A Time to Keep (33 page)

Lines of consternation marred Shiloh's forehead. “Is something wrong?”

She expelled a sigh. “I don't know. My period isn't normal, and I'm tired all the time. I know I'm getting enough sleep, and I have to force myself not to take naps.”

“I'll go with you.”

“You don't have to, Shiloh.”

“But I want to. Later on we'll go somewhere and have an intimate dinner.”

“How intimate?” she asked.

“Very, very intimate.”

“That sounds good to me, lover,” she crooned seductively.

Shiloh kissed her forehead. “Why don't you go upstairs and turn in. I'll be up as soon as I finish typing my notes.”

He stood up, bringing Gwen with him, and staring at her retreating figure until she disappeared from his line of vision. Moving over to the desk, he picked up her printed notes. He sat down, the shock of what he was reading hitting him full force. His wife's meticulous notations were as detailed and comprehensive as a law clerk's.

Her theories were more than that. They were facts, broad, concrete facts. After he'd read the report from the coroner's
office he knew Shelby's killer wasn't a she, but a he. There was evidence that Shelby Carruthers had been
raped!

* * *

Gwen glanced at the pet carrier on the rear seat before maneuvering out of the parking lot behind the small animal hospital. Cocoa was still asleep.

The spirited canine had snarled and snapped at the veterinary assistant whenever she tried opening the puppy's mouth to examine her teeth, and in order to complete the examination Cocoa Taylor had to be sedated.

Her cell phone rang. She glanced at the display. “Yes, Mrs. Carruthers.”

“You've got to come quick.”

Gwen heard the panic in her voice. “What's the matter?”

“Please come and I'll show you.”

Ending the call, Gwen executed a U-turn, heading in the opposite direction. When she drove onto the property Gwen saw a police cruiser and Shiloh leaning against a porch column. What, she pondered, was her husband doing at Janet's house on his day off? She got out of her car and made her way up the three steps to the raised porch. She couldn't pull her gaze away from his stoic expression.

“What happened? Why are you here?”

Shiloh grasped Gwen's hands. He saw his wife staring at him with a look in her eyes he'd never seen before: fear.

“I got here just before you did. Mrs. Carruthers placed a nine-one-one call when someone threw a brick through her bedroom window.”

Gwen blinked once. “Maybe it was a bunch of kids acting out. But why were you called on your day off?” she asked for a second time.

Shiloh shook his head, his gaze fusing with hers. “It wasn't
a bunch of kids. And Jimmie called me when Mrs. Carruthers told him about the note wrapped around the brick.”

“What did the note say?”

“Whoever typed the note warned Mrs. Carruthers that if she doesn't stop asking questions, she's going to end up like her daughter.”

“I don't understand, Shiloh.”

“What is there not to understand?” he spat out. “You've opened a Pandora's box, and in doing so you've spooked a murderer who thought that he'd committed the perfect crime.”

“There's no doubt my asking questions has someone running scared, but who?”

“Who else knows you're trying to solve Shelby's murder?”

“I don't know.”

“Think, Gwendolyn!”

“Don't yell at me, Shiloh.”

“I'm not yelling, darling. I just need answers so I know how to deal with this depraved cretin.”

“I've had contact with people at the D.A.'s, M.E. and St. Martin Police Department offices. You know I spoke with Dahlia and Nash. What I don't know is how many people Janet Carruthers told.”

Shiloh nodded. “Let's go inside and ask her.”

S
hiloh flipped the pages of a parenting magazine without reading any of the articles. The smiling faces of babies staring back at him drew a smile from him. He wondered what the children he'd have with Gwen would look like.

The thought of Gwen pregnant
unnerved
him. He didn't want it to become a reality, not now, not when she'd involved herself in solving the prom queen cold case. Janet Carruthers had admitted that she'd told a number of friends that Gwendolyn Taylor, a reporter for the
Tribune
had offered to help solve her daughter's cold case.

