it to Leyton Monroe’s biggest competitor as an
example of your investigative techniques.”
“I don’t know.” Worm stared at Sara’s hand,
then placed his on top of hers. “As long as I’m employed by Leyton,
anything I work on belongs to The Daily Herald .”
“Only if he or Sheila commissioned you to
work on it. At least that’s what Dagger told me.” She slowly
slipped her hand out from under his. “If what we find out confirms
that Rachel Tyler was alive up until last Thursday, and if we find
her killer or killers, this could be a breaking story for you,
Worm.”
Worm looked at her in a way that made Sara
feel uneasy, not leering, not the way Nick had looked at her, but
just different.
“Would you like to go out Saturday night?”
Beads of perspiration worked his glasses down the bridge of his
nose. He pushed them back up.
Sara looked away, clasped her hands in her
lap.
“It’s Dagger, isn’t it? You’re in love with
him.”
“Dagger understands me and that’s not an easy
thing to do.”
“It’s okay. He’s good-looking, brilliant,
mysterious. All the things women are attracted to. I’m just a
nerd.”
Sara smiled and returned her hand to his
freckled arm. “Nerd is just another name for an intelligent,
focused, serious professional.”
Worm considered what she said, nodded to
himself as though agreeing with some of her assessments. Then he
smiled broadly. This time when he touched her, it was a brotherly
pat.
“You’re right. I’ll do it.”
CHAPTER 18
Padre walked up to the front door of the
townhouse where deliverymen were carrying in washers and dryers.
Inside the unit Dagger claimed was the crime scene, he saw two men
in bib overalls installing the vent for the dryer. No one paid any
attention to him. He was dressed like any vacationer with his
floral shirt hanging out over his madras-print shorts and deck
shoes sans socks.
As Dagger had suggested, Padre took several
vacation days so he could work on the case. If anyone at the
precinct knew he was working on the Rachel Tyler case, word would
get to the press quicker than you could say murder.
He had covered the beach area, and Maria, the
desk clerk, had been right—none of these townhouses was occupied.
Matter of fact, the water hadn’t even been turned on until this
weekend.
All the wooded property belonged to the Dunes
Resort, so there were no nearby residential houses or streets
running alongside which might produce a witness from early Thursday
morning.
Dried twigs crunched under his shoes as he
walked west, away from the townhouses. He stopped and looked out on
the lake where sailboats dotted the horizon. It was a beautiful
view. No wonder the rental charges were anticipated at five hundred
dollars a night.
“Sure thing, Padre,” the police sergeant said
to himself. “You can afford a two-week vacation here. Bring the
wife and kiddies.” He turned his gaze to the side view of the
buildings.
They could have carried the body out the
front door to a waiting car, tossed the body in the trunk. But
then, what about the rug? If it were stained the way Dagger
described, they would have had to get rid of it, probably use a
large truck.
If they opted to carry her out the patio door
and down to a waiting boat, they would still have needed to get rid
of the bloodstained rug. Unless the body was still wrapped in the
rug.
Padre turned and followed a path along a
bluff, walking slowly and looking for a fresh gravesite. They may
not have had time to dig a grave after they killed her but they
could have dug it beforehand. He wiped a forearm across his damp
forehead and was thankful he wasn’t wearing his heavy blue
jeans.
The underbrush was thick with wildflowers and
shrubs. Nothing looked trampled on, disturbed, or moved. Bending
down, he pulled on a number of plants to make sure they were real.
Over the years he had learned to expect just about anything from
creative felons.
Up ahead he could hear laughter,
example of your investigative techniques.”
“I don’t know.” Worm stared at Sara’s hand,
then placed his on top of hers. “As long as I’m employed by Leyton,
anything I work on belongs to The Daily Herald .”
“Only if he or Sheila commissioned you to
work on it. At least that’s what Dagger told me.” She slowly
slipped her hand out from under his. “If what we find out confirms
that Rachel Tyler was alive up until last Thursday, and if we find
her killer or killers, this could be a breaking story for you,
Worm.”
Worm looked at her in a way that made Sara
feel uneasy, not leering, not the way Nick had looked at her, but
just different.
“Would you like to go out Saturday night?”
Beads of perspiration worked his glasses down the bridge of his
nose. He pushed them back up.
Sara looked away, clasped her hands in her
lap.
“It’s Dagger, isn’t it? You’re in love with
him.”
“Dagger understands me and that’s not an easy
thing to do.”
“It’s okay. He’s good-looking, brilliant,
mysterious. All the things women are attracted to. I’m just a
nerd.”
Sara smiled and returned her hand to his
freckled arm. “Nerd is just another name for an intelligent,
focused, serious professional.”
Worm considered what she said, nodded to
himself as though agreeing with some of her assessments. Then he
smiled broadly. This time when he touched her, it was a brotherly
pat.
“You’re right. I’ll do it.”
CHAPTER 18
Padre walked up to the front door of the
townhouse where deliverymen were carrying in washers and dryers.
Inside the unit Dagger claimed was the crime scene, he saw two men
in bib overalls installing the vent for the dryer. No one paid any
attention to him. He was dressed like any vacationer with his
floral shirt hanging out over his madras-print shorts and deck
shoes sans socks.
As Dagger had suggested, Padre took several
vacation days so he could work on the case. If anyone at the
precinct knew he was working on the Rachel Tyler case, word would
get to the press quicker than you could say murder.
He had covered the beach area, and Maria, the
desk clerk, had been right—none of these townhouses was occupied.
Matter of fact, the water hadn’t even been turned on until this
weekend.
All the wooded property belonged to the Dunes
Resort, so there were no nearby residential houses or streets
running alongside which might produce a witness from early Thursday
morning.
Dried twigs crunched under his shoes as he
walked west, away from the townhouses. He stopped and looked out on
the lake where sailboats dotted the horizon. It was a beautiful
view. No wonder the rental charges were anticipated at five hundred
dollars a night.
“Sure thing, Padre,” the police sergeant said
to himself. “You can afford a two-week vacation here. Bring the
wife and kiddies.” He turned his gaze to the side view of the
buildings.
They could have carried the body out the
front door to a waiting car, tossed the body in the trunk. But
then, what about the rug? If it were stained the way Dagger
described, they would have had to get rid of it, probably use a
large truck.
If they opted to carry her out the patio door
and down to a waiting boat, they would still have needed to get rid
of the bloodstained rug. Unless the body was still wrapped in the
rug.
Padre turned and followed a path along a
bluff, walking slowly and looking for a fresh gravesite. They may
not have had time to dig a grave after they killed her but they
could have dug it beforehand. He wiped a forearm across his damp
forehead and was thankful he wasn’t wearing his heavy blue
jeans.
The underbrush was thick with wildflowers and
shrubs. Nothing looked trampled on, disturbed, or moved. Bending
down, he pulled on a number of plants to make sure they were real.
Over the years he had learned to expect just about anything from
creative felons.
Up ahead he could hear laughter,
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