,” she said, “when the forestry industry bottomed out fourteen years ago, a lot of people foreclosed. Or just walked away. The minimal tourism wasn’t enough to maintain their homes and businesses. Then Garibaldi showed up. He assumed a few dozen mortgages. Then a few more. He invested a lot of money in the town and built the lodge.”

      Brayden finished with the antiseptic and moved on to the bandages. “You don’t sound all that impressed.”

      “I don’t want to seem like I’m not grateful,” she replied. “Without his help, we would’ve had to leave town, too, I’m sure.”

      “But?”

      “I don’t know. I was just barely a teenager when Garibaldi showed up, but the whole thing gave me a weird feeling.”

      “No one questioned his interest in the town?”

      “Honestly?”

      “Yes.”

      “There were a couple of business owners who weren’t all that happy. They got kind of vocal.”

      “People you knew well?”

      “You could say.” She offered him a ghost of a smile. “All three were local businessmen. One of them happens to be the man who plays Santa Claus every year in the СКАЧАТЬ