The Damsel in This Dress (20 page)

“I
t’s Monday morning, and I
am
going to work.” Betsy crossed her arms under her bosom and glared at Soldier, who stared at her bosom. He didn’t even have the courtesy to blush.

“Yes, it’s Monday morning,” he said, “and we’re
both
going to work. While you’re busy ripping the heart out of some other poor author, I’m going to be talking to your coworkers. It’s one of them, Betsy. I can feel it in my bones.” He put his arms around her. “Hell, I can feel it in
your
bones.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it’s just old age you’re feeling in your bones, buster, because nobody I work with is a stalker, let alone a murderer.”

“
Denial
is a river in Egypt, or haven’t you heard?”

“Like, that is such an old joke.”

“Well, I’m fresh out of new material.” He released her and they went out through the kitchen door. He secured it behind them as Betsy went to unlock her car.

Last night’s rainfall had emptied the clouds, leaving the morning clear and crisp and rosy. In the driveway, Betsy’s silver Saturn LS glittered with raindrops as though it had been strewn with tiny pink diamonds.

“Ah, sunshine!” Betsy said as she opened her door. “I can sure use some of that today.” Though her world felt pretty heavy just now, a sunny day lightened the load a bit.

The
Ledger
was located in the downtown area of Port Henry, and was large enough to take up a two-floor natural brick warehouse. The offices were located on the upper floor, while the paper was actually printed and distributed at street level.

From Betsy’s desk by the front window, she had a nice view of the strait, Port Henry’s busy waterfront, and the ferry dock that signaled the end of Madison Street. Trees dressed in red, gold, and yellow leaves lined the avenues, celebrating autumn.

The first person Betsy saw when she walked in was her boss, Ryan Finlay. His kind smile greeted her, and Betsy was certain it was genuine.
Not a stalker
, she thought.

“Ryan, this is Detective McKennitt from the Seattle Police Department. He needs to speak with you.”

As the two men shook hands, Ryan’s forehead furrowed in obvious confusion. “What brings you to Port Henry, Detective?”

Glancing around at the desks piled high with papers, reference manuals, photographs, and the like, Soldier said, “Can we go in your office?”

Betsy had always thought Ryan’s brown eyes were warm and he had nice crinkles at the corners. His hair was gray and thin, and he had a jagged little scar on his cheek that he’d gotten in his youth, a reminder of the two years he’d spent in Vietnam. “Sure, sure. Right this way,” he said congenially.

As Soldier followed Ryan into the inner office, Betsy moved toward her desk. It was just as she had left it—in its normal disorderly, disorganized state. She pulled out her chair and glanced around the room. Six desks, all with computers, phones, the usual office paraphernalia. Nobody was in yet, but they should be arriving shortly. It was always tough getting in right at eight on a cold Monday morning.

Through the window that served as the enclosure to Ryan’s office, she watched Soldier, his face animated and earnest. As he spoke, Ryan’s brows shot up, his eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. He flashed a glance through the glass at Betsy, then returned his attention to the detective, who was obviously not leaving out a thing.

“So, how was the seminar?”

The voice behind her made Betsy jump half out of her chair. Turning, she recognized Carla Denato, her assistant. About Betsy’s age, Carla had short, light brown hair, styled in a similar way to Betsy’s. She considered Carla a friend and confidante, since they shared the same taste in clothing, books, and movies.

“Hi, Carla,” she said. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Apparently,” Carla said through a laugh. “Anything interesting happen at the conference? Meet any tall, dark, handsome strangers?”

What in the hell was that supposed to mean? Betsy wondered. Did she know about the stalker? Had she been there, seen Soldier? Was Carla a
murderer
?

Oh, no, what was she thinking? Just because a coworker asked about her weekend didn’t mean she was a criminal.

Instantly, Betsy was filled with a deep sense of humiliation and regret. What was she going to do now, turn her every acquaintance into a stalker, or worse, just because they were making casual conversation?

“Um, it was great,” she lied. Soldier had instructed her on how to behave today. She was to remain calm and observant. He would be interviewing her coworkers, but he didn’t want her saying anything to any of them until he had a chance to speak with each one himself.

Smiling, Betsy continued, “I’m glad to be home, though. Kind of tired.” That part sure was true enough. “So, what did you do this weekend?”

Carla dropped into the chair next to Betsy’s desk. Wrapping her arms around the bundle of files she held, she said, “Boy, not much. Watched some TV. Read a book. Wished for a tall, dark, handsome stranger to come along and take me away from all this.” She laughed, her pretty eyes sparkling with mirth.

No, Carla was not the stalker-murderer, Betsy mused. She was too nice. She just wasn’t capable of putting a little dog in a refrigerator, or hitting somebody over the head, killing them.

No, it wasn’t Carla.

Taking a breath, Betsy let it out and relaxed, having come to the conclusion that she could discount at least one person from her life as being an evildoer. Well, two, counting Ryan.

Glancing toward their boss’s office, Carla’s eyes widened and she leaned forward in the chair. “Say, who’s that hunky guy who came in with you? Was he
with
you? God, he is so hot! Is he yours? What’s he want with Ryan?”

Betsy was half inclined to confide in her assistant, but Soldier had expressly warned her to trust no one. He was wrong, of course, but she would do as he asked.

“You were here when we came in?” Betsy said, shifting the subject. “I didn’t see you.”

Just as Carla was about to reply, Ryan’s office door opened and Soldier stepped out.

