The Face of Deceit. Ramona Richards

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СКАЧАТЬ “Work or personal, this is about you.”

      Tyler shifted in the rocker, his mouth pursed around a word that never made it out.

      “But why?” Karen stood up and took the cup into the kitchen. Tyler caught the note as she passed by, slipping it from her fingers and returning it to the folder. She continued into the kitchen, her energy surging. She set the cup down with a solid thump on the counter that divided the two rooms. “They’re just vases.” She tapped her temple. “They just came out of my imagination and whatever I’ve learned about pots through the years.” She held her hand out toward Mason. “You know that. We talked about this!”

      “I know.” He followed her into the kitchen. “But you’re trying to make sense of something that may exist only in this guy’s head. He killed because of something that makes sense only to him.”

      Karen grabbed a dishcloth off the sink and began to wipe off an already spotless counter. “But if he thinks the vases are evil, then he thinks I’m evil.”

      “Which is why we’re here.”

      “Because evil must be destroyed.”

      Tyler’s gaze bounced between the two, and he finally intervened. “Well, it’s clear neither of you is a cop.” He joined them at the counter. “Calm down.” He perched on one of the three bar stools that stood guard on the living room side of the counter. “First of all, New York does not expect you to figure out what’s going on with this murderer. That’s their job. Second, no one really thinks you are in danger. If whoever this is wanted to hurt you…” Tyler paused and shifted on the stool. “After all, he’s already proven he knows where you live.”

      “But—”

      “Which is why she needs protection!”

      Tyler held up his hand to both of them. “And this is a small town. Everyone around knows the first thing you do every morning is make a pot of that fancy Hawaiian coffee you have shipped in and go out on your deck to talk to God. If the killer wanted you, he wouldn’t be wasting time and money buying up vases to shoot. Even a perfect stranger could sit at Laurie’s café for a couple of days and figure out what your schedule is.” Tyler shook his head. “We’ll add extra drive-bys on patrol, but the truth is, even a 24/7 guard probably wouldn’t help. Whatever his problem is, he wants to get rid of the vases, not you.”

      Karen felt the heat slowly rise from her throat to her cheeks. “Every one?”

      Tyler grinned. “My mom thinks it’s cute that you have a different robe for every season.” He stood, his mood somber again. “I do want you to take extra precautions. Make sure you lock the doors and set the alarm. Don’t wander around alone too much. And call me if you see anything strange—” he looked down at Lacey, who had suddenly started climbing his pants leg “—other than this cat—about the house.” He plucked Lacey off and put her on the stool. “In the meantime, I think you two should go for breakfast.”

      Karen’s eyes widened. Food? “You don’t think I can eat now, do you?”

      Tyler wandered toward the door, his eyes glancing casually around the room. “I certainly think you should eat. Mason has agreed to talk to you about the vases, see if you remember anything unusual about them. Maybe something about those particular vases strikes a chord with you.”

      “But—”

      “Protein. Eat some meat. Eggs. Lots of water.” He tapped the side of his head as he reached for the doorknob. “Helps you think.”

      Mason followed him, an almost bemused smile on his face, and Karen wondered if the Delta boy thought their local police chief to be a dolt—or small-town clever. She walked out onto the deck again, staring, embracing the way the remaining mist seeped into her bones, as if the sting of it reminded her that she was still among the living.

      “Lord,” she whispered, “what’s going on?”

      Mason held the door for Tyler, who paused, glancing around him at Karen. Although Mason stood an inch or two taller than the young police chief, he admired the almost graceful way Tyler moved his larger, more muscular frame. Definitely not a man he’d want to oppose in a fight.

      Tyler’s voice dropped in tone as well as volume. “You watch out for her. I knew she’d take it hard, but not this hard.”

      Mason nodded. “She has a gentle soul.” A soul he had a sudden urge to protect.

      Tyler’s eyes brightened a moment but he said nothing, and Mason twisted a bit under the police chief’s gaze. “You really don’t think she’s in danger? This has already escalated from broken vases to murder. That’s quite a leap!”

      Tyler straightened. “I meant what I said to her. But let’s not forget something. Luke Knowles died because this guy wanted to be taken seriously—and not just as a crackpot who likes breaking pottery. He wants those vases to go away.” Tyler shifted his weight. “Karen may not be in danger right now, but that doesn’t mean this won’t escalate even more. We’ll do what we can, but watch your back. And hers.”

      Mason watched, thoughtful as Tyler’s patrol car backed away, tires crunching on the narrow gravel drive. On the way over, Tyler had explained that since no threat had been made against Karen, he was limited in how much action he could take to protect her. He could add the extra drive-bys, but with only a five-officer force, no one could be there 24/7.

      Inside again, Mason shut the door and turned, his eyes focusing on Karen’s back. Her shoulders slumped forward as she leaned heavily against the deck railing, and Mason wondered if she were praying again. She did that a lot, more than he was used to his friends doing, and it created an odd ache just below his sternum that he couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe; he’d accepted Christ as his Savior fifteen years ago, at a youth rally when he was nineteen. His faith, however, was a closely held, private thing. Few of his friends even knew he was a Christian, and he was comfortable with that. He didn’t want to discuss his faith, definitely didn’t want to discuss theirs. His chosen profession, and his public image, didn’t lend themselves to outward shows of belief. Yet the highly visible nature of Karen’s faith left him with a nagging urge to ask questions.

      And her faith was not the only thing that tugged at him, almost without explanation. From the moment he’d seen her vases in Jane’s shop, his imagination had been captured by her talent, her sense of color and shape, by how the vases seemed almost organic, as if they had been grown instead of formed from clay. Then, when she’d opened the door that day, covered in mud up to her elbows, hair wild and her eyes dazed, as if he’d interrupted a dream…

      Mason rubbed his mouth. He didn’t like that he could not find the right words to the feelings that tightened his chest and made his mind whirl whenever he was around her…troublesome, since words were his business. He didn’t like it at all.

      He did, however, like her. Maybe even more than like. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Being around Karen felt like…home. Mason had never quite believed that God had a chosen path for everyone, and that He could guide each person to it. Yet he’d been planning to go to a retreat center in Georgia when he got the call about the opening at Jackson’s Retreat. He’d never been to New Hampshire. The day he saw her vases in Jane’s window he had planned to stay in Boston, but his appointment had been canceled.

      True, he could explain all that away, but not the way his heart had jumped when she’d opened the door. СКАЧАТЬ