In a Heartbeat - Elizabeth Adler [52]
“Er . . . coffee, ma’am?” The cop waved a hand toward the smart chrome Coffee Master.
“No, thank you.”
Mel flashed him her beaming smile and Camelia swore he saw the guy’s knees go weak. He watched him sink back into his softly padded office chair as though he’d been poleaxed. Camelia grinned. “I could sure use a cup of coffee, it’s been a long trip.”
No one moved a muscle, and he leaned both arms on the counter, unsmiling. “I said I’d appreciate that cup of coffee,” he repeated softly, but there was something about the way he said it that suddenly had them both jumping.
“Yes, sir. Won’t you please come into the office, take a seat. Jeb, see if you cain’t rustle up some cookies. Or Ma Jewel’s muffins. Ah believe there’s still some left in the box on top of the refrigerator.”
The counter flap was lifted to allow them through, the frosted-glass office door thrown open, chairs pulled back, coffee quickly placed in front of them, with sugar in a bowl that matched the Michael Hains mugs and proper cream in an identical pitcher.
“Smart,” Camelia commented. “We don’t run to matching tea sets in New York.”
“Hainsville is a tourist destination, Detective Camelia,” the burly one said. “We aim to keep it looking real nice, even down to the cops.”
“Right to the last detail,” Mel said, ignoring the coffee, which she was far too tired to drink anyway. She was, as they said, past it. She wondered anxiously how Ed was, and she longed to get out of there so she could call the hospital. But then she reminded herself that she was now Camelia’s assistant, and Ed was the reason they were there. She sat up and began to take notice.
“Ah’m Sheriff Duxbury, and this here’s Deputy Higgies. Now, sir, how can the Hainsville police be of help to the New York PD?”
They sat on the opposite side of the table, looking, Camelia thought, as interchangeable as twins. Both still wore their hats, both had wide red faces, both had pale blue eyes and blond mustaches. If you put black Stetsons on them instead of the cream, they could have been the bad guys in any old western.
“You ever hear of a guy called Ed Vincent?”
“Vincent?” Duxbury answered for both. “No, sir, cain’t say as we have. Ain’t nobody with that name lives ’round here, though of course we do get a fair number of tourists, for the golf and all. One of the best par seventy-two courses in all Tennessee,” he added proudly.
Camelia nodded. “I’m not a golfing man, myself. Ed Vincent claims that he was brought up here, in a two-room shack in the foothills. Had a big family, brothers and sisters. This man is in his forties. He lived here before Mr. Hains developed the town.”
“Ah don’t recall the name,” Higgies said, puzzled.
“So, here’s a picture of him. Maybe it’ll help jog your memory.”
Mel watched as each man studied the picture. Her heart was in her mouth. Surely they must know him. How could they have missed him, growing up? He was so tall, like them; God, they must grow them all big around here. . . .
Duxbury handed it back to Camelia, shaking his head. “He some kinda New York big shot?”
“Kinda.” Camelia put the photograph back in his wallet. “But you guys never heard of him, huh?”
“Ain’t no big shots ’round here, Detective. I guess Michael Hains was the biggest shot we know. Been dead ten, eleven years now. Still carry his picture on everything, though. Kind of like a symbol. Like a coat of arms, that old family-tree stuff in England. Yes, sir, Michael Hains had no title, but he was surely Lord of the Manor around here. Without him, there’d be no Hainsville.”
“I resisted saying ‘and who would miss it,’ ” Mel said to Camelia as they hurried back through the rain to the Explorer. “This place gives me the creeps. I can’t even imagine Ed living here.”
“He didn’t. He lived in the old Hainsville, before it became Stepford.”
Camelia looked grim. He had gotten exactly nowhere. He needed to regroup, rethink his tactics. Goddammit, he had thought it would be so easy. He glanced at Mel, slumped next to him in the passenger seat. She looked as