Chapter Six
By the time Carter’s Jeep pulled in behind her at her apartment complex, Mira was second-guessing her decision to invite him over.
She should have suggested they go to a coffee shop, or a bar—someplace less intimate.
But would she really have been able to tell him her story if there had been a chance of other people overhearing?
He had been here before, of course, the day of her accident.
He hadn’t done anything to make her uncomfortable then.
He followed her up the stairs to the second floor and waited while she unlocked the door.
She could feel his gaze on her, studying her, but he didn’t say anything.
She led the way into the apartment and locked the door behind them.
When she finally faced him, she was struck by how weary he looked, fine lines she hadn’t noticed before at the corners of his eyes, his shoulders a little slumped.
“How long were you out searching for Bryce?” she asked.
“A couple of hours.” He rolled his shoulders and grimaced. “Before that, we had a call to look for a missing elderly woman. Her relatives found her at a house down the street and we had just gotten back to headquarters when the call went out about Bryce. I worked all day before that so…long day.”
“Can I get you anything?” she asked. “Have you eaten dinner?”
“No.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “I don’t want to put you out.”
“I can make you a sandwich.”
“That sounds great.” The genuine gratitude in his smile touched her more than any flirtatious smirk could have.
“Sit down and rest,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
Instead of sitting down, though, he followed her into the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?” She opened the refrigerator and surveyed the contents. “I’ve got flavored seltzer and, uh, cranberry juice? Or water.”
“The seltzer is good.”
She handed him the can, took one for herself and pulled out the sandwich makings. He sat at the breakfast bar and watched her work. “I was surprised to see you at headquarters this evening,” he said.
“My friend Shayla texted me that Bryce had been found and a lot of people were going to search and rescue headquarters to find out what happened. I decided to go and see if you were there.” She opened a container of salad and layered lettuce on the turkey and cheese sandwiches.
“Because you wanted to tell me something?”
She gave him points for not bringing up the subject before now. “Let’s eat first,” she said.
She took a bag of potato chips from the cupboard and handed it to him, then set a sandwich down in front of him. She settled onto the other barstool with her sandwich.
His sandwich disappeared with alarming speed. She was too nervous to do more than pick at hers. She ended up cutting it in half and passing half over to him. “Go ahead and eat it,” she said. “I’m not that hungry.”
“Thanks,” he said when that, too, had vanished. “I was hungrier than I thought.” He looked at her expectantly, and she knew she had put this off as long as possible. She pushed the remains of her sandwich away and stood. “I want to show you the notes I received,” she said. “Both of them.”
She went into her bedroom and retrieved the notes from her dresser drawer, then laid them on the bar in front of him. “You saw one of them already,” she said. “But the other one was first.”
He scanned both the notes, then looked up at her. “So, who is David?” he asked.
She settled onto the second barstool and shifted to face him.
“David Ketchum was a student at the elementary school in Santa Fe where I taught Spanish two days a week,” she said.
“He disappeared three years ago, a couple of weeks before the end of the school year. A few days later, his body was discovered on public land not far from town. Police have never found his murderer.”
A single line formed on his forehead, and he looked older. “And the letter writer is accusing you of having something to do with this—the murder of a little boy?”
“I didn’t have anything to do with it. I hardly knew David.”
“Were you ever a suspect?” he asked.
“No! I wasn’t even questioned. I don’t know why this creep thinks I had any connection at all.”
Carter scowled at the two notes. “Maybe they heard you were from Santa Fe. They remembered the crime—it must have been all over the news back then—and decided that was enough of a connection to accuse you.” He tapped a note with one finger.
“None of the things this person has written about to other people are real crimes. They obviously get off on annoying people.”
“Then you believe me?”
He jerked his attention back to her. “Of course I believe you.”
“Thanks.” She slumped on the stool, wrung-out—from her worry over Bryce, her accident, the notes—everything. “I’m sorry I lied at first and told you the letter was about jaywalking.”
