Chapter Ten
an empty slip beside a boat called the Salmon Mann—one of David’s boss’s boats—leaving Adaleigh with no idea what she should do with herself next.
Walking aimlessly up the boardwalk, she considered her position. The only reason she’d initially arrived in Crow’s Nest was because she ran out of money for gas. And food. Now she was involved in a murder investigation while still trying to stay out of her sister’s search radius. Panic rose but eased when David’s parting words punctured through the haze.
He’d called her Adaleigh.
Hearing him use her real name, as he had at the ice cream parlor, was like being wrapped in a warm embrace. Like the way he held her after that horrid newspaper man took her picture. What would it be like for him to hold her without panic distracting her?
“You’re David’s friend, right?” said a voice behind her.
Adaleigh jumped and turned to find Mindy, the waitress from The Wharfside Café. She had a small purse over her arm, like she planned to go calling instead of taking orders.
“He’s a nice person, you know,” she said. “He’s got a soft spot for you too. I’m Mindy Zahn, by the way.”
“You can call me Leigh.”
“I’m glad to meet you, Leigh.” Mindy smiled and fell in step with Adaleigh. “How do you like Crow’s Nest?”
“So far? It’s pretty.” And more adventurous than she wanted. Though, about David’s hugs …
“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to live somewhere outside of Crow’s Nest.” Mindy shifted her purse to her other arm.
Adaleigh’s curiosity piqued. “Have you never traveled?”
“No. I’ve worked at the café since I turned sixteen and have never left.”
“What about college?”
“What’s the use of college? Or a girls’ school? I’ll be working until I marry.”
“Is that all you want?” Adaleigh’s dreams went well beyond that. Didn’t other women dream too?
Mindy shrugged dismissively. “Are you looking for work? If you are, don’t work at the café.” She leaned close as if to share a profound secret. “The men can get handsy.”
“Is that what happened with Amy Littleburg?” It seemed a natural segue. She couldn’t solve the harassment for Mindy, but perhaps she could solve the murder of another woman.
Mindy brushed something from her skirt. “Amy didn’t work at the café. I don’t wish to speak ill of her, but she liked the male attention.”
“Did you see her with anyone in particular?”
“Friday morning, Joe and her walked by the café, looking all friendly.” Mindy’s tone had an indecipherable edge.
“How do you know Joe?”
She blushed. “When he first got to town Wednesday, he came into the café, and we … we went out on a date.”
Responding to an instant surge of concern, Leigh placed a hand on her arm. “Was he good to you?”
“He was a charmer. At first. I didn’t realize until he wanted more from me than walking me home that he’s not someone I wanted to date.” Mindy switched her purse to her other arm as they reached the end of the boardwalk. Then she pointed back the way they’d come. “My place is that way, but I liked talking with you, Leigh. You’re really nice, and I see why you’ve caught David’s eye. Would you want to get together again soon? I don’t have many friends anymore, and David was right that we would get along.”
David thought that, huh? A warm spot slowly filled Adaleigh’s chest. “How about Friday?” She was getting to have a regular social calendar for a stranger in a small town! It felt comfortable. Good. And she ignored the worry nagging in her mind in favor of those pleasant thoughts.
Mindy brightened. “I get off at three on weekdays. I live above the bakery—it’s on the south end of the boardwalk—let’s meet at The Wharfside and go there.
“Sounds delightful.”
They said their goodbyes, and Adaleigh watched her walk away. If Adaleigh kept finding people like Mindy, David, and his family, perhaps staying in town wasn’t such a bad idea. Starting anew, putting down roots … the concept filled her with an unfamiliar sense of contentment.
All through dinner—another one with just Mrs. Martins and herself—the possibility of staying here distracted Adaleigh. She even offered to clean up for Mrs. Martins so that she could spend some time doing something in order to wrestle through her thoughts.
