occurred to her. “Could this be connected somehow with Kirsten?”
“What? You think a ghost trashed my apartment?”
“No, but maybe whoever’s responsible for her disappearance did. Maybe he thinks you have some evidence implicating him in her death.”
He shook his head. “Seems unlikely, but who knows? I guess we’ll have a better idea who’s responsible once we discover what’s missing. I’d better call the sheriff’s department and report this.”
He grabbed a dishtowel from a pile on the floor and used it to lift the telephone receiver from its cradle. He dialed by poking the buttons with the eraser end of a pencil. After explaining the situation in a few terse sentences, he hung up.
“They’re going to send someone right out to investigate,” he told her, “but I need to go into town to make a report.” His narrow-eyed gaze roved over the destruction, settling finally on her. “I want you to follow me to the sheriffs office in your car.”
Shea shifted her weight uneasily from one foot to the other. “You don’t need me. I’ll just be in the way. I think I’ll head back to the lodge.”
“No!” he all but shouted. In a quieter tone he said, “No. If you’re right about the Kirsten connection, whoever did this may have broken into your room too. They may still be there. I don’t want you going anywhere alone.”
His tone of voice made it clear there was no point in arguing with him. Not that Shea felt inclined to argue. The wanton destruction in his apartment made her feelsick to her stomach. The last thing she wanted right now was to be alone.
As she followed the glowing red of his taillights, her mind raced in circles. Even if someone suspected Teague had put her up to the Kirsten charade, why break into his apartment? What had they hoped to find? Proof linking the two of them? Something that showed she wasn’t Kirsten? Her head was aching with a dull throb by the time she pulled into the parking lot next to the Crescent County Sheriff’s Department.
She sat on a hard plastic chair opposite the main desk while Teague gave his statement. The room was chilly. She hugged herself, wishing she had worn a sweater.
What was taking Teague so long, anyway? She yawned. At this time of night, the place was virtually deserted. Since Teague and the deputy had disappeared into a warren of partitioned rooms, she’d seen only the dispatcher, a bulldog-faced woman who was glued to the switchboard. Since the first searching appraisal, the woman had steadfastly ignored her.
Probably thinks I’m a hooker in this damn dress
.
The minutes ticked slowly by. Shea shifted in her chair, trying to find a comfortable position. She yawned again. A cup of coffee might help.
“Is there a coffee machine around here?” she asked.
Either the dispatcher was ignoring her or the headset she was wearing interfered with her hearing.
Shea stood and stretched, then walked over to the desk and waited until the woman acknowledged her.
Bulldog removed her headpiece. “Yeah?”
“Is there a coffee—”
The front door burst open to admit a noisy crowd that eventually resolved itself into one harassed-lookingdeputy, an obstreperous drunk, a clean-cut Ivy League type, and a pale, weepy redhead who clung to Joe College like a cocklebur.
Of the four, Shea recognized only one. “Kevin?”
“Kirsten?”
“What are
you
doing here?” they asked in chorus.
“Son of a bitch blocked my Caddie, that’s what!” bellowed the drunk. “Young snots think they own the whole damn world.”
“We’ll take your statement in a minute, Mr. Walsh,” the deputy told him, then turned to Kevin. “Why don’t you and Miss Ames have a seat, Mr. Rainey? I’ll take your statements after Mr. Walsh has made his.”
“Damn right you will,” said the fuming drunk. “Ask the little punk what he was doing blocking my Caddie that way. Damn kids think they can do whatever the hell they want.”
The officer, his studied courtesy
“What? You think a ghost trashed my apartment?”
“No, but maybe whoever’s responsible for her disappearance did. Maybe he thinks you have some evidence implicating him in her death.”
He shook his head. “Seems unlikely, but who knows? I guess we’ll have a better idea who’s responsible once we discover what’s missing. I’d better call the sheriff’s department and report this.”
He grabbed a dishtowel from a pile on the floor and used it to lift the telephone receiver from its cradle. He dialed by poking the buttons with the eraser end of a pencil. After explaining the situation in a few terse sentences, he hung up.
“They’re going to send someone right out to investigate,” he told her, “but I need to go into town to make a report.” His narrow-eyed gaze roved over the destruction, settling finally on her. “I want you to follow me to the sheriffs office in your car.”
Shea shifted her weight uneasily from one foot to the other. “You don’t need me. I’ll just be in the way. I think I’ll head back to the lodge.”
“No!” he all but shouted. In a quieter tone he said, “No. If you’re right about the Kirsten connection, whoever did this may have broken into your room too. They may still be there. I don’t want you going anywhere alone.”
His tone of voice made it clear there was no point in arguing with him. Not that Shea felt inclined to argue. The wanton destruction in his apartment made her feelsick to her stomach. The last thing she wanted right now was to be alone.
As she followed the glowing red of his taillights, her mind raced in circles. Even if someone suspected Teague had put her up to the Kirsten charade, why break into his apartment? What had they hoped to find? Proof linking the two of them? Something that showed she wasn’t Kirsten? Her head was aching with a dull throb by the time she pulled into the parking lot next to the Crescent County Sheriff’s Department.
She sat on a hard plastic chair opposite the main desk while Teague gave his statement. The room was chilly. She hugged herself, wishing she had worn a sweater.
What was taking Teague so long, anyway? She yawned. At this time of night, the place was virtually deserted. Since Teague and the deputy had disappeared into a warren of partitioned rooms, she’d seen only the dispatcher, a bulldog-faced woman who was glued to the switchboard. Since the first searching appraisal, the woman had steadfastly ignored her.
Probably thinks I’m a hooker in this damn dress
.
The minutes ticked slowly by. Shea shifted in her chair, trying to find a comfortable position. She yawned again. A cup of coffee might help.
“Is there a coffee machine around here?” she asked.
Either the dispatcher was ignoring her or the headset she was wearing interfered with her hearing.
Shea stood and stretched, then walked over to the desk and waited until the woman acknowledged her.
Bulldog removed her headpiece. “Yeah?”
“Is there a coffee—”
The front door burst open to admit a noisy crowd that eventually resolved itself into one harassed-lookingdeputy, an obstreperous drunk, a clean-cut Ivy League type, and a pale, weepy redhead who clung to Joe College like a cocklebur.
Of the four, Shea recognized only one. “Kevin?”
“Kirsten?”
“What are
you
doing here?” they asked in chorus.
“Son of a bitch blocked my Caddie, that’s what!” bellowed the drunk. “Young snots think they own the whole damn world.”
“We’ll take your statement in a minute, Mr. Walsh,” the deputy told him, then turned to Kevin. “Why don’t you and Miss Ames have a seat, Mr. Rainey? I’ll take your statements after Mr. Walsh has made his.”
“Damn right you will,” said the fuming drunk. “Ask the little punk what he was doing blocking my Caddie that way. Damn kids think they can do whatever the hell they want.”
The officer, his studied courtesy
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