Part 56 (1/2)
”I told you about our floater. A man who was found in a bayou. We struck gold. A sample of DNA was taken. It matched up with a man named Carrick. So happened he was charged with rape while in the service. The victim refused to testify but he was given a discharge and his DNA went on file.”
”The name meant something to you,” she said.
”He worked occasionally for Randolph Ames.”
He punched in some numbers on the cell phone.
”Sanders, it's Gaynor again. Any luck?”
She could hear the reporter sputtering over the line. It was clear he was very angry at being stonewalled.
”Well, I might have something else for you.”
She noticed he let that tantalizing morsel sit a moment before continuing. ”Ask the Ames people if they know a man named Carrick. Accused rapist some years ago. Now a body in the morgue. A floater with no hands and no head.”
He listened for a moment, then said with some relish, ”Look in your own morgue for photos of State Senator Randolph Ames. You'll discover Carrick in some background photos. Apparently worked as a chauffeur and bodyguard.”
Meredith heard an exclamation from the receiver, then Gage said, ”I don't know if he knew or not. I'm sure you can find out. But you didn't get it from me.” He snapped the phone closed.
He turned back to her. His eyes were worried. ”I don't like the idea that Holly Ames is missing,” he said.
She felt a similar panic. She'd heard enough to send chills down her back.
He took her hand. ”Let's get back. I really want to talk to Ames. By the time DeWitt finishes with him, he's going to be in a panic.”
They paddled back without stopping along the way to gaze at birds as they had on their way out.
As they drew closer, she saw Dom pacing the small, rickety dock, Beast beside him.
Gage stepped out of the canoe as Dom tied it to the dock. Then Gage reached out and helped her from the boat.
He turned to Dom. ”What is it?”
”They're closing down my shelter.”
*Chapter Twenty-nine*
'BISBEE'.
Holly worked on her latest creation, Belle the b.u.t.terfly. She had steadily increased her production, enjoying every single moment.
She couldn't remember when she had been so happy. Nor when Harry had been.
She was finally beginning to feel safe. If Randolph hadn't found her by now, he'd probably cut his losses and made up some plausible story.
Now that she was concentrating on Garden Folk, she no longer went to the library every day. Instead she had invested in an inexpensive used computer. She still checked the New Orleans papers occasionally, but certainly not with the compulsion she had her first weeks in Bisbee.
The increased amount of work had not diminished her joy in creating. She now had the pig, the b.u.t.terfly, the frog, the ladybug, a whimsical turtle, and a snail. Each one changed, according to her mood and the piece of metal she used.
It was the best of all possible worlds. She could watch Harry, and now he had the computer as well as the television, books and Caesar to keep him happily occupied. They went for a long walk every day, and that was their special time together.
Doug had gotten into the habit of dropping by two or three times a week, always with food. He knew how much Harry loved tacos, and he could whip them up in no time while she put away her tools. Sometimes Jenny came and sometimes not, depending on her schedule.
Doug and Holly would sit outside and have a gla.s.s of wine or beer and watch the sun set.
He would leave then, realizing that she had to get back to work. He was the most undemanding, most patient man she had ever met. He just seemed to enjoy their company.
It was frightening how much she looked forward to his knock on the door and how much she liked looking at his face. It was such a pleasant face. The sun had bronzed it. Intriguing laugh lines drew attention to kind and intelligent eyes and a mouth that smiled easily. The features were craggy rather than handsome, obviously carved by character rather than displaying the smooth good looks of someone to whom everything came easily.
She had never heard him say an unkind word about anyone. She couldn't remember Randolph ever saying a kind one.
Every day, she got nearer and nearer to telling Doug her story. Each time, she caught herself before the words spilled out.
She knew she would. That one day she would trust him enough to tell him. And that day she would be putting her life, and Harry's, in his hands.
The phone rang, and she picked it up.
”We've received three orders for your Garden Folk,” Marty said happily. ”Also received a call from a gallery in Florida asking about them. They want to purchase ten but they also want to know something about the artist for marketing purposes. Apparently it's an intimate type of place that likes to personalize everything.”
”What is there to say?” Holly asked cautiously.
”Maybe something about how you became inspired to create them.”
”I'm not a writer.”
”Why don't I write up something and let you look at it?”
”Okay,” Holly said without enthusiasm. ”But I don't want anything about Harry or myself.”
”I'll be sure to concentrate on the creativity part,” Marty said. ”Can you and Harry come to supper tomorrow? I'm having another little gathering to celebrate. About the size of the one we had, when you first came. Bring Doug.”
She hung up before Holly could reply.
Holly slowly replaced the phone in the cradle. She knew that Bisbee now considered the sheriff and her a couple. Several comments had been made at the store where she shopped and at the library. 'Are you and Doug going to the concert in the park? Are you and Doug going to the opening of the new restaurant'?
She saw the love in his eyes. She felt it in the way he touched her. In his infinite patience. She wondered if her eyes reflected her growing feelings for him.
Perhaps it was time to tell him. But then what, as a lawman, would he have to do?
Would it be fair to him? She would never know until she told him. And they couldn't continue as they were. He wanted more. He needed more. He deserved more.
Perhaps tonight...
'NEW ORLEANS'.
Everything was unraveling. The d.a.m.n reporter wouldn't give up. He had even turned up at campaign headquarters and barged into Randolph's private office. The last question had been like a dagger aimed directly at his heart. ”Do you know a man named Carrick?”