He rubbed his chin bashfully. “I don’t like the idea of you getting into trouble, no. But I do like the idea of helping you.” He nodded toward the camper. “Want to talk to Leola? See what she has to say?”
“Might as well.”
We headed to the camper and knocked on the door, but she didn’t answer. “Must be out,” he murmured.
“I thought she drove her camper around—it’s one of those drivable ones.”
He scratched his chin. “Mmm. Either that, or she’s avoiding us. We’ll catch up with her later.”
If there was one thing that I had figured out about Leola Vass, it was that this woman not only had secrets, she was willing to cheat in order to win at competitions.
But did her willingness to break the rules also mean that she was a murderer?
I didn’t know, but I was bound and determined to find out.
Chapter 17
“Have you heard anything else about the person who might know who you are?” I asked Rufus when we were driving back to my truck.
“Not yet. I’m still waiting for Willard’s call to set us up.”
My stomach knotted. “Sounds like a blind date.”
He shot me an annoyed look. “It’s not a blind date.”
“John?”
“Clementine?” he teased, mimicking the way that I had said his name.
I spoke slowly, gathering my thoughts. “If you knew something about someone, something that would hurt them, would you still tell them anyway?”
His brow furrowed. “What are you saying? Do you know something about the murderer?”
“No,” I quickly replied. “Not at all. All I’m saying is that”—I exhaled deeply—“what if you knew a tiny bit of information that could hurt someone? Would you tell them?”
He shot me a concerned look. “What are you trying to say, exactly?”
Crap. I was screwing this whole thing up. I was trying to ask him if he wanted to know about himself, but in reality, the questions that I posed were only confusing him.
“Never mind,” I said with a deep exhalation.
“No, you brought it up. What does this have to do with? Does it have to do with me and my memory?”
“Nope.”
I was such a chicken. But I had an excuse. Why ruin a good thing by convoluting it? The truth would hurt him. The timing of telling him had to be exactly right. Otherwise, things between us would sour. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself and neither would I, if I destroyed what we had built so far.
Which wasn’t much, I knew that. I wasn’t a moron. But the path I treaded on was a brittle, fragile thing and had to be dealt with gently.
It amused me, how fragile I seemed to think Rufus was. Wasn’t he? Or was this in my mind and I was simply making up another excuse?
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you,” I said gently. “I was just working some things out in my head.”
“Okay,” he said slowly.
I wasn’t sure that he completely believed me.
When we reached my car, I hopped out. “Do you have any nights free this week? Maybe I could cook you dinner and you could come over?”