Shiloh had turned over the note to the crime lab for fingerprint analysis, but whoever had typed the note had used gloves. Even the paper was unremarkable—a common rag variety sold in most office supply chains.

He was aware that the only way two people could keep a secret was if one were dead. A murderer had struck forty-two
years ago, and there was no doubt he would strike again if not apprehended. The one noteworthy aspect of the law was there was no statute of limitations on murder.

* * *

“Mr. Harper, would you please come in.”

Shiloh's head came up and he rose slowly to his feet. A nurse wanted him to follow her. His heart pounding painfully in his chest, he made his way out of the waiting area and into a large sun-filled office. All of his trepidation dissipated when he saw Gwen's smile.

She stood up and looped her arms around his neck. “We're going to have a baby,” she whispered close to his ear.

He went completely still. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure,” her doctor confirmed. “Congratulations, Shiloh.” Doctor Stephan Honoree and Shiloh Harper had attended the same high school and graduated the same year. Stephan had gone to college to enroll in a premed program, while it'd been prelaw for Shiloh.

Shiloh smiled at Stephan. “Thanks.”

He'd thanked his former classmate when he should've been thanking his wife. He'd suspected Gwen was pregnant, but she'd insisted she wasn't. She'd put on weight, tired easily, and her body rejected anything with a trace of alcohol. Everything had happened so quickly: falling in love, marriage, and now the news he was to become a father.

Gwen felt the runaway beating of Shiloh's heart against her breasts as he sagged against her. “Don't faint on me, Shiloh,” she chided softly.

He forced himself to stand upright. “I'm okay. When?” he asked Stephan. “When…can we expect the baby?”

“I'm estimating late April, but it can be earlier, because right now I'm not able to pinpoint conception. However, as
Gwendolyn advances in her pregnancy the due date will become more apparent.”

Shiloh's right hand made soothing motions over Gwen's back as he met Stephan's gaze. “Is there something I should know…do?”

“Just make certain she doesn't overtire herself.”

Gwen wanted to tell the two men there was no need to talk about her as if she weren't there, but fatigue weighted her down like a lead blanket. And the fatigue returned the same time every day like clockwork—midafternoon.

“My nurse will give you a prescription for a supply of prenatal vitamins, some literature both of you should read, and an appointment for Gwendolyn to come back in a month.”

Shiloh extended his right hand. “Thank you, Stephan.”

“I'm honored that I'll have the privilege of delivering your firstborn.”

Shiloh held Gwen's hand as he led her to the parking lot. He still could not believe they were going to be parents. When he'd asked Gwen to “make a baby” he hadn't thought it would happen so quickly.

She fell asleep as soon as he drove away from the doctor's office. She didn't wake when he stopped at the pharmacy to fill her prescription, or when he undressed her and put her to bed.

She woke hours later, and instead of dining out they grilled salmon, corn and vegetable kabobs on a gas grill. Gwen made several calls to Massachusetts to inform her family members that she was pregnant, while he made his own celebratory telephone calls.

* * *

Shiloh shifted to a more comfortable position on the bed. “I want you to stop working.”

Gwen went still as she listened to the steady beating of Shiloh's heart under her cheek. “You're kidding, aren't you?”

“No.”

Tilting her chin, she stared up at her husband. The light from a bedside table lamp slanting over his face flattered his even, masculine features. “Why?”

“Because you need to rest.”

“I only work two days a week, which means I have five other days to rest.” She felt the tensing in her hands. “What's really bothering you, Shiloh?”

“Nothing.”

“You're not a very good liar, Shiloh Harper. Is this because of my suspicions about Nash?”

Resting his chin on the top of Gwen's head, Shiloh closed his eyes. “Yes. I want you to stay away from him.”

“I'm not afraid of Nash McGraw.”

“If he is who you believe he is, then you should be afraid. If he killed once, then he will kill again.”

“Nash may be scared, but he's not crazy.”

“I still don't want you working with him.”

“He's going to spook if I show up tomorrow and resign my position.”

“I really don't give a damn how Nash feels, but the fact remains I don't want you working for him.”

