“Have a seat.” Luke gestured to the sofa. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Water?”
With a nod, he moved into the kitchen, filling two glasses from the filtered water tap at his kitchen sink.
I sank onto one corner of the couch, then immediately regretted that decision when I realized I would be trapped between the arm and Luke’s body. He’d have to sit close so we could both see the laptop screen.
Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I worried the corner as I debated whether to get up and move to the table.
“Let’s sit over here,” Luke said.
I glanced back to see him standing next to the table.
“We’ll have more room to spread out.”
Grateful I wouldn’t look like a fool bounding out of my seat thirty seconds after I sat in it because I decided I didn’t want to be so close to his enthralling presence, I hopped up and came around the couch to take a seat on one side of the table. Luke set the glasses down but didn’t pull out a chair to sit.
“I’m going to grab my laptop. Hang on.” In a flash, he disappeared down the short hallway and into the study. When he reappeared moments later, he had a silver MacBook in his hands.
Taking a seat at the end of the table beside me, he opened it. “So, what do you want to look up first?”
Those long-lashed gray eyes lifted to meet mine. For a moment, I got lost in their depths. He had such pretty eyes. Like the turbulent ocean in the winter when one of the big low-pressure systems was about to roll in and dump a bunch of snow on us.
A dark gold eyebrow rose over one eye.
I blinked and cleared my throat, glancing down at my notes. “Um…” Inhaling a breath through my nose, I forced my mind back onto the task at hand and read over the things I’d jotted on the page earlier. “Why don’t we look up Rich Stevenson? See if, maybe, I can figure out why I know that name?”
Luke nodded once. “Okay.”
His fingers dashed over the keyboard, then he flicked them over the trackpad. “I’m not sure what we’re looking for.” He turned the computer so I could see the screen.
I scooted closer and leaned in, looking at the pictures that populated the top of the search results. “There.” I pointed at an image of a man in his fifties. “I knew I recognized the name. He’s a local handyman. I’ve never used his services, but I’ve seen him around town. Do you know him?” It would make sense if he did, since they might run in the same business circles.
Luke squinted at the screen. “I don’t, but I’ll ask my dad. I haven’t run too many projects in Parker’s Landing. Mostly, I worked on the crew before college, but I don’t remember anyone named Rich on them. Since then, I spend most of my time in an office, drawing up plans. Dad might know more.”
Staring at Rich Stevenson’s picture, my mind spun out in several directions. We had a direct connection between Moira Duluth and Parker’s Landing now. With someone who knew construction…
The implications of that hit, and I reached out, tugging the laptop closer so I could type.
“What?” Luke asked. “What did you remember?”
“Nothing. I just had a thought. Rich would know how to cut open and repair a wall. I want to know if there’s a connection between him and Walter Shuman.” I typed both names into the search box.
Results popped up, and I scrolled.
But nothing in the list connected the two men.
My shoulders slumped. “Damn. I was hoping there’d be a smoking gun.”
“I think if it were that easy, the cops would have found it a long time ago.”
“Maybe. But they didn’t know Moira was in Mr. Shuman’s wall.”
Luke tipped his head. “True.”
Mouth pressed tight, I stared at the laptop screen and tapped my fingernails on the table. Was it Rich Stevenson who was responsible for Moira’s death? Or Walter Shuman? Or both? If it was Rich, how did she end up in the wall at the antique store? He had to know Mr. Shuman, somehow.
One thing was certain: it was Moira Duluth’s body we found. The other women didn’t have any ties to Parker’s Landing. RichStevenson’s role as Moira Duluth’s boyfriend at the time of her disappearance gave her a direct connection to the town.
