The Honeymoon Cottage (A Pajaro Bay Romance) (17 page)

"You think it's Dennis whatever-his-name-is? How could he get her out there alone?"

"I don't know. But he did. First his wife dies in a freak car accident, then one of his victims dies in a freak accident."

"How do you know it's not just an accident?"

Ryan rubbed the back of his neck. He suddenly realized how tired he was. "Because it gets better."

"Better?"

"Or worse. Oliver's mother died when her gas tank exploded in a freak one-car accident."

Joe frowned. "A freak accident?"

"And I met Camilla because her car stalled on Calle Principal. Turns out she had a puncture in her gas tank that could have blown her and the boy to kingdom come."

"Oh." Joe was beginning to look as sick as he felt himself.

"Two days later, she and Oliver are in the clinic because the wall heater in the cottage malfunctioned and they were almost killed by carbon monoxide poisoning."

Ryan stood up and went to the whiteboard, gazing at the ocean of red ink in front of him. "Camilla accused me of being paranoid."

Joe came and stood next to him. They both stared at the lists of random info from all over the state.

"Ryan, I have an awful feeling that you're not paranoid at all."

~*~

"Now what?"

Camilla answered the knock on the cottage door only to find Ryan standing there.

"I'm glad to see you got home safely."

"Yes, Captain Ryan. We actually managed to make it the four blocks from downtown Pajaro Bay to our cottage all by ourselves." Actually, Robin had insisted on driving them, but she was not in the mood for more of his overprotectiveness.

He held up one hand. "Peace. I didn't come to argue. I came because I have orders from my boss to talk to you."

"From your boss? What are you talking about?" She stepped aside and he came in.

She might have slammed the cottage door just a bit when she closed it, because she saw him wince. "Long night, Ryan? Maybe you shouldn't spend your nights spying on people.""

"Please, Camilla."

She tried to tone down the anger she felt at the sight of him. She wasn't really angry at him. She was angry at the way he made her feel. All helpless and squishy inside. She wanted him to kiss her again, but she wanted him to leave. She was just a big old mess of contradictions. But it wasn't his fault. She needed to keep up her defenses, but that didn't mean she had to be rude.

"Sorry," she conceded. "I've just had the wits scared out of me, I'm tired, and Oliver's feeling headachy and cranky. It hasn't been a good day for anyone."

He nodded. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to add to your bad day. But we really need to talk."

"That sounds serious," she said with an attempt at a smile, but he didn't smile back. She led him into the kitchen and they sat at the table. "Want some coffee?"

"Yeah," he said. He watched her as she put the blue kettle on the stove to heat. He seemed to be looking at her funny.

"What? The stove's okay. After the fire inspector left, Zelda Potter pulled some strings and had the gas company inspector in here and checked everything for safety."

"Count on Miss Zelda to get the job done."

"I don't know how she found out."

"Nothing stays secret in this town for long."

"I guess. Anyway, they didn't find anything wrong except that upstairs heater. The safety valve on it was missing, so the whole unit's now disconnected. It can't happen again."

"I'm glad. I'm really glad you're safe."

He seemed to really mean that. Of course he did. He'd probably consider her his helpless charge until she left town.

She poured two cups of coffee and after he declined cream and sugar, sat down across the table from him. "Who's your boss?"

"Uh." That seemed to catch him off guard. "My boss is the county sheriff. He's stationed over in the county seat, and I report directly to him. I had to call him to tell him what's going on."

"So what is going on?"

He looked down at the cup in his hands, and she was struck again by how strong his hands looked. He seemed to be such a strange mixture of strength and softness—strong physically, but almost little-boy lost at times.

He looked her in the eye and she realized this was not one of those times. "I'm here to inform you of the preliminary results of our investigation into Dennis's activities."

"Keep your voice down!" she said sharply. She got up and went to the back door, which stood half-open to the yard. She glanced out to make sure Oliver was still sitting out on the grass, playing with his model truck, then shut the top half and came back and sat down. "I don't want to upset Oliver. You clearly have something to say, so spit it out."

