Crybaby Falls. Пола Грейвс

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СКАЧАТЬ a coward about it. She should have let Joyce know her plans.

      She just hadn’t been up to dealing with the guilt she felt whenever she talked to Donnie’s mother.

      “You’re still planning to come to dinner tonight? I’m making chicken chili.”

      Her stomach growled at the thought. “I’ll be there.”

      “Be careful driving in the rain. And don’t try to drive while talking on your cell phone.”

      “Yes, Mom.”

      As she ended the call and put her phone back in the pocket of her jacket, she saw Cain Dennison exiting the woods about twenty yards away from where she’d come out herself. His head lowered against the now-driving rain, he walked quickly toward a dark blue Ford F-150 parked along the shoulder a quarter mile down the road.

      She watched until he’d climbed into the cab of the truck, curiosity keeping her still. There was something about the truck that seemed familiar, she realized. But what? What was tugging at her memory?

      He pulled past her as he drove away. If he noticed her parked there off the road, he didn’t give any sign. As she started to look away, a flash of red caught her attention. It was a bumper sticker attached to the back of the truck that read, “Never follow the advice on a bumper sticker.”

      Even as her lips started to curve in a smile, she remembered where she’d seen the truck before—parked at the scenic overlook above the spot where she and Donnie had missed the tight curve and gone down the gorge.

      Her smile faded.

      So, Cain Dennison had been at the same overlook where she’d parked her car. And now he turned up at Crybaby Falls at the same time she had.

      Coincidence?

      Not bloody likely.

Chapter Three

      “I think her memory loss is genuine.” Cain waved off Alexander Quinn’s offer of a drink and took a seat in front of the big mahogany desk that occupied most of the back half of Quinn’s office. Outside, rain and falling night obscured what would normally be a stunning view of the Smoky Mountains from the window where Quinn now stood, holding a tumbler with two fingers of bourbon in one hand as he gazed out at the gloom.

      “Or perhaps she’s a talented liar.”

      “Do you honestly think she’d have risked her own life in that accident in order to kill her husband? I was there at the scene before the paramedics arrived. I know how close she came to dying.”

      Quinn took a sip of the whiskey and grimaced. “I didn’t say she tried to kill him. But she might be covering up what she remembers because she was culpable.”

      “I think not remembering makes her afraid she’s at fault.” Cain had spent most of the afternoon going back over his encounters with Sara Lindsey, from his first glimpse of her at the roadside memorial to their wary conversation at Crybaby Falls.

      She was grieving, but she didn’t like to show it. She was private and self-contained, but in her dark eyes he’d seen the ragged edges of her lingering pain. She missed her husband, grieved for him, but there had also been a hint of frustration in her tone when she’d spoken about his family, about Renee’s death.

      He knew from his preliminary investigation that Donnie Lindsey had become increasingly intent upon finding out who killed Renee. The passage of years had only intensified his determination, it seemed.

      What kind of havoc could his focus on the past have created in his marriage to Sara? She had been a cop, just like Donnie, so she’d have known the odds were against finding the killer after so long. Had she tried to temper his thirst for closure?

      Had it created problems between them?

      “Is it possible the accident wasn’t an accident?” Quinn asked after a few moments. “Whether or not the widow was involved?”

      “If the sheriff’s department thought it was anything but an accident, they’d have investigated.” Cain hadn’t been able to make any contacts inside the sheriff’s department—a predictable outcome, given his dicey past relationship with Ridge County law enforcement. But everybody in Purgatory knew former Sheriff Will Toomey and Gary Lindsey had been friends since their own days at Purgatory High. If Toomey had even an inkling that the crash that had taken Donnie Lindsey’s life was anything but a tragic accident, he’d have continued the investigation instead of accepting the official verdict of accidental death.

      “So maybe it’s time to set aside your investigation of the widow and start looking into the sister’s death instead.”

      “You know my past with these people. I was a suspect in the murder for a while there, and I know there are folks around here who still aren’t convinced I’m innocent.”

      Quinn shot him a narrow-eyed look. “Are you innocent?”

      The question surprised him. “Why would you have ever hired me if you didn’t already know the answer to that question?”

      Quinn’s expression didn’t change. “Why would you deflect my question?”

      “I didn’t kill Renee Lindsey.” Cain pushed to his feet and started for the door. “And I don’t work for people who play mind games with me.”

      Behind him, Quinn clapped his hands, slowly and deliberately. Heat rose into Cain’s neck, making his ears burn with a toxic combination of humiliation and fury.

      He turned slowly, battling both emotions, and made himself look at Quinn. “Is that your way of telling me to pack up my things and get out?”

      Quinn picked up his glass of whiskey from where he’d set it on the windowsill. He took a long sip before he spoke. “If I had fired you, there would be no question of my intentions.”

      “You still want me on this case?” Cain tried to keep the desperation out of his voice, not wanting to reveal to Quinn just how badly he still wanted answers about Renee Lindsey’s death. But he could tell from Quinn’s expression that he hadn’t succeeded. His boss at The Gates was a former CIA man with a long and colorful past in some of the world’s most dangerous hot spots. Very little got past him.

      “You have the capacity to be a good investigator,” Quinn said in a tone that oozed reason and calm. “But you have to scrape that boulder-size chip off your shoulder. You tell me you’re innocent, and I want to believe you, but you give off an air of guilt.”

      “I may not be a murderer, but I’m no Boy Scout.”

      “Your record in the Army was impressive. Your commanders spoke highly of your courage and skill.”

      “I’m not in the Army anymore.”

      “So you’re only trustworthy in uniform? But once you step foot in Purgatory, you’re nothing but trouble again?”

      Cain frowned. “You know what I mean.”

      “And you know what I mean.” Quinn finished off the whiskey and set the glass on his desk with a muted СКАЧАТЬ