Chapter Seven
Franny chastised herself the entire time she got ready the next morning. A woman was missing, and she was doing her makeup because maybe Deputy Campbell would come back to the bakery and talk to her again?
It was gross and wrong…and it didn’t stop her. She grabbed her laptop, shoved it in its bag, and then stepped out into a hot, muggy morning.
Was Albennie somewhere hot without any air-conditioning? Was she still alive? Would—
“Stop,” she muttered out loud. She couldn’t worry about Albennie because she couldn’t do anything about Albennie. She had to focus on the things she could do.
Maybe Royal would have some updates. Not that she expected him to be at the bakery. He’d probably only gone yesterday as a one-off. And even if he did become a regular to get coffee to start his shift, it didn’t mean they’d talk every morning.
“Because you’re not going to be here every morning. This is not the schedule.” And talking to herself out loud outside was not the best sign for her mental health. She made it to the bottom of the stairs and forced herself to slow down.
Just out for a casual stroll to the bakery for some food and work.
She opened the bakery door, internally chastised herself for immediately searching the room for Royal.
He wasn’t there, although one person was.
Franny was pretty sure the woman worked at the bookstore, but she’d only talked to the manager so far.
This woman was chatting with Lia while Lia worked the espresso machine.
Franny set her bag down. The door’s bell tinkled, and she quickly looked behind her. She was not disappointed that the man who stepped inside was not Royal, because she wasn’t looking for Royal.
The man got into line behind the bookstore lady. They exchanged a few words, so Franny seated herself at her table and determined she was going to write a paragraph before she ordered coffee. She opened her laptop, the book document.
Maybe she’d deal with her email first. She just couldn’t think clearly if she had unread mail. Especially an email from her accountant. Ugh. She hated numbers and reality.
“You’re working here again?”
Franny looked up and realized the two customers had left while she’d been deep into crafting a response to her accountant that wasn’t: I don’t know, dude, numbers aren’t my thing.
“Just for research.” Franny beamed at Lia, even though she was pretty sure the woman saw right through her.
The bell jingled, and since she was proving a point, she didn’t look behind her. She studiously hit Send on her email. Then she stood to get in line for coffee…
Only to come face-to-face with Royal. Those eyes were so blue. She made a noise—even she didn’t know what it was. A kind of oof squeak.
“Morning, Franny.”
She had to swallow. Plenty of people said her name, so she wasn’t sure why in his low voice it felt…different. “Morning.”
He glanced at her table. “Looks like you haven’t ordered yet. Let me buy you a coffee,” he said, stepping up to Lia and the counter.
“Oh, no.” She followed him helplessly. “You don’t have to—”
“She loves a latte,” Lia said, oh so helpfully.
“A latte and a regular coffee then.”
Franny glared at Lia, but she turned away to handle the drinks, so Franny had to smooth out her expression and smile at Royal. It didn’t feel like a smile on her face. She felt awkward and like he could definitely tell she’d put on makeup this morning, because of him.
Stay inside where your weirdness belongs, Franny.
But Lia handed Royal the cups and Royal gestured to her table, so she had to walk back to it and let him put the latte mug in front of her computer, while he settled himself in the chair opposite.
She closed her laptop, since he was staying apparently. “Thanks for the latte. You really didn’t have to.”
“Community relations.” He smiled at her, and she just…wasn’t good at this. It felt like flirting, but maybe it was just community relations. How was she supposed to know?
Fictional people were so much easier.
“You looked like you were working hard.”
“I wish. I was emailing my accountant. Which is hard work, because I’m trying to sound like I have any idea what he’s talking about, and I most assuredly do not.”
He chuckled. Which was… She didn’t know. She didn’t know what to do with any of this. Why had she sought this out?
His gaze tracked to the big window that looked out over Main as he sipped his coffee. “Listen, I don’t suppose you’ve noticed anyone out of the ordinary poking around? Maybe asking you or Lia questions?”
She held herself very still. She refused to be disappointed. Of course he was just…working a case. Of course he was.
But she had to clear her throat to answer. “No one’s talked to me. I haven’t seen anyone talk to Lia.” She thought about this morning from the lens of what she should be—a careful observer in the wake of a terrifying kidnapping—instead of…whatever this whackadoodle mess was.
“There was a guy in here this morning who I don’t know. But he didn’t seem to ask any questions or be unduly interested in anything. He just got his coffee and left. You could ask Lia if she knew him.”
Royal glanced at the counter. Lia was in the back.
“Yeah, maybe I will.” But he didn’t get up and do that right away.
And since this was about the kidnapping, and it was professional, she figured that meant she could get some of her own questions answered.
“Can I ask you something about the case?”
He studied her with a wariness that felt…heavier than it should, she thought. But he inclined his head in a go ahead move.
“It’s just, I…noticed something. About the questions you guys asked and the questions the FBI asked. Where they…differed.”
That wariness turned to contemplation, and then an intense concentration that did more of that heart-fluttery thing inside her chest. “Oh, yeah? How’d they differ?”
