Part 2 (2/2)
”That's what you're going to find out.”
CHAPTER TWO.
At precisely the stroke of noon, the little red sports car pulled into the first available parking spot accompanied by a flourish of pebbles kicked up by braking hard on the gravel surface. The driver's door opened even as the engine shut down, and Miranda Cahill stepped out, pausing to take in the surroundings. The old hotel on the edge of town was just this side of shabby. Paint a few years past its prime. Shutters a wee bit crooked. Even the sign that hung from the wooden post out near the edge of the parking lot-THE FLEMING INN ~ EST. 1741-needed a sprucing up. But in spite of its obvious need of updating, the place did possess a certain charm. There were pumpkins marching along the hand railing at the front steps and clay pots holding an abundance of brightly colored chrysanthemums nestled in a corner of the porch. 1741-needed a sprucing up. But in spite of its obvious need of updating, the place did possess a certain charm. There were pumpkins marching along the hand railing at the front steps and clay pots holding an abundance of brightly colored chrysanthemums nestled in a corner of the porch.
On the whole, it wasn't bad for a hole-in-the-wall town like Fleming, Pennsylvania, she nodded. Not bad at all.
She checked the other cars in the lot. As she'd expected, the compact belonging to Bureau profiler Anne Marie McCall was already there. Next to Anne Marie's car sat a dark blue Pa.s.sat with D.C. tags. No idea who that belonged to. An SUV with Pennsylvania tags, again, no clue. Five other cars, all with Pennsylvania license plates, were parked at the far side of the lot. Maybe staff, Miranda thought as she slammed the car door and headed up the cobbled walk to the front door, which she found standing open.
She stepped into an entry that was decorated somewhat prematurely for both Halloween and Thanksgiving, with a cornucopia on a wide sideboard and several more mums in huge pots at the base of a wide staircase, and a wooden bowl filled with candy corn on the receptionist's desk. Small fabric ghosts and orange pumpkin lights draped the newel post.
”Hi.” Miranda greeted the middle-aged woman who appeared from the room on her right. ”I'm to meet some friends here.”
”Ms. McCall's group?” The blonde woman asked.
”Yes.”
”Right this way. Your group is meeting in a small side room so you can have some privacy. Not,” she grinned wryly, ”that we're overcrowded here for lunch today. But Ms. McCall did say that privacy would be appreciated.”
The woman led Miranda through a large dining room on their right to a smaller room beyond. Only three of the eight chairs that flanked the long refectory table were occupied. A warm fire glowed from a small corner fireplace, and lace curtains hung from the two windows. An oddly genteel place, Miranda mused, for a discussion such as the one they were about to have.
”Sorry I'm a little late,” she apologized as she removed her jacket. She draped it over the chair next to that of the only other woman in the room and sat down.
”You're right on time. We were just sitting here, enjoying the atmosphere before we have to get down to business,” Anne Marie told her. ”Besides, we still have one yet to arrive, so let me pour you a cup of this excellent coffee”-she did so as she spoke-”and you can just have a minute or two to relax.”
”Evan, it's good to see you again.” Miranda sat and accepted the cup Anne Marie offered her.
”Always a pleasure.” Evan Crosby, a detective from nearby Avon County with whom Miranda had worked on several cases over the past year, greeted her with a smile.
”And Jared, I'm guessing you're the man in charge here today?” Miranda leaned forward to address the man on Evan's left.
”Just standing in for John.” Jared Slater sipped at his coffee. ”He had a previous commitment. Since Philly is the closest field office, I got the call.”
”I spoke with John briefly yesterday.” Miranda's eyes met Evan's from across the table. ”He mentioned that an old friend of ours is no longer a guest of the commonwealth.”
”Footloose and fancy free, as of Monday.” Evan nodded.
”How'd he get out so soon?” Miranda frowned.
”First offense plus good behavior equals a light sentence. Eight months in the county prison, three years probation.”
”And he is where now?”
”In a trailer park about four miles from here.”
”Really?” She mulled this over. ”Explains why we're meeting in beautiful downtown Fleming.”
”Never could put a thing past you, Cahill.”
Miranda's cup froze momentarily midway between her mouth and the saucer. She'd know that voice anywhere.
s.h.i.+t.
”h.e.l.lo, Will,” she said to the newcomer without looking up. ”I wasn't aware you'd be in on this powwow.”
”We've invited Will to join us because of his computer skills as well as his insightful investigative ability,” Jared explained.
”My charm, wit, and das.h.i.+ng personality had nothing to do with it.” Will Fletcher took the seat next to Evan, seemingly oblivious to the flash of annoyance that crossed Miranda's face.
”Aren't you lucky to have those computer skills to fall back on,” she murmured.
”How about if we get Mrs. Duffy back and put in our order for lunch so we can get started.” Jared went off in search of the owner.
”You're looking well, Cahill.” Will faced Miranda from the opposite side of the table.
”Thank you.” She chose not to return the compliment, though he did, in fact, look pretty good. He always did. Dark hair, dark eyes. Great body.
Forget it, she cautioned herself. That game has been played out.
”I can take your orders if you're ready.” The blonde woman Miranda met out front had followed Jared back into the narrow room.
”Let's make this quick.” Jared trailed after her. ”We have a lot to cover today.”
Orders were hastily placed, gla.s.ses of water replenished by a young man wearing a white b.u.t.toned- down s.h.i.+rt and khakis, and the door separating the small dining room from the larger one was pulled partially closed.
”Alrighty, then, folks.” Jared removed a folder from the briefcase that rested on the vacant chair next to the one in which he sat. ”Time to get down to business. If I recall correctly, everyone here-except for Agent Fletcher and me-has had some contact-direct or indirect-with our subject, Archer Lowell.”
Anne Marie, Evan, and Miranda all nodded.
”Archer Lowell, age twenty years, ten months, first child and only son of Lionel and Sissy Lowell. Father left home when the boy was three. Graduated from Fleming Regional High in 2001, ranked three hundred twenty out of three hundred seventy-three students. Worked as a driver for All-County Auctions from June of 2001, until he was arrested for stalking and a.s.saulting Amanda Crosby in 2002.” Jared looked up from the sheet of paper that lay before him on the table. ”Your sister, Detective.”
”Correct.” Evan's jaw tightened.
”He entered a plea, accepted a reduced sentence at the strong urging of his lawyer.” Jared folded the sheet of paper neatly in half. ”So much for past history.”
”So what's he done since he's been released?” Will asked.
”Nothing yet. At least, nothing that we know of,” Jared said.
”It's what he's expected to do that's the problem,” Miranda told him.
”What's he expected to do?” Will frowned.
”Murder three people,” Anne Marie replied.
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