Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [9]
“Good, good. Well, try not to miss your flight, Cahill. You need to be in Fleming, Pennsylvania, by noon tomorrow.”
“What’s in Fleming?”
“An old friend of yours was just released from prison.”
“Old friend of mine?” She frowned.
“Archer Lowell. Ring a bell?”
“Sure. Amanda Crosby’s stalker. What’s he up to?”
“That’s what you’re going to find out.”
CHAPTER
TWO
At precisely the stroke of noon, the little red sports car pulled into the first available parking spot accompanied by a flourish of pebbles kicked up by braking hard on the gravel surface. The driver’s door opened even as the engine shut down, and Miranda Cahill stepped out, pausing to take in the surroundings. The old hotel on the edge of town was just this side of shabby. Paint a few years past its prime. Shutters a wee bit crooked. Even the sign that hung from the wooden post out near the edge of the parking lot—THE FLEMING INN ~ EST. 1741—needed a sprucing up. But in spite of its obvious need of updating, the place did possess a certain charm. There were pumpkins marching along the hand railing at the front steps and clay pots holding an abundance of brightly colored chrysanthemums nestled in a corner of the porch.
On the whole, it wasn’t bad for a hole-in-the-wall town like Fleming, Pennsylvania, she nodded. Not bad at all.
She checked the other cars in the lot. As she’d expected, the compact belonging to Bureau profiler Anne Marie McCall was already there. Next to Anne Marie’s car sat a dark blue Passat with D.C. tags. No idea who that belonged to. An SUV with Pennsylvania tags, again, no clue. Five other cars, all with Pennsylvania license plates, were parked at the far side of the lot. Maybe staff, Miranda thought as she slammed the car door and headed up the cobbled walk to the front door, which she found standing open.
She stepped into an entry that was decorated somewhat prematurely for both Halloween and Thanksgiving, with a cornucopia on a wide sideboard and several more mums in huge pots at the base of a wide staircase, and a wooden bowl filled with candy corn on the receptionist’s desk. Small fabric ghosts and orange pumpkin lights draped the newel post.
“Hi.” Miranda greeted the middle-aged woman who appeared from the room on her right. “I’m to meet some friends here.”
“Ms. McCall’s group?” The blonde woman asked.
“Yes.”
“Right this way. Your group is meeting in a small side room so you can have some privacy. Not,” she grinned wryly, “that we’re overcrowded here for lunch today. But Ms. McCall did say that privacy would be appreciated.”
The woman led Miranda through a large dining room on their right to a smaller room beyond. Only three of the eight chairs that flanked the long refectory table were occupied. A warm fire glowed from a small corner fireplace, and lace curtains hung from the two windows. An oddly genteel place, Miranda mused, for a discussion such as the one they were about to have.
“Sorry I’m a little late,” she apologized as she removed her jacket. She draped it over the chair next to that of the only other woman in the room and sat down.
“You’re right on time. We were just sitting here, enjoying the atmosphere before we have to get down to business,” Anne Marie told her. “Besides, we still have one yet to arrive, so let me pour you a cup of this excellent coffee”—she did so as she spoke—“and you can just have a minute or two to relax.”
“Evan, it’s good to see you again.” Miranda sat and accepted the cup Anne Marie offered her.
“Always a pleasure.” Evan Crosby, a detective from nearby Avon County with whom Miranda had worked on several cases over the past year, greeted her with a smile.
“And Jared, I’m guessing you’re the man in charge here today?” Miranda leaned forward to address the man on Evan’s left.
“Just standing in for John.” Jared Slater sipped at his coffee. “He had a previous commitment. Since Philly is the closest field office, I got the call.”
“I spoke with John briefly yesterday.” Miranda’s eyes met Evan’s from across the table. “He mentioned that an old friend of ours is no