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“Please, stop staring at me.” Her voice was still raspy, even after a half night’s sleep.
“I can’t help it,” Jake whispered, smoothing the hair back from her forehead. “I almost lost you yesterday. Twice.”
“But you didn’t. I’m fine, Jake.”
“Do you know the worst part about it all? I might not have ever known it, not until I heard it in passing.” He mimicked the sound of a random bystander’s voice. “Say, did you hear about that reporter the other day, the one that jumped out of her moving car and cracked her head wide open? Or— Did you know Mac claimed another victim last night? That pretty little reporter staying up at The Dove. You know, Jake, the one you’ve been sleeping with. Didn’t you know?” She heard the pain in his voice, bleeding through the heavy slant of sarcasm.
“I’m sorry, Jake. I’m truly, truly, sorry. I didn’t want to cause you any more pain or trouble than I already had. I was trying to spare you,” she said, stroking his dark head as he lay it against her chest.
“By scaring me half to death when Mike Cooper called, saying he was taking you to the hospital? Do you have any idea how I felt, especially to learn it was the second time someone had tried to kill you in one day?”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“God, Gera, don’t ever do that to me again.” He pulled her close, absorbing the shudder that moved through her body and echoed within his own.
They settled among the pillows and held each other for long, silent moments. Jake finally broke the silence.
“What is going on, Gera?”
“The less I tell you, the better off you’ll be.”
“Nice try, no sale. What’s going on?”
“I told you. Someone tried to frame Mac’s ghost for the recent crime spree, knowing he would also be blamed for Abe’s death.”
“So this was premeditated.”
“Yes.”
“What were you doing last night, going on that ghost tour again?”
“Looking for evidence.”
“Why? Is that some sort of scam?”
“Not the way you’re thinking. The tour guides are victims, too, in a way. They don’t realize the visions they see are being projected around town, set on timers, and controlled by the killer. They think they’re truly seeing ghosts.”
“But they’ve been doing those ghost tours for years.”
“I’m not saying that all the visions are fake, even though we both know my opinion on that. I’m saying I found a pattern, dating back about two years, that revolves around the image of Mac McGruder. What Anise and the other tour guides thought was their special ‘spiritual connection’ was an image on a timer.”
“Who is it, Gera? And why haven’t you gone to Anderson with this?”
She fingered the cloth of his t-shirt, dancing around a direct answer. “How well do you know Miles Anderson?”
“Well enough, I guess. I’ve always known of him, but he’s several years older than I am. We never traveled in the same circles. I’ve gotten to know him better since I’ve moved back. We serve on several committees and boards together.” He shrugged. “Seems to be an all right guy. Why?”
“I know this will sound crazy, but... I’m not so sure that Miles Anderson isn’t the killer.”
“What? You’ve got to be kidding!”
“I wish I were. There are just so many coincidences. I admit, most of what I have is circumstantial evidence, but it just seems to keep coming.”
“You do realize the man is the chief of police, right? A highly respected member of the community.”
“Yes, I do realize this. But it all comes down to motive, opportunity, and means. I hate to say it, but so far he appears to have all three.”
“What would his motive be?”
She gingerly shifted positions, mindful of her battered body. The stiffness had set in now, seeping into her muscles and settling like cement. The entire right side of her body, the side that absorbed the brunt of her unceremonious slam onto the pavement, was bruised and beginning now to turn a kaleidoscope of colors. Her scrapes were still raw and oozing, and required bandages that itched. Careful to avoid as many of the sore spots as possible, Gera eventually settled into place.
“Sorry,” she apologized.
“Do what you need to do to get comfortable. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m good.” She propped her arm on a pillow and continued with her theory. “I think it’s about the Cunningham house.”
“I suppose it’s in a prime location and has some historical value, but it’s hardly a mansion. I can’t see it being all that valuable,” Jake reasoned.
“Did you know Miles Anderson was involved in a lawsuit two years ago? They settled out of court so that it wouldn’t affect his career, but he’s making some hefty restitution payments. Since his wife is in line to inherit the house, it means he might have some claim to it, too, once Ruth passes away. An inheritance might come in handy when paying off a lawsuit.”
