“She’s strange, Jerald. I’m very concerned.” Lynda turned to stare out the window. “She’s not normal. I’ve told you this before, but you refuse to listen.”
“We have discussed the issue many times, and I am not in agreement with your conclusions,” he offered, drawing on a well of patience that should long ago have ceased to produce.
“She has no friends except that odd Tamara girl. Of course, that’s not so surprising considering where we live.” That was something else Lynda would change if he would only agree. She hated the cold ... hated this place. This place was his home. Too much of him was here. He could not leave.
He moved up behind her, put his arms around her waist, and pulled her against his body. Her well-maintained rear snuggled him. “I’m certain our daughter will grow out of her awkwardness,” he assured her before leaving a soft kiss on her shoulder. “After all, she has you for a mother. How could she not blossom into perfection?”
Lynda folded her arms over his. “I hope you’re right. Otherwise ...” She sighed. “I don’t know what to expect from her next.”
As if the worries she voiced had drawn him there, he gazed across the snow-laden branches, rested his thoughts on the chapel and the visitor there. Sarah Newton had come to find the truth, but would the truth be the answer everyone wanted?
Every small town had its secrets. Secrets that could destroy carefully constructed lives. Youngstown was no different. But would uncovering those secrets stop the evil that had already chosen two victims in as many weeks?
One could only hope.
Jerald would do whatever necessary to protect the women he loved. He would not allow the evil to take them from him. Ever.
7
Youngstown Public Safety Office, 4:20 p.m.
Sarah assessed Youngstown’s law-enforcement setup. A receptionist who apparently served as the chief’s personal assistant manned the lobby. From what Sarah could see down the corridor behind the reception desk, there were four or five offices. At the end of the corridor, the door was open, and the larger room there could be a conference room.
Judging by the telephone on the desk, there were six incoming lines. Sarah had expected a small operation. Any forensic work would be passed on to the state police and the new lab that had garnered much praise for its cutting-edge technology. A county medical examiner handled the routine autopsies.
The setup utilized the same parking area as the Public Safety Office, which housed the Fire and Rescue Services. Not a bad setup, just not state-of-the-art.
Conner had been chatting with the receptionist a good twenty minutes. The chief was out of the office, and the deputy he had assigned to serve as Sarah’s liaison was on her way back to the office. Sarah and Conner’s arrival had caught her on the tail end of a call regarding a possible break-in on West Street. She would be back any minute, according to the receptionist.
While Sarah waited, she watched Conner in action. He was one of those easygoing guys who got along with everyone. Charmed the ladies,if the receptionist’s captivated reaction was any indication. Tall, lean build with broad shoulders, longish black hair framing a classic square jaw that, despite a close shave each morning, would likely sport a five-o’clock shadow by noon. He dressed like the typical Down East kind of guy. Rugged jeans, plaid flannel shirt, and SOREL boots. His only concession to popular fashion was the North Face jacket.
A walking, talking Mainer cliché. And yet, there was something about him that made her curious. Maybe it was that whole I’m-just-a-regular-guy facade he wore like a badge of honor. Every second they had spent at that chapel had visibly shredded his emotions. Refreshing, she decided. A good-looking, successful guy who didn’t try to pretend he was immune to emotion. So far he didn’t appear the least bit interested in playing the role of hero. That had to be the draw. He intrigued her because he wasn’t what one expected at first look.
Possibly.
But Sarah knew her weaknesses, and she was brutally honest with herself about them. She and good-looking men did not mix. Experience had taught her not to go there. Pick the chubby, unattractive, balding guy every time. Be smart. Don’t go down that other road.
Off-loading Kale Conner as soon as possible would be essential to staying on track with this case.
The bell over the door jingled, drawing Sarah’s attention to the lobby entrance.
“Sorry to keep you folks waiting,” Deputy Karen Brighton announced as she scrubbed her boots on the welcome mat. Nose and cheeks red from the cold, she tugged off her gloves and stuffed them into her coat pockets.
“Hey, Karen.” Conner flashed one of those broad, pearl-white smiles that could have easily been an advertisement for the next season of some popular TV show.
The gleam that instantly brightened the deputy’s eyes told Sarah that he effortlessly elicited interest from the opposite sex. If Sarah had needed any more evidence, there it was.
He had to go.
“Sarah Newton,” Conner said, “this is Deputy Karen Brighton.”
“Good to meet you, Sarah,” Karen enthused as she pumped Sarah’s outstretched hand.
“Same here.” Sarah reminded her lips to tilt into a requisite smile. People were put off when you didn’t smile at the expected times.
“Come on back to my office.” The deputy glanced from Sarah and Conner to the receptionist. “If the chief calls, let him know Ms. Newton is here.”
“Will do.” The telephone buzzed, dragging the curious receptionist who, since Brighton’s arrival, had been blatantly sizing up Sarah, back to the business of receiving.