Truth was, she didn’t know whether she could stay, regardless of what David, Mrs. Martins, or Detective O’Connor believed about her safety, or how she was beginning to feel about a certain first mate—who didn’t return until after Adaleigh had retired. She spied him from her upstairs window as he trudged up the walk. His shoulders slumped, and Adaleigh almost redressed in order to see how she could help.
More sane thoughts kept her in her attic room. No reason to be forward, especially if she had to leave at a moment’s notice. Even if she liked the roots, she was putting down. Ugh! If her sister found her, leaving would be so hard, provided she survived the encounter. Maybe she needed to leave before then, then again, perhaps she could do some good before she left part of her heart in Crow’s Nest.
“This is late for you, old man.” Silas rounded the back of the house, where David sat with a cup of old coffee.
“Thanks for coming.” David waved at the rocker, where Adaleigh had sat the night of Amy’s murder.
Had Adaleigh still been downstairs when he arrived home, he wouldn’t have called Silas. He’d prefer to talk with Adaleigh, but this was better, safer for his heart, at least. And Silas kept late hours after his time out west, working in his father’s workshop, and since their telephone was located in there, David knew he wouldn’t wake the rest of Silas’ family by calling.
The chair creaked as Silas lowered his large frame into it. “What’s on your mind?”
David rested his cup on his knee and looked out over the dark yard where Grandma’s garden would provide food for the winter. The air was comfortably warm, if not a little humid. “I’m in trouble, Ward. I should have known it the instant I pulled her out of the water.”
Silas had the nerve to chuckle as he rested his cowboy hat on his knee. “I was expecting to talk about your father, but okay, tell me about—what’s her name, again?”
“A—Leigh.” David corrected himself. “That’s just it, I don’t know much, but she’s lost her family and needs a safe place.”
“And there’s your problem.” Silas wagged a finger at him. “You can’t resist helping people.”
“It’s different.”
“I can tell. You’re smitten.” Silas’s tone made it sound like he used the word disgusting.
David glared at him, seriously considering whether to toss the remnants of his coffee at him. It wasn’t good for drinking. “You got something against the fairer sex?”
Silas rubbed his hands over his closely cut beard. “Family comes first and I get the impression that Leigh is … progressive. Girls like her, who jump into water without thought to their clothes, don’t become wives who grow gardens and pinch pennies to make ends meet.”
“You’ve always thought I should marry Mindy.” David’s irritation oozed out.
“You two are close. Why not?”
“Because she’s too … safe.” The realization struck with that word. Adaleigh Sirland was anything but safe. She was daring, mysterious, confident, and had survived being attacked by her own sister. Since that first day, all David wanted to do was find out more about her. And with how things had been going so far, it could take a lifetime to delve deep enough.
“I can see those wheels turning, Martins.” Silas interrupted thoughts that were going way too fast. “You have your family to think of, too. Your father being suspected of murder is a big deal. Getting sidetracked by a stranger doesn’t seem wise.”
David glared at him. “Why did I invite you, again?”
Silas laughed. “Because you know I’m the voice of reason and you needed a heavy dose of it. You’ve got time to figure things out with Leigh.”
But did he have time?
“For now, focus on your family. Your father’s been absent for years, but this can’t be easy.” Silas swung his hat between his knees. “Your grandma and siblings need you, Martins. Don’t get sidetracked by a pretty face.”
“You admit she’s pretty?”
“I ain’t touching that one.” Silas laughed again and stood.
David leaned his head back to keep eye contact. “You ever think about settling down? Especially since your brother …” died. And left a wife and two sweet little girls behind.
Silas grunted, hiding his face as he replaced his cowboy hat atop his head. “I don’t know that I’ll find a girl who understands my responsibility to my family. I’m the father my nieces don’t get to have and any girl has to understand that. I just don’t see it happening. Especially with one of those progressive girls like you’ve got your eye on. Where’d I ever find a gal like that?”
“I pulled Leigh out of Lake Michigan.” David chuckled. “No telling where you might find just the right match.”
“Shut it, Martins. I came over to help you, not get relationship advice of my own.”
