Still Lake - Anne Stuart [44]
Two, it would give her probably her only chance at driving his glorious car. He’d left the keys in the ignition, and it would only take a second…
He reached in and took the keys. “Don’t even consider it,” he said, his voice expressionless. “You aren’t driving this car. Are you coming?”
She didn’t really have much choice. She set the plate of cookies down on the back seat and climbed out, following him past the sagging gate into the graveyard.
He seemed to be looking for something, though she didn’t have the faintest idea what. He moved through the small graveyard at a leisurely pace, reading each headstone, until he stopped at one.
“I guess we’re not the only ones who ever come here,” he said. “So tell me, who do you think brought those flowers?”
She looked down at the headstone. A handful of bright yellow flowers sat in front of it, wilting from the bright sun. It was the grave of Adeline Percey, who died in 1973 at the age of nineteen. Sophie racked her brain, trying to remember who the Perceys were, and a moment later came up with it. Their daughter had been killed in a boat accident during her first year in college.
“Presumably her parents. The Perceys still live just outside of Colby.”
“Maybe,” he said. “What kind of flowers are those?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? Aren’t you some kind of Martha Stewart wannabe? They must be fairly common around here.”
“Mr. Smith…” She stopped, furious. “I’m not calling you that phony name anymore.”
“You can call me anything you want.”
“I don’t use that kind of language. I don’t recognize the flowers because they’re not common around here. I’ve seen them before, but I can’t remember where. And why does it matter?”
“It doesn’t,” he said.
“Then why are we here and why are you asking me these questions, and what does it have to do with the three girls who were killed?”
For a moment he was silent, glancing back at the neglected grave with its spray of dying flowers. “I’m thinking there were four,” he said. “Maybe more.”
“Don’t you think someone would have figured that out before now?” she said caustically.
“Not when the authorities had a built-in scapegoat.” He knelt down by the gravestone, staring at it as if it held the answers to a thousand unnamed questions.
And Sophie stared at him, finally given the chance to indulge herself.
He was wearing an old denim shirt and jeans, and his glasses had turned dark in the sunlight, obscuring his eyes. Not that his opaque brown eyes gave anything away in the first place. If the eyes were a window to the soul, then his were firmly shuttered.
After a moment he rose, and she could feel him looking at her. “Any more questions? Not that you had any—you’ve already figured out the answers.”
“Look, I didn’t want to come out with you in the first place. I just wanted to thank you for bringing my mother home.”
“And warn me to keep my distance in the future. What did you think I did—lure her to my cave? I’m not here to be invaded by batty old ladies or nubile young ones.”
“I’m not nubile!” she protested.
“I meant your sister.”
“Oh.” The idea was somehow deflating. “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” she said briskly, recovering. “I’ll keep a closer eye on my mother so she won’t bother you.”
“What about the brat?” They were almost back at the car. The sun had disappeared behind a cloud, and there was a hint of chill in the air.
“I’ll keep her as far away from you as humanly possible. She’s young enough and foolish enough to think you’re hot, and I don’t want…”
They’d reached the car, and she was about to go around to the passenger side when his arm shot out, stopping her.
She turned to move in the other direction, but his other arm came up, trapping her against the side of the car. They were miles from nowhere, on a dirt road that might as