Pulling out of his embrace, Gwen sat up. “If I hadn't read those back issues of the
Tribune,
if the cold case of the 1964 Prom Queen Murder hadn't piqued my curiosity you would have no qualms about me working for Nash McGraw.” She glared at Shiloh, silently daring him to refute her.

He avoided her glare when he stared at a trio of black-and-white prints of magnolias, gardenias, and roses on a far wall. “You're right.” His gaze swung back to hers. “But don't expect me to stand by and let you become a potential murder victim.”

“What if I tell Nash that I have to work from home until my fatigue passes?”

A hint of a smile touched Shiloh's mouth. “That should work. At least it won't arouse his suspicions while…”

“While what, Shiloh?” she asked when he didn't complete his statement.

“I'm going to have someone keep an eye on your boss.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Who?”

Shiloh ran his forefinger down the length of her nose. “I can't tell you.”

Gwen pressed her fist to his chest. “Shiloh!”

He caught her wrist. “Even if you beat me into a pulp I won't tell.”

“I know a way of making you talk, Sheriff Harper,” she crooned, sweeping back the sheet.

“No!” he bellowed as Gwen slid down the length of his body. Her interrogation ended when he reversed their position and loved her until both babbled incoherently.

Waiting until his respiration slowed, Shiloh reached over, turned off the lamp, and shifted Gwen over his chest until her legs were sandwiched between his. He loved her, loved her more than he believed he could love any woman.

And if it was Nash McGraw who'd sent the threatening note to Janet Carruthers, then the newspaperman would do well to get his business and personal affairs in order.

* * *

Gwen knocked softly on Nash's open door. “Good morning.”

His head came up. He stared at her as if he'd never seen her before. “Good morning, Gwendolyn.”

“Do you have a minute?”

He motioned to her. “Of course. Come in and sit down.”

Gwen walked into the office and sat down next to Nash's desk. She didn't want to believe the benign-looking man she worked for was capable of murder. She'd found him patient, soft-spoken and polite, and she wondered what had Shelby
done or said to Nash that pushed him over the edge, led him to rape and shoot her.

“I have good news and bad news.”

He closed his eyes for several seconds. “Give me the bad news first.”

“I'm going to need to work from home for a couple of months.”

Nash's blue-gray gaze narrowed slightly. “What's the good news?”

“I'm pregnant.”

He affected a bright smile. “Congratulations. What you ask is doable, Gwendolyn. I'll drop your work off at your house, and you can call me when you want me to pick it up.”

“You don't have to come to my house. I'll come in and pick it up.”

He angled his head, frowning. “But I thought you weren't feeling well.”

“I didn't say I wasn't feeling well. I tire easily, but my doctor said that will pass after a few months.”

“It's your call how you want to do your work.” He reached over and picked up a small envelope. “I need you to transcribe this before five.” He handed her the envelope.

“What is it?”

“Taped debates between Gregory Walters and Julius Riley. I'm putting out a special pre-election issue tomorrow.”

Gwen stood up, tapping the envelope against her palm. “I guess I better go home and get started.”

Nash rose to his feet. “I'm sorry about the rush job, Gwendolyn.”

“Don't worry about it.” Gwen didn't know what was on the tapes or how long they'd run, but she had to get home and transcribe them.

* * *

“Shiloh, I can't believe you did this to me!”

Gwen closed her eyes while gritting her teeth. She'd transcribed more than twelve pages of text, but couldn't print it because Shiloh hadn't replaced the cartridge. She glanced at the clock. She would have to print the disk at
Bon Temps.

She reached for the telephone. “Hey you,” she said when Shiloh answered his cell phone.

“Hey yourself. What's up?”

“I need you to stop and pick up a couple of ink cartridges on your way home.”

“Damn! I forgot to you tell you that I used up the last one.”

“I'll forgive you this time. I'm going to
Bon Temps
to print and edit something Nash needs by five. I…wait a minute, Shiloh, I have another call.”

“I'll pick you up at
Bon Temps.
”