Gingerbread Man (3 page)

The kids. The house. The book. His senses
prickled. He'd turned the book in, and then forgot he had. But
there had been something...

Slamming on his brakes, he jerked the wheel
and brought the Jeep Wrangler to a jerky stop on the shoulder. He
grabbed his coat, searched the pockets and found his dog-eared
notepad. Flipping it open, he read what he had written there:
The Gingerbread Man.
Dilmun Public Library, Dilmun, NY.

IT TOOK FIFTEEN minutes to walk from the neat
little house on Lakeview to the Dilmun Police Department on East
Main. Holly knew this because she walked it every weekday—unless
there was a blizzard or something. It was one of her favorite parts
of the day, her walk to work. Mostly because of the little girl who
walked beside her.

She looked down at Bethany, seven going on
fifteen, as the little girl waved to her mother standing by her
front door. Her mother blew her a kiss, and Bethany blew one back,
her blonde curls gleaming in the morning sun.

God, she reminded Holly so much of Ivy.

Holly glanced east toward the crooked finger
shape of Cayuga Lake, partly to hide the rush of emotion from her
favorite next-door neighbor. "Look at the way the sun gleams on the
water," she said. "It's the most peaceful thing in the world, isn't
it?"

"Especially now that all the summer people
are gone," Bethany said.

Tourist season was over. There was no breeze
as they walked along together, but the tangy scent of dead leaves
and a crisp autumn bite flavored the air. It was good here. Nothing
bad ever happened in Dilmun.

She let her gaze travel farther along the
lake's shore, past a half-dozen empty rental cabins that lined the
southern shore, to the hulking shape of Reginald D'Voe's Gothic
mansion on the far side. "Look, Beth. The leaves have fallen enough
so you can see Reggie's house from here."

"Creepy!" Bethany remarked, with a smile that
said she loved it.

The house hunched above the town on a small
hill, separated from it by a thick stand of woods, and the
narrowest part of the lake. That mansion had always reminded Holly
of an aging vulture.

"Have you ever been inside?" Bethany
asked.

"No. Have you?"

"No, but they say old Reggie is going to have
a Halloween party this year. Every kid in town is invited. I might
go."

Holly glanced down at the girl with her brows
raised. "A party? Really? I thought Reggie was a recluse." Bethany
wrinkled her nose and tilted her head to one side. "You know, a
hermit?"

"Oh." Bethany shrugged. "I don't know. Mom
says he used to have a Halloween party every year, way back in the
old days."

Holly nodded. Reginald D'Voe, the town's
favorite claim to fame, had moved away for several years, but just
the year before last he'd come back, taking up residence once
again. As little as anyone saw of him. Holly figured most of the
locals never even knew he'd been gone.

"Have you ever seen any of his movies?"
Bethany asked.

"Hasn't everyone?"

Bethany giggled. "He comes to school
sometimes. He is a great story reader."

"Is he?"

"The best!" Bethany exclaimed with an
enthusiastic nod.

"So you haven't decided if you're going to
his party?"

"I don't know. Everyone who goes has to wear
a costume, and I don't have a costume for Halloween yet." She
shrugged. "Still, Mom says it will be the biggest party of the
whole year."

They came to the intersection where Bethany
had to turn off to go to the school. Last year, Holly had walked
the girl every step of the way. Now, Bethany insisted on traveling
that last block alone. And in deference to her pride, Holly had to
let her, though it almost killed her to release the girl's hand
every time.

Bethany waved. "Bye, Holly!"

"Bye, hon. Have a good day. Be careful."

Grinning, Bethany skipped off, blonde hair
flying behind her. She joined several other kids heading for the
school at the far end of the block. Holly didn't start walking.
Instead she stood near the corner and watched them all the way to
the school building. And she kept watching, until they got safely
through the front doors.

Only then did she continue on her way to
work.

She had to walk through the tourist section
of town to get to the police station at the other end, but she
didn't mind. She loved walking the tourist strip this time of year,
when it was all but deserted, other than a few shopkeepers just
unlocking their front doors, or sweeping colorful fallen leaves off
their section of sidewalk. The trees were nearly bare now.
Skeletal.

