204 Rosewood Lane - Debbie Macomber [75]
“Don’t leap to conclusions, Peg.” He wished now that he’d gone with his instincts and told the stranger to seek some other place for the night.
Peggy handed him the key and Bob reluctantly inserted it in the lock. Slowly, he turned the knob and swung open the door. Their guest was sleeping in the middle of the bed. His coat hung in the closet, with his hat resting on the shelf directly above. The suitcase was open, but it looked as though a surgeon had packed it. Everything was crisply folded and compact. The suitcase appeared to be undisturbed.
“He could just be sick,” Peggy said, clinging to Bob’s arm.
Bob doubted it. He recognized that smell, and his skin crawled with memories of jungle warfare almost forty years earlier. The scent of death was one a man didn’t quickly forget.
Whatever the stranger’s purpose for being in Cedar Cove, it would likely remain a mystery now.
Bob moved to the bed and stared down at him. The night before, his face had been shadowed by his hat, which was pulled low over his face. He looked younger now that Bob could see him clearly. Younger and completely at peace.
“Is he…dead?” Peggy asked, her dread palpable.
Although he already knew the answer, Bob felt for a pulse in the man’s neck. There was nothing. “I think it’s time we phoned Troy,” he said.
Fifteen minutes later, the yard was filled with emergency vehicles. EMTs, several officers and the medical examiner tramped through the house. Bob answered question after question, but he wasn’t able to provide Troy or Joe Mitchell, the medical examiner, with much information.
“There’ll have to be an autopsy,” Troy said.
“Are you going to take him out of here soon?” Peggy asked. Bob could tell that she was shaken by all of this. Truth be known, so was he.
The medical examiner came out of the room and peeled off his plastic gloves.
“Do you have any idea what killed him?” Bob asked.
“Not yet,” Joe said, frowning. “His driver’s license says his name’s Whitcomb. James Whitcomb, and he’s from Florida. Mean anything to you?”
“No.” Bob could say that with certainty, despite the hint of familiarity last night. “I’ve never seen the man in my life.”
Joe continued to frown. “He’s had extensive cosmetic surgery.”
Bob hardly knew what to make of that information.
“There’s something unusual going on here,” Joe said, following the body as it was wheeled out of the room and down the hall.
Maryellen’s popularity at Get Nailed had fallen considerably after the Halloween party. Rachel, her nail tech, had met Teri’s discarded male friend who enjoyed working on cars. Things had looked promising for a while.
All through November and December, Rachel had been full of praise for Larry and everything he was doing for her car. First, he replaced her failing brakes, and at a fraction of the cost a shop would have charged. Then he got her interior lights working. He even managed to fix her tape deck. Rachel was grateful and managed to convince herself that she was falling madly in love. How could she not love a man who was saving her hundreds of dollars?
Then her transmission went out. This was a major repair, but Rachel’s hero was confident he could fix it. All she had to do was buy the new transmission. Unfortunately Larry had overestimated his skills. Not only had he bungled the job, but Rachel had to take her vehicle into the shop and pay for the repairs a second time. To add insult to injury, Larry had presented her with a bill for all the labor and parts he’d put into her car. Needless to say, the relationship had taken a sharp turn south.
Jane’s experience wasn’t much better. She’d been looking for a man with money sense. Jeannie had once dated a very nice but very boring financial advisor whom she’d introduced to Jane at the Halloween party. Jane and Geoff had instantly hit it off. Jane insisted Geoff wasn’t nearly as boring as Jeannie had said. But then he’d given her a hot stock tip that was close to being insider information. Sure enough, Jane had invested her entire savings and almost immediately, the stock fell eight