“Hey, in your shoes I probably would have done the same thing. Though maybe I’d have come up with something more exciting than jaywalking.” There was that grin again, teasing her out of her bad mood. Or trying, anyway. She would give him props for that.
“What would you have said?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’d been accused of telling criminally bad jokes.”
“I’ve never heard you tell any kind of joke.”
“I’m a Jeep tour guide. It’s part of the whole schtick to tell bad jokes. It’s a hit with the kids in the group and that makes their parents happy. How do you get a squirrel to like you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Act like a nut.”
She groaned. “See?” he said. “It works every time.” His eyes met hers and she fought the sensation of being off-balance.
As if she might float to the ceiling or slide off her stool.
“Um, what do you think about the notes?” she asked.
Anything to keep him from looking at her like that—as if he wanted to see past the surface, to uncover all her secrets.
Carter studied the notes again. “Nothing really stands out about this. They’re both typed—or rather, printed. Plain white paper. No envelopes?”
“No. Just the folded paper. The first one was tacked to the front door. You can still see the hole from the tack at the top there. The other one was pushed through a gap I left in my car window. It lay on the driver’s seat when I left class the day of my accident.”
At mention of the accident, he looked at her again. “How are you feeling?”
She shrugged. “A little sore. And determined to drive more carefully. My insurance is paying for a rental while they decide what to do with my Toyota.”
He nodded and returned to his study of the notes. “The message is pretty melodramatic, isn’t it?” he asked. “If not for the seriousness of the accusation, it would be almost funny.”
“There’s nothing funny about it,” she said. She hugged her arms more tightly around her.
“The timing of these notes is interesting,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“It sounds like you got them about the time someone tried to snatch that other boy—last week. The kid who got away. Maybe that’s why you received the note. The letter writer heard about the attempted abduction and was reminded of the case in Santa Fe and decided to single you out.”
“The first note came before the abduction attempt.” She reached for the can of seltzer and drank some more, focused on keeping her hand from shaking. “It’s such a creepy coincidence. And now this has happened to Bryce. I can’t help thinking he could have ended up like David.”
He swiveled to face her, their knees almost touching. “I know you said you don’t want to go to the sheriff, but why not?” he asked. “Maybe this letter writer is harmless, but what if they aren’t?”
“But what if the sheriff believes the accusations?” she asked.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No. But innocent people get accused of crimes all the time.” She shook her head.
“I remember what it was like when David disappeared. People made all sorts of unfounded accusations. At one point the police there questioned his own father for something like nine hours. I don’t want that kind of attention.
And maybe attention is what this person is after.
I think if I ignore them, they’ll give up and move on to something else. ”
“Maybe.”
“I haven’t had any new notes,” she said. “Maybe whoever this is has already moved on to someone else.”
“Maybe,” he said again. He sounded so doubtful. Had she made a mistake, confiding in him? “Please don’t tell anyone about this,” she said.
“I promised I wouldn’t,” he said. She heard no irritation in his voice, only conviction.
“Thank you,” she said.
She slid off her stool. “I just wanted you to know the truth. It feels better, telling someone.”
He stood also. “If anything else happens—more notes or anything that upsets you, call me,” he said. “You have my number.”
He seemed genuine. “Why do you care so much? You hardly know me.” Was this a ploy to get her to go out with him?
His expression remained serious. “I told you, we’re friends now. You shouldn’t have to deal with everything all by yourself.”
He was either the smoothest operator she had ever met—or he was sincere. His words brought a lump to her throat, so that she could only nod. She followed him to the door and locked up after she closed it behind him, then sank onto the sofa, overwhelmed by the events of the past few hours.
She ought to feel relieved. She had told Carter about David, but she hadn’t told him everything. The thing she didn’t want anyone to know. Especially the sheriff.
When Carter reported to Alpine Jeep Rentals the next morning, he braced himself for his parents and sister—maybe even Dalton—to make a fuss about him being a hero for finding Bryce Atkinson.
He’d gone out of his way to avoid attention at search and rescue headquarters the evening before, but if his family wanted to make a big deal out of it, that was okay.