“But it does help me because now I know I’m not the only one thinking about the future.”
Wednesday, June 4
The next afternoon, after helping Mrs. Martins clean the house—something she had never done before—Adaleigh decided to revisit the seamstress shop where Sean worked to learn more about Amy’s last night. If she could get Sean to tell her a detail Detective O’Conner didn’t know, perhaps it would be enough to take the pressure off David’s dad.
It took Adaleigh a couple extra, out-of-the-way blocks before she found the shop, but it allowed her to notice her surroundings more than she had before. She spotted the courthouse and city hall, even the Conglomerate headquarters across the street from her destination, Rose’s Seamstress Shop. Perhaps she’d meet one of Mrs. Martins’s elusive friends.
The shop door opened to her push. “Hello?”
Sean emerged from the backroom, eyebrows drawn into a V. “I thought I locked the door. We’re closed. Mrs. Whittlebush will return in the morning. Unless you’re interested in the dress I showed you yesterday?” He ran his eyes over her, as if taking her measurements.
“Can you show me fabric you could make into a similar style?” Maybe that would cover her real reason for being here.
He returned with a few choices, all warm colors that blended with her brown hair. He had a good eye, which he squinted at her while holding the bolts of fabric close to his chest. “Do you think Samantha would agree to go on a date with me?”
Adaleigh blinked. Where had that question come from? She folded her arms to study the young man using bolts of cloth as a shield. “Why didn’t you ask her out before?”
He looked down, kicked his foot. “I had a girl. Amy.” His jaw tightened.
“I know.” Adaleigh watched him closely. “Were you guys close?”
“Not at first.” Sean rubbed a piece of fabric between his fingers, fraying the edge. “Amy asked me and how could I say no? She’s Amy Littleburg. I thought we were having fun … until she began working for the Hitchens.”
“Did she not want to go out on a date with you, then?” Adaleigh pressed, catching the bitter tone in his voice.
“Oh no, she did. She wouldn’t let me out of her sight! A gal who wanted me—I’d be crazy to break it off. Then a week or two ago, she stopped talking to me, started avoiding me. I was desperate to understand.”
A pit slowly formed in Adaleigh’s stomach. Fully aware that she didn’t want to hear a murder confession, she still had to ask the question. “What’d you do?”
“She finally agreed to go on a date this past Friday, then stood me up, so I came to the boardwalk searching for her. She assured me we were fine.” Right, the heavy petting in full view of the boardwalk. “Then, not twenty minutes later, I found her necking with this other, smart-dressed guy.” Anger flashed in his eyes.
An image came into Adaleigh’s head of a good-looking man in a suit waiting a few buildings down from the Lightning Bug. Joe Spelding. Could he have been waiting for Amy? The night after he tried to take advantage of Mindy? The creep.
His face clouded in a storm of anger and sorrow. “Some dope, I was.”
“I’m sorry.” She watched Sean’s face for signs of guilt or anger, but all she saw was his drooping shoulders and downcast eyes. Either he was an exceptional actor or this poor boy wasn’t a murderer.
“Did you want this?” Sean lifted his arms to indicate the fabric he still held.
Adaleigh shook her head, wishing she had the money to buy a few dresses from him.
“Martins!”
David popped up from checking the Hicks marine motor in the belly of the Salmon Mann, the second boat in Mann’s fleet. “Captain Henegan. What can I do for you?”
The old captain swung himself onto the boat. “How’s the engine repair coming along? Will I be able to take the Salmon out in the morning?”
“I think I fixed the problem, but I need to take her out to be sure.”
“You’ll be back in time for the meeting tonight, right?” Henegan frowned. “Surely, Mann told you?”
“No, sir.” David wiped his hands on a towel. “What’s the meeting about?”
“That’s not like him. You’re his right hand, so why would he leave you out of this?”
Of what? David wanted to shake the man. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know.”
“He feeling okay?”
“Captain Mann? The usual aches, I’m sure.” David wasn’t about to admit to the other issues. Not to an employee, no matter how much he liked Captain Henegan.
