awake."
Tate’s eyebrows shot up, and he sat on the corner of the opposite bed. "Sounds important. Tell me."
"The key – the one Jessica had? It fit Justin Saunders’ front door."
"Are you shitting me?" He half-rose but she raised her uninjured hand to stop him.
"I accused him of having an affair with her, but he said—" Her voice faltered, and she closed her eyes and took a deep but shaky breath. "He said he was gay. He also claimed he didn’t know she had the key."
"Lying sack of…" Tate muttered.
Byrony opened her eyes and nodded. "I know. I told him he was lying and we’re taking the key to the police."
"Damn straight!" Unable to sit still any longer, Tate got up and paced in front of the TV. "If he didn’t give her that key, he knows who did."
She nodded again.
Stopping suddenly, he demanded, "You think Saunders was the one riding the horse?"
But Byrony shook her head. "There wasn’t enough time. He was wearing jogging shorts… And I didn’t see any horses near his place."
Tate continued to pace, and hoped like hell that Brandon had found that horse and rider. The murderer must think they were getting close, but Tate still felt frustratingly clueless.
"What about Michael Prince?" Byrony asked, her voice sounding close to exhaustion. "Did you see him?"
"Yeah, I paid a little call shortly after we got back." He saw her eyelids drifting down and figured he’d better wrap this up quickly. "His dragon lady assistant tried to stop me, but I muscled in anyway. I let Prince know that he could be prosecuted if he withheld information about Jessica’s death. He started sputtering like a tea kettle about to boil. But his wife the ice-bitch came in and spoiled my fun."
"Hmmm," Byrony murmured, her head dipping. When her chin hit her chest, she roused suddenly. "Sorry, the pain meds are wiping me out."
"Go ahead and get some shut eye," he urged.
She made another funny little noise and scooted down to put her head on the pillow. In less than two minutes, she was asleep, Tate could tell by her even breathing. He opened the closet, took the spare blanket off the top shelf and spread it over her. Then he sat down at the small table next to the window and booted up his laptop.
An hour later, Byrony still slept soundly. Tate called Island Pizzeria and arranged to pick up a to-go order. Next he called Byrony’s B&B and explained to the innkeeper, Mrs. Giroux what happened. He let the woman carry on for a minute or two before he interrupted and told her he’d be by soon and pick up a few things for Byrony . Finally, he called Nick Brandon and got the bad, but not unexpected news that the horse and rider were still at large.
Putting his Glock back into the shoulder holster, he donned his jacket and scribbled a note – Stay put. Be back soon. He laid it on the nightstand next to Byrony just in case she woke up while he was gone. His gaze moved over her slumbering features and his breathing hitched. Of its own volition, his hand raised toward her cheek, but then he noticed her injured arm resting on top of the blanket. The sight of the blue plastic brace sent an electric shock through his nervous system.
He should have been there!
No, he never should have allowed her to be here in the first place. But it was too late to put that horse back in the barn. He needed to wrap this case up ASAP. Shoving aside his guilt, he turned away and locked the door behind him.
Tate was back in a half hour, balancing the pizza box in one hand and a shopping bag with Byrony’s toothbrush, a change of clothes, and hair brush. She didn’t appear to have moved a muscle, but when he opened the pizza box, she stirred.
"Is that…" She murmured, struggling to sit up in bed. Then she took a deep breath. "Do you live on pizza?"
"Pretty much." Grinning, he pulled a can of soda out of the mini-fridge. "Want one?"
Propped against the headboard, she nodded.
He pulled a plastic bowl from the shopping bag. "Don’t worry, I had
Tate’s eyebrows shot up, and he sat on the corner of the opposite bed. "Sounds important. Tell me."
"The key – the one Jessica had? It fit Justin Saunders’ front door."
"Are you shitting me?" He half-rose but she raised her uninjured hand to stop him.
"I accused him of having an affair with her, but he said—" Her voice faltered, and she closed her eyes and took a deep but shaky breath. "He said he was gay. He also claimed he didn’t know she had the key."
"Lying sack of…" Tate muttered.
Byrony opened her eyes and nodded. "I know. I told him he was lying and we’re taking the key to the police."
"Damn straight!" Unable to sit still any longer, Tate got up and paced in front of the TV. "If he didn’t give her that key, he knows who did."
She nodded again.
Stopping suddenly, he demanded, "You think Saunders was the one riding the horse?"
But Byrony shook her head. "There wasn’t enough time. He was wearing jogging shorts… And I didn’t see any horses near his place."
Tate continued to pace, and hoped like hell that Brandon had found that horse and rider. The murderer must think they were getting close, but Tate still felt frustratingly clueless.
"What about Michael Prince?" Byrony asked, her voice sounding close to exhaustion. "Did you see him?"
"Yeah, I paid a little call shortly after we got back." He saw her eyelids drifting down and figured he’d better wrap this up quickly. "His dragon lady assistant tried to stop me, but I muscled in anyway. I let Prince know that he could be prosecuted if he withheld information about Jessica’s death. He started sputtering like a tea kettle about to boil. But his wife the ice-bitch came in and spoiled my fun."
"Hmmm," Byrony murmured, her head dipping. When her chin hit her chest, she roused suddenly. "Sorry, the pain meds are wiping me out."
"Go ahead and get some shut eye," he urged.
She made another funny little noise and scooted down to put her head on the pillow. In less than two minutes, she was asleep, Tate could tell by her even breathing. He opened the closet, took the spare blanket off the top shelf and spread it over her. Then he sat down at the small table next to the window and booted up his laptop.
An hour later, Byrony still slept soundly. Tate called Island Pizzeria and arranged to pick up a to-go order. Next he called Byrony’s B&B and explained to the innkeeper, Mrs. Giroux what happened. He let the woman carry on for a minute or two before he interrupted and told her he’d be by soon and pick up a few things for Byrony . Finally, he called Nick Brandon and got the bad, but not unexpected news that the horse and rider were still at large.
Putting his Glock back into the shoulder holster, he donned his jacket and scribbled a note – Stay put. Be back soon. He laid it on the nightstand next to Byrony just in case she woke up while he was gone. His gaze moved over her slumbering features and his breathing hitched. Of its own volition, his hand raised toward her cheek, but then he noticed her injured arm resting on top of the blanket. The sight of the blue plastic brace sent an electric shock through his nervous system.
He should have been there!
No, he never should have allowed her to be here in the first place. But it was too late to put that horse back in the barn. He needed to wrap this case up ASAP. Shoving aside his guilt, he turned away and locked the door behind him.
Tate was back in a half hour, balancing the pizza box in one hand and a shopping bag with Byrony’s toothbrush, a change of clothes, and hair brush. She didn’t appear to have moved a muscle, but when he opened the pizza box, she stirred.
"Is that…" She murmured, struggling to sit up in bed. Then she took a deep breath. "Do you live on pizza?"
"Pretty much." Grinning, he pulled a can of soda out of the mini-fridge. "Want one?"
Propped against the headboard, she nodded.
He pulled a plastic bowl from the shopping bag. "Don’t worry, I had
Similar Books
