Page 36 of Capturing You
“Right.” She laughed, the sound lighthearted and free, completely incongruous with the conversation. “I probably could’ve guessed that. But you know the old saying about catching more flies with honey.” As the words came out, her nose wrinkled. He assumed she was thinking of the spider incident.
Which brought the memory of Brooklynn after she’d taken off the insect-infested clothes. He’d known, intellectually, that she wore shorts beneath his button-down, but the shorts hadn’t shown. Whathadshown were long, shapely legs.
Everything about this woman was a distraction.
“Speaking of insects, I put my clothes and the ones you let me borrow—the other ones, obviously—into the wash. They’re taking forever to dry.”
“It’s an old dryer.” He lifted the second half of his sandwich.
“I bet you’d learn more in an hour at The Salty Frog than you’ll learn all day long holed up in that office.”
He set his food down. “The what?”
“It’s a restaurant, coffee shop, bar, depending on what time of day you get there. Been there since before I was born. It’s where a lot of locals hang out.”
“I’ll try it, if it comes to that.” He lifted the sandwich again.
“But not yet.”
He didn’t stifle his sigh. “Not yet.”
“Because you want to formulate your own opinions, which I get. But the people who were around at the time can probably tell you more than those papers in the office.”
He lowered his meal once more. “I know you think all the people of Shadow Cove are above reproach, that not a single one of them could be involved in…whatever you saw this morning. And I’m sure it’s never crossed your mind that one of them could’ve had anything to do with the murders that happened in this house twenty-five years ago. But somebody knows something. I’d rather not paint a big target on my back just yet.”
If anything, her smile only broadened.
“What?” She was the most annoying person he’d ever met.
“I have a theory about you.”
He inhaled, counted to three, then exhaled slowly.
He was supposed to ask her theory—that was what she expected. But he didn’t feel like playing games.
He lifted his sandwich and took a huge bite. Waiting for her to share her stupid theory and telling himself he wasn’t curious.
“If somebody was involved in the murders back then,” she asked, “what makes you think they still live here? Wouldn’t they leave town?”
He swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Why would they? They got what they wanted and never got caught.”
“Well, because…because don’t guilty people run?”
“Running makes you look guilty.”
“But also keeps you out of prison.”
Except nobody had gone to prison. Nobody had ever paid for his family’s murders.
“You don’t think the murderer is still here?” Brooklynn’s cheerful demeanor faded. “After all these years.”
“Maybe. They might still live right where they did before. These particular guilty people?—”
“You think there’re more than one?”
“I don’t know.”
He did know. But he couldn’t say so. And why was he having this conversation?