“Maybe it’s because they already knew I didn’t know Albennie that well, but I heard them talking to other people and they didn’t ask those people either.”
“Ask what?”
“About who might want to hurt her. Ex-boyfriends or known enemies, customers who’d given a weird vibe. You asked people about that. Copeland too. But the Feds didn’t.”
He studied her, those blue eyes serious. Focused. “You sure?”
She nodded. “I started paying attention because it was just so…clear. They had a different angle. They were interested in the timing. The security cameras. More the…hows than the whys. It just made me think…” She trailed off realizing how ridiculous this was.
“I’m sorry. You’re a professional. I’m just a…
bystander. You don’t want to hear what I think. ”
“Actually I do.” He leaned forward, watching her very carefully. “What did it make you think, Franny?”
Nerves danced in her chest—and they were nerves over sounding stupid and having him make fun of her, but there were also these sort of awareness nerves that she really didn’t do well handling.
But she focused on her theory. “Well, if they weren’t asking who might want to hurt her…they might already know who.”
Royal kept staring at her. If she was a criminal, she was pretty sure she’d confess. Maybe even to things she hadn’t done.
“They do have the description you gave, the license plate. So maybe they do know. Maybe they knew before they even got there.”
Franny nodded. “Has anyone identified him yet? Found the car? Anything?”
Royal didn’t answer right away. But his gaze was sharp, attentive. She imagined he was working through a couple different problems all at the same time. Or maybe he was deciding how nice to be to the crazy writer, like he’d seen Misery one too many times.
“No, they haven’t found anything that I know of,” he finally said.
Hope folded in on itself, and she just felt unaccountably…depressed. “Maybe it never mattered I got all that information then.” Maybe you should have done something in the moment.
“It mattered,” Royal said, seriously enough she looked up from her little pity party. His gaze was blue and intense. “It will matter,” he said forcefully.
And it actually made her feel a little better that he thought so.
IF THERE WAS one thing Royal hated about police work, it was reports.
He’d never gone to school in any traditional sense of the word.
A semester with this foster family, some homeschooling lessons with that one.
Nothing in the gang, obviously. Well, Brooke had tried when he’d been really little.
The fact he could read at all was probably thanks to her.
He’d gotten his GED. He’d passed the POST test. He’d learned, but writing things out was just never going to be his strong suit.
He pushed away from the table where he’d been working. If he didn’t take a break, he was going to be way too tempted to hurl the computer against the wall, and since it was county issued, that probably wasn’t in his best interest.
He paced the apartment for a little bit, trying to get some of the pent-up energy out of his system. He’d joined a gym in Fairmont, and he was technically off duty since it was after seven, but he didn’t like the idea of being gone a couple hours even if there was a deputy on call for night shift.
Maybe he could go for a run. There wasn’t a great path in Hope Town, but maybe he could carve one out. Though probably not in the dark.
He walked over to the window. Hope Town was dark and quiet below. There were a few streetlights, but beyond this Main Street everything around him out there would be pitch-black nothingness.
Royal blew out an irritated breath. Along the street on the opposite side, most of the lights in the buildings were off except for security lights in the shops on the first floor. He knew most of the apartments on the second floors were rented by the women who owned or worked in the stores.
Were there any men in this town? He’d asked Lia about the man Franny had seen at the bakery this morning and had been told Ellis Sutton was on the up and up, though he’d looked into what Lia had said just to verify.
Nothing out of the ordinary, just one of the few men with a Hope Town address.
But wasn’t that in it of itself weird? Why did Zach Simmons only lease businesses to women? Was it some kind of…feminist outreach?
Or something more sinister.
“Not everything is sinister,” he muttered to himself, mostly because he remembered that glimpse of Zach Simmons—father and husband—that had reminded Royal of the good people he’d met since moving here.
Thanks to Brooke.
Maybe Brooke knew Zach Simmons, or Zeke probably would. He could ask them what they thought.
But his mind didn’t stay where it should. It flitted off.
Brooke knew Franny Perkins.
He shook his head.
“Weird-ass town,” he muttered, then happened to look up to the apartment across from his. Franny Perkins’s apartment.
And as if he’d conjured her, there she was in the window. In much the same position he was in—looking out at Main Street. She was illuminated by a light in her apartment. It was hard to tell from this distance, but it felt like she was looking over at him. He was no doubt illuminated to her too.
As if to confirm, she raised a hand in a little wave.
Not knowing what else to do, Royal raised his own hand in waved acknowledgment.
Then she turned away from the window and lowered her blinds. He watched those closed blinds for longer than he wanted to admit, wondering what a night in Franny Perkins’s apartment looked like.
None of his business. But he was putting her theory in his report.
Because she was on to something there. And if the Feds knew who they were looking for, it didn’t make sense—to Royal’s way of thinking—to keep local law enforcement out of it.
What if he saw something that would connect, but missed it because he didn’t have all the details?
He shook his head, closed his curtains, and went back to his report.