“But Ruth is still alive, so the house is still hers.”
“But she’s getting older, and it was a pretty big settlement.”
“What about opportunity? Means?”
“I’m working on that, one piece at a time. The chief is one of five people to have keys to the property, so he had the means to lure Abe inside. And of course, he has access to a knife. I’m also working on the set-up. Two of the witnesses who named Mac’s ghost as the perpetrator have recently had minor charges against them either dropped or reduced. A third witness—to two of the crimes, no less—was almost his stepson. Turns out, Billy Boy’s mother was Anderson’s first wife.”
Jake blew out a low whistle. “You’re right; it’s all circumstantial, but it does look suspicious.”
“Add in the fact that the chief was conspicuously absent after I was attacked last night. I know the man has to have a little time off, but even Cooper didn’t know where he was.”
When Jake’s phone rang, he carefully extricated himself from the bed and padded across the room in his boxer shorts. SuperClark, indeed. She reined in her lustful musings when she realized he answered with short, terse responses.
His expression was grim when he came back into the room.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“They just found Ruth Cunningham’s body in her yard.”
“Oh no! What happened?”
Jake touched her hair as he replied quietly, “Apparently, she died of multiple snake bites.”
Gera’s nostrils flared as memories of the previous day flooded into her mind. She thought she could smell it again, that unmistakable musty reek of a serpent. When she closed her eyes, she saw a replay of that moment when the snake fell from her visor. Her eyes popped back open.
“It’s okay, sweetie.” Jake said, stroking her hair.
Gera’s gray eyes clouded. “Aside from the fact that the house will soon belong to Beverly Ruth—and, hence, her husband—I think the snake connection is a bit too coincidental.” The image of Billy Boy and his disgusting tongue ring slithered into her mind, mingling with the leftover images of snakes from her car. “I hate to say it, but it’s just that much more evidence against Miles Anderson.”
***
“HERE YOU GO, MADAM. Your suitcase.” Jake deposited the piece at the foot of the bed with a flourishing hand movement.
“Is that your fancy bellhop move that wows all the ladies?” Gera teased.
His eyes twinkled with mischief. “It’s one of them.”
“Thanks for bringing the rest of my stuff.”
“I’ll issue you a refund, by the way. No need paying for a room you aren’t using.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and asked, “Why are you getting dressed? You need to stay in bed.”
“No way. This doesn’t change anything. I still want to spend the day with you. Outside this hotel.”
“You should rest. You had a rough day yesterday. Your body needs time to recuperate.”
Gera pulled a brush through her hair. “I didn’t say I wanted to hike Sycamore Canyon, but I do want to get out and do something. But the canyon may be something we can do later. Maybe on my next visit.” She checked her appearance in the mirror. A red bruise circled her throat, a vivid reminder of last night’s horror.
Jake came up from behind, studying her reflection in the mirror. “Will there be a next time?” he asked quietly.
Her heart thudded in her chest. “I want there to be a next time. Don’t you?”
“Not only a next time, but a time after that, and a time after that.”
It was just the right thing to say. Sweet. And so typically Jake.
Gera gave him a saucy look, but her eyes were unusually moist. “Good answer.”
––––––––
THEY HEADED TOWARD Sedona and spent much of the day driving through the countryside, seeking views of the iconic rock formations. Gera was too sore for hiking, but they ordered sandwiches and ate at a picnic area in the Slide Rock State Park. They splashed for a while in the creek, holding hands and laughing like youngsters, and Gera discovered that the water—and Jake’s easy company—was therapeutic for her stiff muscles. They sat upon the rocks to dry, where the hot sun and wind made short work of the job. In Camp Verde, they found a barbecue shack and stopped for dinner, and listened to a live performance by a local band. What the group lacked in talent, they made up for in enthusiasm.
And that night, when an electrical storm moved across the plains and lightning danced in the clouds and lit the dark sky with fantastic streaks of color, they lay in Jake’s bed high upon Mingus Mountain and made slow, sweet love.
Neither could imagine the brewing storm that was yet to come.
