Still Lake - Anne Stuart [83]
How long had it been since a young girl had died a mysterious death? He’d seen nothing recent, but that didn’t prove anything. Maybe the killer was dead, and whoever brought the flowers knew the truth and tried to atone.
Hell, he didn’t even know for certain that he didn’t kill Lorelei. Logic dictated that the same person killed all three, but he knew from years of practice that logic had little to do with reality. And he wasn’t going to be at ease until he remembered the truth about that night.
Distracting as she was, Sophie wasn’t a complete waste of time, either. She was a pure, sinfully rich indulgence on his part. An indulgence he’d enjoy a lot more if he knew what the hell was going on. The sound of the chain saw in the distance sent a tense reminder through his gut. Whoever was working at the inn would be down by the lake. Out of sight of the old wing. And it was as good a time as any to go snooping.
He’d always found an excuse not to go up there, and right now he was tired of playing it safe. Hell, he was bigger and stronger than any of the women who lived there. If someone tried to stop him he’d just walk right over them. If he couldn’t have Sophie, at least he wanted answers.
There was no sign of Sophie’s car as he approached the inn from the woods, but that meant nothing. Her slightly battered Subaru had been towed into town. She was probably sitting in the kitchen like a spider, just waiting to catch him.
He moved past the ramshackle toolshed, pausing for a moment as a cold shiver went down his spine. The roof had fallen in, the door was off its hinges, and no one had used the place in what looked like twenty years. Not since he used to duck into the dark, cobwebby interior for a quickie with a willing and eager Lorelei.
He peered in the broken window, but everything was a shambles. He thought he heard a faint rustling sound, and he remembered the mice. Lorelei had been terrified of them. Valette liked to kill them by hand.
Any mice left there deserved amnesty, he thought, moving past to skirt the perimeter of the inn. No sign of any possible way to break in—he’d have to figure out a way past Sophie’s watchful presence.
Maybe he should just walk into the house, pick her up and carry her upstairs to her bed. He could fuck her senseless, then go down and check out the old hospital while she slept.
As a plan it had a great many flaws, and only one thing to recommend it. It was what he wanted to do.
Unfortunately he wanted to do it so badly he might very well not leave her to go wandering through the ruins. And the longer he waited, the more entangled he was becoming.
He’d forgotten how much he liked Colby, and the cool, pristine beauty of Still Lake. It felt like the only home he’d ever known, which was flat-out crazy. He’d been living in his house in Sudbury, Massachusetts, for six years. Long enough to put down roots.
Except he wasn’t the kind of man who put down roots. Not here, not anywhere.
He was about to turn away when he saw a movement near the boarded-up wing. Someone was in the overgrown bushes, watching him. Possibly someone dangerous—maybe even the killer himself. Or someone who knew the answers to what had happened so long ago.
He didn’t move, trying to peer through the undergrowth to see if he could make out anything about the person hiding there. And then to his surprise the bushes parted and Sophie’s crazy old mother stepped out.
She looked just as peculiar as always, with her mismatched clothes and flyaway gray hair. She was looking right at him out of her beady eyes, and to his amazement she motioned him forward.
He had nothing to lose. He strolled across the open space to the edge of the overgrown shrubbery, only to have her grab his arm in her surprisingly firm grip and drag him deeper into the bushes. He had long enough to wonder if she’d flipped out entirely, when