The strip ended suddenly at the intersection
of Main and Fairfax. Here was the barber shop, the small grocery
store-slash-gas station, the library, Mr. Lee's Ice Cream Emporium,
which was closed now that the tourist season had ended. It closed
at the same time every year.

She liked that about this town. Its
predictability. Its regularity. She thrived on calm, order, and a
good solid routine. Serene waters were the kind she needed in her
life, she mused, glancing toward the ever-present lake. She didn't
do well in stormy seas.

She was so intent on looking at the lake that
had become a fixture in her life that she didn't see the man
standing outside the police station until she heard his impatient
thumping on the door, and his deep voice, saying, "What the hell is
the
matter
with this town, anyway?"

Great. A stumbling block in the path of her
daily routine. She
hated
when that happened. Scowling, she
picked up the pace, walking right up behind the man. He was bending
over, hands cupped on either side of his eyes as he peered through
the glass, trying to see between the lettering of the words Dilmun
Police Department.

"Actually, there's
nothing
the matter
with this town," she said, coming to a stop behind him. "Not to
those of us who live here, anyway."

He straightened, not turning around. "And to
those who don't?" he asked, meeting her gaze reflected in the
window. She couldn't make out much of his face. The glass was
tinted. Her impressions were three. Big. Dark. And moody.

"Those who don't," she said, "are free to
leave if they don't like it here."

He finally turned and faced her. Holly
shivered as a cloud passed over the sun, and its shadow slid over
her. The man frowned and nodded once. "I didn't mean to insult your
town. I was just surprised to find a police department closed."

She crossed her arms over her chest, the way
her mother did sometimes, and she just looked at him. His face was
craggy—far from handsome. His jaw was too hard, and his chin too
clefted. His nose was too big, and his eyes too far apart. He
looked tired and worn down ... but that was more a mental
impression than a physical one.

"Maybe I should start over again," he
said.

She shrugged. "The tourist area is back that
way," she told him, pointing.

"I'm not a tourist"

"Well, you're not a resident." Frowning, she
glanced at her watch. "And you're really lousing up my schedule. Do
you mind?" She reached into her pocket for her keys, and motioned
for him to move aside.

He moved, then stood there while she unlocked
it. "Don't tell me you're the police chief," he said.

She shot him an irritated glance. "Why
couldn't I be?"

He held up a hand, ticked off his list on his
fingers. "Too young, too pretty, too mouthy, too unfriendly,
too—"

"Do you have some kind of business with Chief
Mallory?"

"Then you're not him?"

She opened the door and walked inside. "No,"
she said. "I'm not him. He'll be in at eight. If you want to see
him, come back then." She released the door, letting it fall closed
on the irritating man, and turned to get herself back on track.
Damn, the clock read 7:50. She always got in by 7:45. Okay, okay,
just focus, she told herself. She stood there for a moment and drew
a deep breath. Then she moved through the small police department
with brisk efficiency, quickly resuming her established routine.
She snapped on the reception area lights, opened the blinds... then
paused again to look out at the lake in the distance. Something had
changed. Tiny whitecaps crisscrossed the surface now, as if the
glassy stillness of a short while ago had been shattered. "Must be
a storm coming," she muttered, glancing worriedly at traces of dark
clouds just beginning to gather in the sky.

Turning, she unlocked the next door and went
through it to the larger part of the station. Her alcove to the
right had a sliding plastic bi-fold shutter over the window between
it and the reception area. To the left were files, weapons locked
in a big case, and Bill's and Ray's desks. Straight ahead was the
chief's office, and beside that a small restroom and the stair
door. The cells were farther along the hall, with a clear line of
sight all the way back to the reception area when the door was
opened. Holly continued turning on lights, opening blinds. She
unlocked the chief's office door and fired up his computer for him.
Back in her own area, she turned on the lights, the radio, then the
computer, in that order. A quick check of her desk told her
everything was exactly as she'd left it. She straightened her
pencil cup, moved a paperweight an inch to the left. Then she
opened the sliding plastic barrier between her desk and the
reception area.

