“We thought we’d lost you.”
Was that emotion she heard in his voice?
She licked her lips ... tried to swallow. Her throat was seriously dry.
“Where am . . . I?”
“Well, it ain’t the Waldorf-Astoria, sweetheart.”
Now that sounded more like Don.
“What happened?”
“I’ll let your friend give you the official details. Right now all that matters is that you’re back.” Don squeezed her hand. “My time’s up. But I’ll be back soon.”
He was gone before she could say anything. What did he mean his time was up?
She didn’t know how long he’d been gone when warm fingers closed around hers. Her gaze moved upward and dark, dark eyes held hers.
Kale.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
Her heart did something weird. Not quite a flutter. “Sorry.”
Flashes of memory from those minutes in the cave bounced around in her head. None of it fit together.
“Lynda Pope is in custody. Your buddy August got the whole story out of her. The chief, unfortunately, didn’t make it.”
Panic started to well in Sarah’s chest. She was alive. Okay. Calm down.
“Barton Harvey is a couple floors down from you,” Kale told her. “He’s been charged with assault and battery.”
Sarah tried to frown, but it hurt. There was something she should remember about the innkeeper. “Why’s he here?”
Kale lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t remember?”
She started to shake her head, but a burst of pain warned her not to. “No.” Damn.
“You found where he’d buried his father’s diary, and he popped you on the back of the head with a shovel.”
Damn, and she didn’t even remember.
“He claims he realized he’d overreacted and dragged you into his mudroom to call for help, but then someone bonked him on the head. Of course, we know now that was Lynda.”
Now she remembered. Digging in the dirt and snow.
“Looks like you were right,” Kale concluded. “It was a woman.”
Yeah, yeah. “I’m always right.”
Kale chuckled, the sound rusty and weary. “That’s a fact, lady.”
Sarah felt her lips smile. She loved his voice. Even when he sounded so tired. Her smile drooped. “Wait. What’s the deal with the diary?” She vaguely remembered finding a journal or something in the dirt and snow.
“Oh, sorry.” Kale cradled her hand in both his. “Deputy Brighton cleared that up. Barton found the journal a few years ago. He read the journal notes about those two murders twenty years ago and thought the entries meant that his father had committed the murders. He couldn’t ask his father because he’d had a stroke and can’t speak or respond in any way.”
“Why was his father keeping a journal?” She needed Kale to get to the point. Her head was killing her and she was so damned tired. The only thing keeping her focused right now were those dark, dark eyes of his. She loved looking at his eyes.
