People around here needed to wake up. This killer was someone they likely knew. Assuredly not the devil. Not that she believed in the devil.
Silence fell over the crowd, and a sudden forward surge announced that the chief had made his appearance.
Sarah tiptoed to see above the shoulders of the men in front of her. Mayor Patterson stood next to the chief, his polished suit and deep-navy tie making him look particularly distinguished in comparison to the chief’s khakis and uniform-style coat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, members of the press ...”
Sarah settled onto the soles of her Converses and waited for the important parts. The whole “I appreciate your support” and all that jazz she could do without.
Finally he got to the real news.
The silence that hung in the air hummed with tension.
Even Sarah stretched up onto her toes once more.
The chief didn’t spell out the details of the evidence, but he informed the crowd that there was reason to believe that the person responsible for Valerie Gerard’s death was an intimate.
Sarah rolled her eyes. Come on, Chief, she silently urged. Tell them they’d better start paying more attention to what their neighbors are doing. Keep their young girls off the street after dark, et cetera.
“That’s not very nice,” a too-familiar male voice whispered in her ear.
Sarah bolted forward.
Strong hands grabbed her shoulders in the nick of time to prevent her from bumping into the guy in front of her. Sarah whipped around and came face-to-face with Kale Conner.
He put a finger to his lips and pointed to the chief.
Annoyed as hell, she turned her attention back to the library steps where the chief was assuring the crowd that no stone would be left unturned. How original. And, finally, he urged all citizens to be cooperative and aware. Hard questions would need to be asked—and answered.
Reporters started firing questions, and Sarah was ready to go while they were distracted. She skirted the traitor standing behind her.
“Newton.”
She glared at Conner. “Shhh!”
“Sorry.” He started after her. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
That he continued to follow her to the corner and down the side street to the parking area she’d used cranked up her irritation. Kale Conner was one of those guys who wanted everybody to like him. The kind who couldn’t deal with the idea that someone held ill will toward him.
Tough.
She avoided the icy patches, opting for the crunchy snow instead. The cold, wet stuff poked into her shoes and up her pants legs all over again, but she didn’t care.
She had a list of people to interview: Melody Harvey, for one. A man of the cloth named Mahaney, for another.
At her car, she faced her stalker. “What do you want, Conner?”
He seemed temporarily at a loss for words. Turning his hands palms up, he shrugged. “I thought you were going back to the inn. I went there looking for you, but—”
Shoving her cell phone in his face, she waved it back and forth. “Ever heard of using one of these?” If he planned to say he’d wanted to let her know about the press conference and couldn’t find her, he could forget about it.
“My cell died on me and I don’t have one of those car chargers. I—”
“You lied to me. Again,” she emphasized. “Have a nice evening.”
She tried to open the car door; he braced his hand on it. “I was looking for you so I could tell you about the press conference.”