He opened up a small notebook and began reciting facts: Dennis had probably committed similar con games all over the state in the last few years. He had never been caught, or even identified, being known by various aliases.

"I'm not surprised. I didn't figure this was the first time he'd ripped someone off."

Ryan continued coldly, matter-of-factly, reciting a list of locations and dates. He handed her printouts from a couple of newspapers. Then he sat, watching with those cold eyes, while she read.

The first story was of a woman's funeral—"Oh my God," she gasped. "Poor little Oliver." His mother had been beautiful, with the soft, trusting eyes so like Oliver's. Her hair was dark like his, and a lock of it fell down over her forehead in the picture, looking so much like little Oliver's lock of unruly hair that Camilla felt the tears well up in her own eyes at the similarity. "My poor boy." His mother had died in a car accident two years ago. "Hey. It says Oliver and Dennis's last name is Henning."

"Turn the page."

The next page seemed totally random. Another funeral notice. She almost asked him to explain, but just started reading. Some woman in Salinas had died in an accident while hiking. She had been around Camilla's age. "I don't get it. It's really sad that this woman Melissa Everette died so young in some random accident, but what's it got to do with—?"

"—She'd filed a report a month before her death claiming she'd had her bank accounts cleaned out by a guy she was dating. With her death the case was closed, since there was no complaining witness and not enough evidence to file charges."

"And you jump to the conclusion—"

"This happened during the time Oliver says he lived with his dad in Salinas."

"But that's not enough—"

"He matches the description of Oliver's father. And his name was Dennis Hedrick."

She sat back in the chair. "It can't be."

He just watched her, waited for it to sink in.

She felt herself reeling. She'd been so focused on the way Ryan made her feel, on her own sense of helplessness and her desire not to depend on him, that she hadn't really taken him seriously as a cop. But he'd done the investigative work and found out the truth. No matter how absurd this seemed, no matter how much it contradicted what her gut had told her about the relationship between Oliver and his father, Dennis really was dangerous. He really was a killer. He really was threatening the life of his own son.

She finally whispered, "you were right."

"About Dennis? I'm afraid I might be."

She nodded. "I can't believe this could be true—"

He started to protest, but she stopped him. "—but I'm not an idiot. I'm not going to sit here and deny it when it's staring me in the face."

His body language changed then. He relaxed his shoulders then, and took a sip of his coffee.

"Yeah," she said. "We're on the same page now." She lifted her coffee cup to her lips, and realized her hand was shaking.

He put his hand over her other hand, which she noticed she was clenching. "It's going to be okay, Camilla. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

She stood up and went over to the kitchen window, stared out for a bit. She couldn't think straight. How could this be? She just couldn't believe Dennis wanted his own son dead. Her, maybe. But Oliver? "How can I protect him?"

Ryan came over and stood behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders and she found herself leaning back, resting against his chest. He didn't do anything but stand there, solid and alive and supporting her.

After a minute she turned around to face him and he took a step back and put his hands in his pockets. "What do I do, Ryan?"

"You keep doing what you're doing, and allow us to help you."

"Us?"

"The sheriff's office. We'll keep close, we'll make sure you and Oliver are safe."

She nodded. "Should we leave the cottage? Go hide somewhere?"

He sighed. "I talked to the sheriff. At this point we think you're better off just staying put and keeping to your normal routine. But you won't be alone."

She shook her head. No. She had to escape. She felt the adrenalin rush through her. "No. I want to run." She looked around, trying to quickly think of what to pack, what to leave behind, where to go.

"Camilla!" Ryan took her by the shoulders again. His strength calmed her, and she took several deep breaths.

He let go. "Good. Feel calmer?"

She nodded.

"Running isn't a good idea. You might find yourself alone somewhere he could get to you. Somewhere without protection. Remember, he doesn't attack openly. It's not like he's going to come at you in the street. As long as we stay close by, you'll be safe. He needs to stage these so-called accidents carefully. He must need time and secrecy to set things up. We won't give him that time or that secrecy. We're going to be here 24/7."

"For how long?"

"For as long as it takes to make sure you and Oliver are safe."

~*~

Chapter 9

They headed out to dinner together just as the sun was starting to go down. When they came out of the cottage gate, Oliver gasped.

