The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 1-5 - Catherine Coulter [609]
Adam said, a dark eyebrow raised a bit, “Mean streak or not, you believe he actually bashed a young girl in the face with a blunt instrument and walled her in his basement because he was pissed to see her trotting across his backyard?”
Sheriff Gaffney said, “A blunt instrument, you say. Well, the ME didn’t know what the murderer struck her with, maybe a heavy pot, maybe a bookend, something like that. Did Jacob do it? We’ll just have to see about that.”
“Nothing else makes much sense,” Tyler said, jumping to his feet. He began pacing the room. His whole body was vibrating with tension. He had good muscle tone, the sheriff thought, remembering his own buffed self that the ladies had stared at when he was that young. Tyler whirled around, came to a stop, nearly knocking over a floor lamp. “Don’t you see? Whoever killed her had to have access to Jacob’s basement. Surely Jacob would have heard someone knocking away bricks, then putting them back up. The killer had to have cement to do that. Also, he had to haul the body into the house and down the basement steps. That would be quite an undertaking. It had to be Jacob. Nothing else makes sense.”
Adam said, leaning back in that old leather chair now, his legs crossed at his ankles, his fingers steepled, the tips lightly tapping together, “Now, wait a minute. You’re saying that Jacob Marley never left his house?”
“Not that I remember,” Tyler said. “He even had his groceries delivered. Of course, I was gone four years when I was in college. Maybe he used to be different, went out more.”
“Two things were always true about old Jacob,” Sheriff Gaffney said slowly. “Two things you could always count on. He was here and he was mean.” He heaved himself from his seat. He froze when the button right above his wide leather belt up and popped off. He watched, paralyzed, as the damned button rolled across the polished oak floor to stop at the big toe of Carruthers’s right boot. He sucked in his belly, but he still felt that wide leather belt of his continue to cut him something fierce. He didn’t say anything, just held out his hand.
Adam Carruthers tossed him the button. He didn’t smile. The sheriff clutched that damned button close. Jesus, maybe he should think about that diet Maude was always nagging him about.
Becca pretended not to see anything. She rose and stuck out her hand to the sheriff. “Thank you for coming and telling us in person. Please let us know when you find out who that poor girl is.”
“Was, ma’am, was. I will. I’m glad I called them. I had to worm it out of them, but I finally got to speak to the main guy, a hardnose named Jarvis, and he finally coughed up the info.” He nodded to Tyler McBride, who looked hollow-cheeked, as if he’d been put through a wringer, and then to Adam Carruthers, a cocky bastard who hadn’t laughed when his button had popped off.
“I’ll see you out, Sheriff,” Becca said and walked beside him out of the living room.
Adam said to Tyler, “Becca told me what was going on. I’m glad I was nearby and could get here to help.”
Tyler eyed the man. There hadn’t been time to question him before the sheriff had arrived. He said slowly, suspicion a sharp thread in his voice, “I didn’t know Becca had a cousin. Who the hell are you?”
10
Adam said easily, “Becca’s mom was my aunt. She died of cancer, you know, very recently. My mom lives in Baltimore with my stepdad. A great guy, loves to fish for bass.”
Thank God she heard that before she came back into the living room. The man was quick and smooth. He was a very good liar. She would have believed him herself if she hadn’t known better. Actually, her mother was an only child, both her parents long dead. Her father had been an only child as well. His parents were also dead. Who was Adam, anyway?
Tyler turned toward Becca and said in a warm voice that was far too intimate, “Well, just maybe Sam can have a stepmom, just like you got yourself a stepdad,