Since he waited, his gaze glued to hers, for an answer, she gave him one. “Of course it has to be this way.” He had the darkest eyes. Completely brown. The kind where the color was so dense and rich that it didn’t even reflect light. “This is what I do, Conner. I find the truth. The sooner the powers that be in this town admit there’s no curse or passerby who murdered that girl, the sooner they’ll start looking for the person who did. The person who is one of you.”
He stared at her another quarter of a minute more. She should have gotten out. Should have left it at that, but somehow she couldn’t walk away without ensuring he fully understood her position.
“You won’t save Alicia Appleton this way,” she warned. The words would only add insult to injury, but it was true. That was the saddest part. “You and all these God-fearing, compassionate people”—she gestured toward the heart of the village—“can’t pray that girl to safety. If someone doesn’t figure out why a person she knew, a citizen of Youngstown or a nearby community, wants her dead, she’s going to die.”
He looked away then. Just sat there and waited for Sarah to get out.
Whatever.
She opened the door, got out, and strode to her car.
He was wrong.
They were all wrong.
8
The Overlook Inn
The innkeeper thrust the key at Sarah.
Not a key card. The old-fashioned kind. She accepted it. “Thank you.” Room 13. Ha-ha.
The innkeeper, Barton Harvey, glanced expectantly at the man who’d followed Sarah from the municipal offices. “I’ll show her to her room,” Conner offered.
“Thank you, Kale,” Harvey said, making no attempt to conceal his relief that he would be in Sarah’s presence no longer than absolutely necessary.
Funny. Sarah was the one paying for the room and he hadn’t thanked her.
More of that compassion Conner spoke of so ardently.
Sarah followed him up the stairs to the second floor. When Conner hadn’t driven away after seeing her to the inn, she’d been surprised. Evidently he’d decided to ensure she didn’t go off nosing around town without him. Once she’d gotten out of her rental car, she’d expected him to speed away. Instead, he’d insisted on carrying her suitcase, but the show of chivalry hadn’t been needed. She’d wagged that damned thing all over the country by herself plenty of times.
She gave the inn’s high ceilings and intricate architectural details a cursory survey. Nice place. As long as there was hot water and a comfortable bed, she would be happy.
At the door marked 13, he moved aside for her to unlock it. She hadn’t used a hotel room key like this since Charlotte, North Carolina. Once the door was open, he took two steps inside and set her bag on the floor. He was ready to split. As it was, he’d lasted longer than she’d estimated.
“Call me”—he looked anywhere but at her—“in the morning.”
“I don’t have your number.”
“I’ll give you my cell number.”
Monotone, uninspired. Yep, still ticked off. She dug out her phone and entered the number he recited.
“If you need anything, you can let me know.”
He turned to the open door.
She should say something. It wasn’t like she’d wanted his company today. She hadn’t asked for it. But she couldn’t deny that he’d made things marginally more interesting. Even if the way in which he’d made them interesting wasn’t in her best interest.
Say the words. “Thank you.”
He hesitated but didn’t turn around.
What now? She glanced around the room, didn’t find the answer. To hell with it. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
