If I Should Die_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [26]
He stood and limped over to her, his leg stiff from sitting too long.
“You can say anything to me, Lucy.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
“Good.” He kissed her, a long, soft kiss that generally was a prelude to taking her to bed. He wished they had more time alone—she was still preoccupied, and it felt important to find out what she was thinking. “Luce, I mean it.”
“Sometimes I think you enjoy this game of yours a little too much. Trying to read me, so proud when you get into my head. And you’re good at it. Really.” But she wasn’t smiling, and Sean felt a chill run down his spine. “I like that you understand me, and I love that you’re so supportive. But sometimes I feel manipulated, like a puppet, when I explain something you already figured out.”
“I don’t mean to—”
“I know you don’t.” She squeezed his hand. “If I thought you were doing it to make me feel foolish, I wouldn’t be here. You know me, Sean, better than anyone. Which is kind of scary considering we haven’t known each other for long. So think about that—knowing me, how I would feel if someone was manipulating me.”
Sean realized he had made a critical mistake with Lucy. “Sweetheart, I would never do anything to hurt you. You know that, right?”
She smiled and nodded, but Sean saw that she’d put her shields back up, the invisible barrier that he hated. She should never feel defensive around him.
He wanted to push. Instead, he said, “I think it’s time to go into town and see what crawls out of the woodwork.”
TEN
An audible hush descended on the half-filled Lock & Barrel when Lucy and Sean made their entrance with Adam Hendrickson. All eyes turned to the group as they crossed the room to an empty booth. They sat, Adam on one side, Sean and Lucy on the other.
The crowd resumed talking. Quietly, making no pretense that they weren’t looking at the threesome.
“You sure know how to kill a party,” Sean said, bemused. “I swear, this place is right out of Deadwood.”
“Until these past few months, I’d have said Spruce Lake wasn’t as violent or colorful,” Adam said. “Now, I don’t know.”
Lucy looked around. Small, round lopsided tables littered the dark, scuffed wood floor and a row of booths lined the far wall. Behind the worn bar was a beveled mirror to watch the crowd. The mirror itself was an antique. Much of the bar and its décor was old but durable, adding a certain raw charm. A sign on a small stage in the back declared that Bo Crouse and the Miners were playing from eight-thirty until closing on Friday and Saturday, and the specials were written in Day-Glo chalk near the kitchen: Unlimited barbeque ribs for $6.99 and draft beers for a dollar.
Black-and-white photographs of the Kelley Mining Company lined the walls. Kelley had been the only major employer in Spruce Lake for decades. Mining equipment hung from the ceiling and an old mining cart was showcased in the corner, reminding Lucy of the cart she’d seen yesterday in the mine.
A bald, middle-aged man worked behind the bar, and the lone waitress—a skinny blonde in her midthirties who wore too-bright makeup and too-tight jeans—approached the table with a warm smile that didn’t quite reach her tired eyes.
“Adam Hendrickson! You haven’t been by in forever. And you brought friends.” She appraised Sean as if he were a Playgirl centerfold and she the lucky photographer.
Adam introduced Sean and Lucy. “They’re friends visiting before the resort opens.” He looked over at them. “Trina was always nice to me when I visited in the summers.”
“Your arrival was always exciting! City boy visiting us hicks for two whole months. A cutie, too. Anything to liven up this town.” She then did a double take on Sean. “You’re the one Doc Woody was talking about!” Trina looked at Sean’s lap. “Twelve stitches, huh? Did it hurt?”
Sean gave Trina a self-deprecating nod and dimpled half-smile. Lucy had seen him turn on the charm like a faucet, and it never failed—whether the women were young or old, attached or single.
“Not much,” he said modestly.
While they talked about the “excitement,” as Trina called it, a sprinkling