“We’re meeting in the basement of the Catholic church at seven.”
“Seven, huh?” Is that why Mann gave him tasks to keep him busy while he was out with Spelding? The ledger, the engine repair … Did Mann want to keep David away from the meeting?
“And I’m sorry to hear about your dad, son.” Captain Henegan slapped David’s shoulder. “No one should have to deal with their father being a murderer.”
David bristled at the expectation of guilt, but kept his mouth closed.
Henegan left with an overly cheery goodbye, and David cranked the Hicks engine, his thoughts spinning as fast as the propeller. He wrestled with the news that his boss had shut him out of whatever meeting was happening. Why keep him in the dark? Did it have to do with the discrepancies he found? Or with the fact that everyone considered his dad a murderer?
Though David kept the bow facing east, he watched over his shoulder as the pink hues cast a warm glow over the scattered clouds along the western horizon. The spires of the two churches, one at either end of town, stretched into the sky. Trees beyond the small town—not to mention Crow’s Nest Creek—cut it off from the rest of the state, giving Crow’s Nest the sense of being a haven. Perhaps that’s what caused Adaleigh to pause here long enough for him to meet her.
The wind whipped up a couple stronger waves. He wanted to kick up his feet and enjoy the colors as they changed from bright blue to the darkness of night, but he stayed alert, guiding the boat over roughening water. He wished Adaleigh sat beside him, enjoying the sunset and helping him think through the questions that filled his mind.
He liked her company—more than he realized after talking with Silas last night. He also liked the conversations they’d had over the last couple days. She made him think, made him feel. Deep places he’d long given up healing, now saw hints of hope—something he could use in large supply right now. Adaleigh harbored many secrets, however, and a past that caused her much pain. Opening his heart might backfire. He couldn’t forget her sister had attacked her. A wrong move might send Adaleigh running. He had to think of her needs before leaning on her for his, if he wanted to cultivate her friendship.
A strong wave sprayed water over the deck, and David turned toward home, assured the engine worked fine. Yes, he was used to employing patience, waiting for fish to bite or the weather to cooperate, and then acting in a moment when the time presented. Perhaps he just needed to use the same skill to show Adaleigh she’d found someone she could trust.
Halfway down the block from Mrs. Whittlebush’s tailor shop—outside a Dr. Thompson’s clinic—Adaleigh heard her name. Her fake name and it took a few moments for it to register that whomever it was referred to her.
“Leigh!” The call came from across the street. Detective O’Connor.
He crossed quickly, meeting her on the sidewalk. “What brings you down here?” Detective O’Connor asked. The trace of a smile hid behind his mustache but peeked out through his eyes.
“Shopping.”
Detective O’Connor’s eye twitched. “I thought you said you had no money … or did Samantha loan you some?”
Caught red-handed doing anything but shopping. Her mouth turned down.
“I suspected as much. Snooping into a case that isn’t your business?” He lifted his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “You talked to Sean.”
Adaleigh shrugged.
He cocked his head. “Best tell me what you learned.”
She crossed her arms. “Joe Spelding is mixed up in this.”
“Oh?” Detective O’Connor’s eyebrows raised and his body tensed. This was something he didn’t expect her to say. Interesting.
Adaleigh relaxed her stance. “Sean said Amy spent last Thursday evening with a man I believe was Mr. Spelding. On Friday, David and I ran into him on the boardwalk, and Sean said Amy met up with a man matching his description. Did you find out more about him yet?”
His eye twitched again.
She smiled as sweetly as she could. It had never worked for her—not on Dad, not on her teachers, and certainly not on her swim coaches—but still, she tried, hoping for something she could share with David.
Detective O’Connor shook his head. “I can tell you I set up a meeting with Buck Wilson, the conglomerate boss.” He pointed over his shoulder, toward the headquarters. “There’s a lot of foot-dragging, so I suspect Spelding is one of theirs.”
“That’s good for David’s dad, right?”