That man was standing on the other side,
looking right at her.

She almost jumped out of her skin, jerking
backward. One hand pressed to her chest in reaction.

"I decided I'd rather wait for the chief in
here. It's getting kind of nippy outside."

She closed her eyes slowly, waited for her
heart to resume its normal beat, consciously controlled her
breathing, then opened her eyes. Focusing on the man again, she
said, "Do you have a crime to report or something Mr...?"

"It's detective, ma'am. Detective Vince
O'Mally, S.P.D."

She lifted her brows. He said "S.P.D." as if
it was supposed to mean something. He said it the way TV cops said
"N.Y.P.D." or "L.A.P.D." He was that full of himself. "S.P.D.?" she
asked. "Would that be ... Scranton? Saratoga? Sherburne?"

"Syracuse."

She nodded, averting her eyes. For some
reason it didn't surprise her he came from there... or that he'd
brought foul winds with him. She didn't like him. She wanted him to
leave. "Have a seat. Detective. The chief will be here in..."—she
looked at her watch—"five minutes. And thanks to you, his coffee
won't be ready."

"Thanks to me? What did I do?"

She just frowned at him and hurried back to
the rest-room, snatching the water pitcher from her shelf on the
way. She flicked on the restroom lights and then filled the pitcher
with tap water. Finished, she carried it back to the reception
area. His coffee pot stood on a cart against the west wall, between
two small leather sofas. She poured the water into it and rummaged
underneath for the coffee and filters, while the man observed her
every action. She could feel his eyes burning holes into her back,
and she was so rattled by his presence that her hand shook as she
measured the French roast into the basket, scattering bits of
coffee all over the cart's surface. "Damn." She slammed the basket
into place, hit the on button, and immediately looked at her watch.
"Damn."

"Are you okay, Red?"

She pivoted to face him. He wasn't sitting as
she'd told him to. In fact, he was standing only a foot or two
behind her. "My name is not Red. It's Holly. Holly Newman."

"And you make the coffee."

"Among other things."

"And you take your job very seriously."

Her glare heated. She felt it heat. It should
have wilted him by now. He should have smoke curling from the ends
of his dark hair. "Excuse me?"

He smiled, but it never reached his eyes.
There was something dark about the man, and his eyes seemed hidden
among shadows. They were blue, but not vivid. Dull, though she felt
that was not their natural state.

"It's not like the coffee being five minutes
late is going to bring about the ruin of Dilmun, is it?"

He didn't look sarcastic or teasing. He just
looked... tired. She felt her lips narrow. "Just what is it you're
doing here, Detective? I know it's not anything official, so—"

He held up a stop-sign hand. "Wait a minute.
How do you know that?"

She shrugged. "We don't have any real crime
in Dilmun. Much less anything important enough to bring you all the
way down here from Syracuse. Nothing bad ever happens here. And
besides, I know everything that goes on in this office. The chief
hasn't had any official communications from... um...
S.P.D."
She smirked when she said it. "So what are you doing here?"

"You're sharp, Red. You oughtta be a
cop."

"You're changing the subject."

He held up both hands. "You going to arrest
me?"

She rolled her eyes and turned to head back
into her office. He stopped her at the doorway by speaking.
"Actually, you're right. I'm not here on business. At least, not
officially. The truth is, I'm on vacation."

She battled a shiver. "And what is your
unofficial business?"

"I can't tell you that."

"And if I should call S.P.D. and ask
them?"

"You'd probably get me fired."

He wasn't kidding. His manner was completely
matter-of-fact. Something weighed on the man. Something big.

The bell jangled as the front door opened,
and Chief Mallory walked in, making the room seem immediately
smaller. He stopped where he was, his brows drawing together, his
gaze moving from Holly standing nose to chest with the big,
full-of-himself detective, to the coffee cart, with puddles of
water, a dusting of grounds, and a pot that was only half filled.
His frown grew deeper.