Chapter Five

Gary shouldn’t have been surprised to see her there.

Eyes still adjusting to the dim interior, his fingers tightened on the door handle as he entered the Old Firehall Café. Kate Rowan was sitting on a wooden stool at the counter, her back to him.

Gary stood in the doorway. Just an average bloke on a Saturday, debating what kind of coffee to buy. The first time he had come in the café, he had expected dainty tea-cups and pastel shelves. Not exposed brick and wide spaces. Tables arranged around a fireman’s pole. Air thick with freshly brewed coffee. An undertone of something lighter, herbal. The place gave an impression of purpose, left over from its days as the local fire-station, that even a fresh coat of paint couldn’t hide. That’s what had him coming back.

“Mr. Wendell died this morning,” Kate told Neil, the owner of the café, as he filled a sieve with loose-leaf tea. Her voice was quiet, but the acoustics were right. Low background noise, high ceiling. The place was still half-empty, only a few tables in use.

Kate toyed with the handle of the creamer in front of her, waiting as Neil prepared the take-out cup of tea. Gary caught a glimpse of her profile. Just the cheekbone, a corner of her mouth.

That sentence should have felt like gold. Any kind of knowledge gave you an advantage, kept you in control. A first-hand account from someone living in the house? It was like being handed intel, gift-wrapped with a bow on top. So why was he suddenly wary as all hell?

Gary approached the counter. Neil glanced at him, nodded. The man had always been friendly. Gary tipped and never stayed long. But that shared camaraderie he’d sensed between Kate and Neil when he entered was gone. Their conversation wouldn’t pick up again until he was well out of the way. Fine by him. He smiled, slow and easy.

“Medium coffee, two sugar, one cream?” Neil was already reaching for a mug. He handled the collection of pottery and bone china cups as carefully as a man half his size would.

“That’s right. Same as usual.” Today, he was sticking to routine.

The scent she wore was subtle. You had to be close before you picked up on the citrus. One strand of hair curled above her ear, twisting outward. She hadn’t taken time over it. She smiled at Neil. There it was again, that flash of friendship.

It was only standing right next to her that he noticed how young she looked. The dash of freckles over skin, clear as a child’s. Hands so small he could hold both in one of his.

“Thanks.” He took the coffee from Neil, felt the heat of it through the stoneware. “Keep the change.”

Gary sank down into a chair near the door, his back to the wall. Far enough away, but still close enough to catch every word, so long as the other customers kept their voices at that same low murmur. He pulled out his phone, always a useful prop. Idly scrolling through messages, he crossed his legs at the ankles and settled back. His heart was racing.

Neil wiped down the counter carefully. He was taking his own sweet time bringing the conversation back around. Long enough to have Gary thinking he’d lost the moment. Finally, the man tucked the cloth into his pocket and folded his arms across his chest.

“I thought there was something,” Neil said to Kate. “You’ve been picking at your nails. Nervous habit. And you’re drowning your Assam in milk.”

“Am I that predictable?” She pushed the creamer away from her.

One of the women seated at the table nearby rose and approached the counter with the fragile steps of old age. There was a steady kind of intent about it. Gary could have cursed her for interrupting. In a surprisingly fluid move, she rammed her cane at an angle against the floor next to Kate. The plastic sparkled menacingly. “I’m takin’ it ye’ll be the lass who found the corpse.” The woman’s voice reverberated with a Scottish brogue.

He wasn’t the only one who had been listening.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” She leaned away from the woman.

So Kate was the one who found him.

“Donna even try tae deny it. I know ye are.” She wagged a finger at Kate.

Neil cleared his throat. For a man obviously comfortable around women, he often seemed overwhelmed by them. “Look, Penelope, let the girl fix her tea in peace. Let it go.”

Penelope huffed. “I’m only askin’ a question! Noo, lass, how did ye find him? Did ye walk past and identify the shoes of the mangled body as belongin’ to Mr. Wendell? How did he die?” She leaned closer, her nose only inches from Kate’s.

Kate turned her head away. She didn’t flinch, didn’t draw back. That slight turn of the head was a motion of dismissal that had him thinking of women in old portraits, pale and aloof.

Her glance met his. Gary resisted the urge to look away. Secure in his position at the back of the room, it felt as though he’d suddenly been exposed. Had there been a flicker of recognition? The chair creaked beneath him, and he realized he was leaning forward.

She gave him a sidelong smile, sharing her exasperation with him. “I’m not saying anything.” For one confused moment, he thought she was talking to him.

Penelope sucked in a breath. A sharp hiss that carried over the clink of cutlery. “All right. But mark my words”—the old woman glared at Kate—“this’ll no be finished yet.” She pivoted and limped past him, out the door. The scent of spearmint arthritis cream wafted after her.

The chattering of the women at the other table had become suspiciously quiet. Kate stood. “I’ll tell you more about it later, Neil, when there aren’t so many people around.”

Gary stopped listening. All that build up, the air practically snapping sparks at him, and it led to nothing. His coffee remained in front of him, untouched. He wasn’t in the mood for it anymore. The café suddenly seemed too crowded, the air sickeningly sweet.

It happened quickly. Gary pushed the chair in, stepped back and, the next thing he knew, he was off-balance. It was a solid collision. Probably enough to knock the wind out of Kate. A cup fell to the floor. He adjusted his weight fast. Hands on Kate’s arms to steady her. He loosened his hold when he felt the fine bones beneath the long-sleeved jumper. And felt like letting go entirely when he met dangerously narrowed eyes.

“Could you move?” she asked.

“I would, if I could,” he said, amused.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He held his hands up, palms out and glanced down.

“Oh.” She uncurled the fingers that were clenched on the fabric of his shirt. His grin spread as her skin flushed pink. She picked the cup off the floor where it had fallen.

He bent down and used a napkin to soak up the spreading tea. “Let me buy you another.”

“No, thank you. Look, I’ve had one hell of a morning and you’re still in my way.” She gestured impatiently for him to move aside.

He waited a beat, long enough for her to look up at him again. Frown at him, actually. Shaken, but not traumatized, then. It would show in the eyes, otherwise. “I’m sorry.”

A glance, checking his face for sincerity. “No problem. It was like running into a wall, but I don’t think there’s any permanent damage.” She brushed past him.

Gary was a pace slower leaving, had his hand on the glass, ready to push the door open, when Neil’s voice stopped him. “If you want to have a shot with that girl who had you tripping over your feet just now, she’s here most mornings. Normally earlier than this. I would avoid spilling her tea again, though.”

Gary’s eyes flickered dangerously. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but I’ll keep it in mind.” Anything that drew attention was a risk. People began to make assumptions. Everything had to be calculated now and he couldn’t forget that.