“Not necessarily.” He studied her for a moment. “Sean opened right up to you, didn’t he?”
“Yes.” She drew out the word, knowing the detective had somewhere he was going with his observation. “Why?”
“Nothing for now. Go back to my sister’s. I’ll be there for dinner.”
“Fine.” Adaleigh gave him her but-not-because-you-said-so look and swiveled on her heel.
Mrs. Martins and Samson were the only ones home when Adaleigh arrived. The older woman stirred something in a pan over the wood stove, and Samson’s nose hovered nearby. No wonder. A delectable smell met Adaleigh as she entered the kitchen. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that coffee, toast, and ice cream did not make a meal.
“Welcome home.” Mrs. Martins waved to one of the chairs on the far side of the table. “Have a seat and keep me company while I cook.”
Adaleigh agreed, and Mrs. Martins stepped away from the pan long enough to plop a plate of fresh cookies in front of her.
“Milk’s in the fridge.”
Adaleigh asked her what she was making.
“Fish stew,” she said over her shoulder. “A family favorite. Besides fish, it has carrots, potatoes, onion—or whatever vegetables are still in the cellar at this time of year.”
Fish stew? Adaleigh had eaten various types of chowder, but never fish stew. Surprising, how delicious it smelled.
“Do you like to cook?” Mrs. Martins asked.
“I never had much opportunity. Our family cook didn’t like me underfoot.”
“Ah.” Mrs. Martins chuckled. “Maybe you’ll like cooking if you give it a try. Come, stir this.”
Navigating around the dog, Mrs. Martins handed her the wooden spoon but kept her hand on Adaleigh’s. She had strong, albeit bony fingers.
“That’s it. Slow, easy strokes. We’re thickening it while adding the creamy flavor by mixing in flour, milk, and butter.”
Around and around, the fish chunks tumbled over the brightly colored vegetables. Heat from the stove warmed Adaleigh, making her wish for a cool breeze. After Mrs. Martins added the milk, flour, and butter, she stepped back. Adaleigh risked glancing at her with a grin. She was cooking!
The older woman moved around behind her, gathering various things. “I’ll make the rolls while you stir.”
“You love to cook, don’t you?” Adaleigh asked, sniffing at the amazing smells wafting up from the pot. Garlic?
“Oh yes. My mother also didn’t cook—my father did—very unconventional, I know. I would stand on a stool and stir for him.”
“Did you grow up in Crow’s Nest?”
“I did. My husband and I bought this place two years after we were married. Back then, it was only a one-story, one-bedroom house. When Maggie—my son’s wife—got sick, I started the addition. My husband had passed by then and I knew the kids would end up with me since I was their only other family.”
“How long ago was that?” Adaleigh cringed a bit after the question popped out. Hopefully, the older woman wouldn’t find her intrusive.
“Let’s see, Patrick is twenty-two, so twelve years now.”
“Does it get easier?”
“What?”
Adaleigh swallowed. “Losing someone?”
Mrs. Martins pulled her hands out of the dough, dropping flour on the floor. “No, and yes. The pain of loss does not, but learning how to live without them does get easier as time passes.”
Adaleigh blinked back the tears. There was hope, then.
The older woman turned the conversation back to cooking while she separated the dough into little blobs for the rolls. While they rose, she freed Adaleigh from the pot so she could add the seasonings. Adaleigh watched, mesmerized, as Mrs. Martins sprinkled in a little of this and a little of that.
“While I stir this, can you slip the rolls in the oven?” Mrs. Martins asked. Adaleigh obliged. “How are you liking your stay in Crow’s Nest thus far?”
Adaleigh hesitated. The answer seemed more complicated than she could explain.
“Hmmm.” Mrs. Martins seemed to understand. “That fresh start you said you wanted? You might find—”
The older woman’s words were drowned out as Samson leapt away from the stove with a howl. Somehow, he got his four huge paws moving in the same direction, spinning his way down the hallway, barreling straight for the front door. The front door banged open, then slammed shut, silencing Samson’s bark.
