And now he was dead.
David Sawyer had been investigating something too. Asking questions. Following leads.
And now he was missing.
The connection was obvious. Dangerous. And heading straight toward her carefully constructed new life.
She was halfway down the block when Pearl's voice called out behind her.
"Cara, wait."
She turned. Pearl stood in the doorway of the mercantile, holding something small.
"I just remembered." Pearl walked over, holding out a business card. The white cardstock looked crisp against her weathered fingers. "He gave me this when he was asking all those questions. In case I remembered anything else."
Cara took the card. Her hand didn't shake. Years of practice.
Marco RuizPrivate InvestigatorPortland, Oregon
The words blurred. Then sharpened. Then blurred again.
"Cara?" Pearl's voice came from far away. "You alright, hon? You look pale."
"I'm fine." The lie came automatically. "The FBI agent will want to know this. I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you.”
“Of course, he would.” Pearl agreed and headed back inside.
Cara walked back to the bakery on autopilot. Her legs moved. Her lungs pulled air. But inside, her brain was screaming.
Private investigator.
Someone had hired him. Someone with resources. Someone looking for something in Haven Cove.
Or someone.
She climbed the stairs to her apartment, each step feeling like wading through water. Inside, she locked the door. Checked the windows. Drew the curtains.
Then she pulled out her phone and stared at Gabe Sawyer's business card. Her thumb hovered over the phone.
Lord, I don't know what to do. If I tell him, he'll dig deeper. If I don't tell him, someone might die.
What if David Sawyer is still alive? What if this information could save him?
The prayer steadied her.
She couldn't let an innocent man die because she was afraid.
She dialed.
"Sawyer."
"Agent Sawyer, this is Cara Sweet." Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "I have information about the victim. Pearl at the mercantile believes his name was Marco Ruiz. He was a private investigator from Portland."
Silence on the other end. She could hear him processing, shifting gears.
"How did you learn this?"
"Pearl at the mercantile. I went to get some string. And coffee filters and we got to talking.” She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to stop babbling. “He gave her his business card three weeks ago when he was asking questions around town." She paused. "I thought you should know."