Camilla's heart leaped into her throat, but then she saw it wasn't fear, it was car lust.

Oliver ran over to Ryan's car. "It's a Mustang!"

It sure was. It was a "1966 Tahoe Turquoise Mustang convertible with Pony interior," Ryan informed Oliver. "Hector just finished it today." The boys were in car heaven.

Camilla couldn't believe it. It seemed very un-Ryanlike, somehow. It was a teenage boy's dream car, from the glossy blue paint to the shining chrome trim, to the cream and blue seats. "Do we dare sit in it?" she asked.

He laughed. "Sure. It's not fragile. Well, not very." He opened the passenger door for them. After checking that Oliver's shoes were relatively clean Camilla let him scramble into the back seat. "Seat belt on," she reminded him.

"It's got a pony on the seat!"

Oliver and Ryan talked about cars the whole way to town—all four minutes, which was definitely not long enough for Oliver. "Can't we drive around more?"

She shook her head. The sun was beginning to set and it was after 6 p.m. "Time for dinner. Aren't you hungry?"

They pulled to the curb on the main drag and got out. Oliver was captivated as Ryan raised the convertible top "in case the fog comes in."

Oliver looked warily up at the sky. "It won't dare rain, will it?" He made it sound like a serious crime.

Ryan assured him that a heavy mist was the worst that could happen, and Oliver watched anxiously while the motor whirred and the top settled into place.

"Where to now?"

Ryan pointed down an alley. It didn't look promising, but she was beginning to trust that he knew what he was doing.

She held Oliver's hand while they walked, and at the end of the alley they saw a wooden sign: Feuille d'automne. "I take it this is not Mel's Fish Shack?"

"No. We're entering the land of free-range herbs."

Inside she was astonished. What appeared from the alley to be a little hole-in-the-wall opened out at the back to a view not unlike the one behind her cottage. The restaurant's back wall was all glass, and outside, metal tables and chairs ringed a cliffside patio overlooking the glistening sunset over the bay.

"Outside or in?" a young Asian woman asked with a smile.

Camilla hesitated.

"It's Sam Spade tonight," the woman said.

"Then probably outside," Ryan said.

They settled out on the patio at a table for three. Oliver kicked his feet and looked sullen when he opened the menu printed all in French, but then an older lady in a gorgeous long silk dress appeared—the same woman Camilla had seen at the fundraising dinner in tie-die and braids—and she soon had Oliver in a jolly mood. "So, sir, it appears we have run out of raw oysters with bitter vegetables and slime. Perhaps you would settle for a plate of fish and chips?"

She turned to Ryan and Camilla. "Oliver is in the same class with my granddaughter, Ly. She's in the kitchen having her supper. Perhaps he will come in for the show later?"

Ryan nodded. "I bet he'll enjoy that. But first we'll eat."

And grill him for clues about his father. Camilla had agreed with Ryan that they needed to get more information from Oliver, but she wasn't sure how they were going to pull it off.

After she and Ryan ordered (steamed fish with spicy sauce and cellophane noodles, and a bowl of the famous chowder), they settled back in their chairs.

"So, Oliver," Ryan began. "How are you liking your new school?"

Oliver smiled. "It's pretty good. No tests yet."

"Is it better than your school in San Jose?"

Oliver stiffened.

"It's okay, Oliver," Camilla said quickly. "I knew you when we lived there, so it's not telling anything to talk about it."

He frowned. "It's okay," he mumbled.

She and Ryan looked at each other. Man, this kid could shut down in an instant.

She leaned over to Oliver. "You don't have to worry. You know we are here to take care of you and keep you safe. We don't want to hurt you in any way. You can trust us."

He nodded. "I know. But it's a bad idea to talk too much."

"Why?" Ryan said, focusing in with that laser look he got when he was onto something.

Oliver shrugged. "Don't go running off at the mouth, Daddy always says."

Camilla felt the anger rise in her. She really could do violence to that man. He was setting his own kid up for a lifetime of problems, and apparently he didn't care. Obviously he didn't care. He wanted his own son dead.