A beat later, a young man’s voice echoed down the hallway. “Grandma! I’m starving!”
Adaleigh tried to relax the fists her fingers had formed.
“Don’t holler, Patrick,” Mrs. Martins shouted right back. “Come in here and talk to me.” To Adaleigh, she lowered her voice and said, “They disappear all day, but they know where to find the food.”
Patrick traipsed into the kitchen, Samson loping behind him as if neither had just taken two years off her life.
“It’ll be ready in a few minutes.” Mrs. Martins glanced over at him from the stove. “How was your day?”
“Fine.” He plopped down at the kitchen table, and Mrs. Martins sighed. “Nothing interesting in hauling fish, Grandma.”
Samson’s howl prevented a reply. Once again, he lunged down the hallway. Adaleigh tried to keep herself from tensing. Failed.
“Grandma!” a female voice this time. “Is that your fish stew?” Samantha appeared in the kitchen, Samson at her heels.
“Who wants to set the table?” Mrs. Martins peered significantly at her adult grandchildren. “No food for anyone who didn’t help with something.”
“Aw, Grandma!” Patrick rolled his eyes.
“That’s not fair!” Samantha crossed her arms.
“Family rules.”
“Did she help?” Patrick dragged himself off the chair while glaring at Adaleigh.
“Leigh helped me quite nicely.” Mrs. Martins whisked the buns out of the oven.
Seemingly out of excuses, Patrick pulled the plates out of the cupboard. Samantha moaned, but joined him with the cutlery. Just as they laid the last place setting, Samson howled once again. This howl, however, sounded different from the others—three short howls. A bit of skidding, and he was down the hallway for a third time. Curiosity overcame Adaleigh’s anxiety.
“Hey boy!” Detective O’Connor’s voice bounced down the hall. “Did you miss me? Yeah? Was Great Aunt Marie nice to my big boy?”
Who knew the gruff old man had a soft side?
“I’m surprised you don’t have half the neighborhood knocking at your door, Em.” He emerged into the kitchen. “I could smell that halfway down the block.”
“I told the children no food without helping me, so reach me down those serving bowls.”
In a few minutes, they had all sat down at the table, Adaleigh once again next to Samantha and across from Patrick, but keenly aware of David’s absence. After Mrs. Martins’s insistence on saying grace, everyone dove into the food. It tasted even better than it smelled.
The stoneware and unshined silver would have been beneath Adaleigh’s parents to eat off of, but Adaleigh liked it. More and more, the absence of those items her family and neighbors would have considered essential to a meal—bone china, candelabras, and dinner dress—were things Adaleigh had no interest in seeing again if it meant not being a part of a family, albeit a flawed one, like the Martins.
Second helpings had already gone around when Samantha broke the silence. “Uncle Mike, I heard you interrogated Sean today.”
“Comes with the job,” he answered, wiping his bowl with a bread roll. “How’d you find out?”
“I heard it from three of my friends who all heard it from someone else.”
He paused with the roll suspended in mid-air. “Any of those friends got an idea of who killed Amy?”
“Michael!” Mrs. Martins swatted his arm with her napkin. “Not at the dinner table.”
“We have odds on the guy Sean caught her with,” Patrick said between bites.
“What did I tell you about gambling?” Mrs. Martins wagged her fork at him.
Patrick held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say I had money down on anyone in particular.”
Detective O’Connor swallowed his chunk of roll. “Just don’t go near him, ya hear?”
“A killer?” Samantha wrinkled her face. “No way.”
Detective O’Connor muttered something to himself.
“Michael!” Mrs. Martins glared at him. “Language. And stop talking about the case. And the Conglomerate. And all this nasty business. I don’t want it at my table.” She jumped to her feet with surprising youthfulness, disturbing Samson, and began picking up the serving bowls even though not everyone’s plate was yet empty.
Detective O’Connor’s bushy brows scrunched together as he straightened. “Marie, I know you’re worried. But what about seconds?”