For the umpteenth time in five days, Betsy’s heart gave a flip at the sight of him. She had a feeling it always would. His nearness affected her as though she had perpetual spring fever. Certain she was blushing, she tried to look away, but found she couldn’t. It disgusted her to think that all women probably looked at him that way. He wasn’t blind. When he saw her looking at him like every other woman on the planet, all he probably saw was just another silly conquest. Well, he hid his arrogance well, she’d give him that.

From the door of Ryan’s office, Soldier locked gazes with her, his eyes startling in their clarity and intelligence. He had the height and build of an athlete, and it stirred her senses just to think about his body without clothing, without constraints of any kind, and how that body would move against hers when she was lying in his arms. The night he’d come to her room, the feel of his warm skin under her fingertips, the things he’d done to her . . .

As he walked toward her now, she felt her pulse speed up and her palms grow damp. She was falling in love, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

He stopped in front of her desk and placed his large hands palms down on the edge. Leaning forward a bit, he said, “Ryan wants to have a word with you.”

Next to her, Carla stood up and smiled at Soldier.

“Hi,” she said through a beaming smile. She looked chipper and eager and alert.

Pert,
damn her, Betsy thought. She looked pert.
God help me, did I look that goofy the first time I saw him?
She cringed when she realized she probably had.

Betsy stood and gestured toward Carla. “Oh, uh, my manners. Sorry. Carla Denato, this is Detective McKennitt from Seattle.”

Carla shot a glance at Betsy.
Detective?
her eyes seemed to say.

“Is there a room, someplace we can talk privately?” he said to Carla.

“A room? You and me? Privately?” she squeaked. “Yes, sir. Right this way.”

She took him by the arm and led him quickly down the hall to the small conference room where Ryan usually held his staff meetings.

Without giving Betsy so much as a parting glance, Soldier closed the door behind them. She fiddled with her pen for a moment, trying to pretend she hadn’t seen the light in Soldier’s eyes when he’d looked at Carla, and her obvious response to him.

Carla was cute and Carla was thin and Carla wasn’t shy. Betsy had the sinking feeling she may have just lost Soldier, although, truth be told, she’d never actually had him.

Taking a fortifying breath, she turned and walked toward Ryan’s office. She would put Soldier and Carla out of her mind and get on with the business at hand. That would be the mature thing to do. Then she’d go buy a Carla doll at lunchtime and stick pins in it. That would be the satisfying thing to do.

Tapping on the partially open door to Ryan’s office, she smiled and said, “Knock-knock.”

“Yeah, come on in, Betsy. Close the door, would you?”

Well, that was ominous enough. She placed her hand on her stomach to try to quell the sick feeling that had begun churning her insides.
Stop it
, she warned herself.
Ryan is
not
a stalker,
not
a murderer.

As she took a chair, Ryan leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk.

“Betsy. I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were being stalked. And . . . and the murder. Jesus Christ. I don’t know what to say. If there’s anything I can do, anything you need, you just say the word. Okay?”

“Thanks, Ryan. I’m sure Detective McKennitt will get this all straightened out and things will return to normal.”

Ryan nodded, but he seemed distracted. Well, murder was certain to do that. Finally, he caught her gaze and held it. “On another topic,” he said. “I’m sorry to have to ask you about this today, after all you’ve been through, but it’s something that needs to be cleared up right away.”

Alarm bells clanged inside Betsy’s head. Geez, now what? This wasn’t going to be good. Ryan never spoke to her this way.

“Um, okay, Ryan. I’m listening.”

He cleared his throat. “I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to say it. Okay?”

“Okay.”
Out with it man! I’m stressed enough!

“There’s a rumor going around,” he began.

She swallowed. “A rumor?”

Ryan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. It squeaked a little in protest. “The rumor goes that you are, uh, having an affair with a member of the
Ledger
staff.”

Shock slapped her in the face. She just sat there staring at him, unable to speak or even form a coherent thought.

“Me. And who, Ryan? Who am I having this so-called affair with?”

“Dave Hannigan.”

Betsy burst out laughing. Oh, it was a joke! A sick joke, but a joke nonetheless.

“An affair? Dave Hannigan? You mean the kid from the copy room?
That
Dave Hannigen?” She relaxed in her chair and laughed some more.

Ryan’s brow furrowed. “Well, are you or aren’t you?” His face was red and the veins in his neck were prominent as his eyes probed hers, as if he could find his answer there.

Betsy’s laughter died in her throat. “You’re serious?” she said, gaping at him. “No!” she snapped. “
Hell
no! For one thing, Davey’s just a kid, for another, he’s a coworker. I wouldn’t . . . I couldn’t . . .”

She knew she was sputtering, but the more she thought about it, the angrier she got. An affair with Davey Hannigan? What a bizarre—and cruel— accusation!

Ryan sat back in his worn leather chair and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Betsy. But you do understand that I had to ask.”

“Why? Why did you have to ask? In the five years you’ve known me, have I ever been anything other than completely professional? Have I ever done anything, said anything, that would lead you to believe I’d hit on a high school kid? Geez, Ryan, do I look that desperate?”

The truth struck at her heart. Is that what Ryan thought of her? That she was so lonely and pathetic she’d seduce a seventeen-year-old kid? Her throat hurt and she felt like she wanted to cry. Not from embarrassment, but from anger.

Ryan shook his head. “I believe you, Betsy. I never thought you’d do something like that, but I had to ask. I’m sorry for putting you through this. But it, um, came up, and I had to make sure.”

“What do you mean,
‘it came up’
? Has somebody said something? Directly accused me? Davey wouldn’t concoct such a story—”