She waved a butter knife at him. “He’s innocent, Michael. And until those officers stop railroading him simply because he’s not some outstanding citizen, I don’t want to hear any more.”
Detective O’Connor raised his hands just as Patrick had done.
Silence descended. Patrick snagged a dinner roll from the basket before his grandmother snatched up the serving bowls, then followed Samantha as they dashed down the hallway toward the front door. Neither Mrs. Martins nor Detective O’Connor bothered to scold them into staying. Adaleigh offered to help with the dishes, but Mrs. Martins claimed she wanted to do them by herself. Detective O’Connor gave Adaleigh a nod, using his chin to direct her outside. She went.
Shadows stretched out from the front of the house. She breathed deeply, the muggy air clean and warm, easing the awkwardness of the past few minutes. Summer made for her favorite evenings. She could sit in the grass or a hammock and let the day fade into night. Let her troubles melt away.
Some of her favorite memories were from nights such as these. She and her friends would set homework aside to gaze up at the stars and dream about their lives beginning. At university, nightfall would bring out good-natured debates, driving convictions deeper into their beings. Adaleigh missed those days more than ever.
The screen door opened, and Samson brushed past, headed for the lawn.
“He’s her son, so I can’t blame her for being uptight.” Detective O’Connor eased himself down onto the top step, next to Adaleigh. Samson rolled in the grass as if rubbing in Adaleigh’s longing for carefree days. “I hate to see her put through this, and those unruly grandchildren sure don’t help. You’d think being adults, they’d act like it.”
“She’s a tough woman.” Adaleigh leaned against the porch railing. The summer breeze wrapped her in a warm contentment she hadn’t experienced in long while.
“That’s an understatement.” Detective O’Connor swung his hat between his knees. “She watched her husband waste away from cancer, nursed her daughter-in-law through the illness, then couldn’t stop her son from going off the deep end. Now she’s supposed to be retired, living a quiet life, enjoying coffee with the ladies, but instead she’s chasing after ingrates.”
Adaleigh stayed quiet, letting the old detective talk and watching Samson hunt down a flying insect.
“Life isn’t always fair.” Detective O’Connor rubbed his face before heaving a large sigh. “All right. I’m probably going to regret this. It goes against my better judgment, but hearing myself talk just now seals it.”
“Yes?” Adaleigh half smiled at him, still a bit drunk on the summer air.
“My hunch was correct this afternoon. Somehow, you get complete strangers to tell you things they won’t usually say.”
“Is this the theory you mentioned?”
“I had to prove it first. And Sean told you more than he even considered telling me.”
“Weren’t you the one who said people in Crow’s Nest don’t trust outsiders?”
“I thought so. Then, considering even I sat here sharing my deeper thoughts with you, who knows? Maybe it’s just you.”
Adaleigh laughed. “Like I cast a spell or something?”
“Your words, lassie.”
She shook her head. “I think it’s just human nature. We’re more willing to reveal hidden parts about ourselves to someone we think won’t see us again because the risk of judgment is lessened.”
“I wouldn’t have believed it without seeing it.”
“We discussed some of these ideas in my psychology classes. It’s human nature to not want to be judged, but we need to verbalize our thoughts. Sometimes it’s because we sense a comrade-in-arms, and other times it’s because the stranger is the first person we see.”
“All that is beyond me.” Detective O’Connor waved a hand.
Adaleigh chuckled. “I find it fascinating. It shows how important revealing a part of oneself is to building relationships.”
“Does that mean you’ll be my informant?”
“Your what?”
“We might be able to get Frank off the murder charge if I can offer more reasonable suspects, or at least find out more about Amy’s life, the type of things it seems I can’t learn without dragging her friends into an interrogation as the big, bad, special investigations detective.” He rolled his eyes. “If Sebastian will even let me do that.”
“And you think I can learn things because I’m a stranger?”
“Who has an uncanny way of getting people to talk.”
Adaleigh stared at him. She had the skills and told David she would help. This might be just the chance she needed.