Murder in the Smokies - By Paula Graves Page 0,10
everything to do with the way his libido had gone on high alert the second she’d walked out of Marjorie Kenner’s front door—and his memories of her friendship came roaring back as well, reminding him that she’d once been his lifeline.
He passed his father’s ramshackle old house on the way back to the motel, and for a moment, he considered stopping in to see how the old man was faring. He hadn’t seen him since he’d left town, hadn’t talked to him in nearly as many years, and the handful of Bitterwood natives he’d run into over the years had been in no hurry to bring up the unpleasant topic of his father, to his relief.
He drove on without slowing down. Some parts of his past he had no intention of revisiting.
The clerk who ran the Stay and Save Motel’s front office called his name as he walked past, drawing him inside the small sandstone building. “Somebody left a message for you,” he said, holding out a half-crumpled piece of paper. He gave Sutton an expectant look as he handed over the message.
“Thanks.” Sutton pulled a couple of dollars from his wallet and handed it to the clerk. He unfolded the message as he walked down the covered walkway to his room.
The message was short and sweet. “Clingmans Dome observation tower, 7 p.m. Come alone.”
Chapter Three
Clearly, sleep deprivation had taken a toll on her normal good sense, because there was no logical explanation why she had bypassed the turnoff to her house on Vesper Road and continued down the two-lane highway to the Stay and Save Motel on Route 4. After fifteen straight hours on the job, she’d finally taken Antoine’s advice and clocked out just after five-thirty so she could head home to catch up on some sleep.
Instead, she was at the far end of the Stay and Save parking lot, scanning for any sign of Sutton Calhoun’s truck and kicking herself for being such a reckless idiot.
Rayburn had told her not to contact Sutton. Yet here she was, the second she slipped the captain’s line of sight, defying his order. And for what? Sutton Calhoun might be sexy as hell and still chock-full of masculine mystery, but she hadn’t gotten any sense, during their conversation early that morning, that he knew anything more about the murders than she knew herself. And that should be the only thing about Sutton Calhoun that held any interest for her now.
She didn’t see Sutton’s truck parked in the guest lot. At this time of the evening, he was probably out to dinner somewhere. Maybe catching up with old friends who still lived in the area. His old girlfriend Carla was still in Bitterwood, recently divorced and nearly as pretty as she’d been years earlier, when she’d been the homecoming queen who’d defied her parents to date a mysterious bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks.
Her cell phone rang, giving her tired nervous system a jolt. She checked the display and sighed, thumbing the answer button. “Hi, Mom.”
“I guess you’re not coming for dinner?”
Damn. “I picked up a new case. I’m sorry. Rain check?”
“Of course.” Her mother, Arlene, had perfected the art of passive-aggressive accommodation. “I can freeze the pot roast for next time.”
Ivy laid her head back against the headrest, feeling a vein throbbing hard in her temple. “You know you should always call me before you go to the trouble of cooking anything, Mom. My schedule is crazy.”
“I know, Birdy.” Ivy stifled a smile at the old nickname her mother still used for her. “I just need to talk to you soon.”
“Absolutely. I’ll call you as soon as things slow down.” Although, she reminded herself with no small measure of guilt, there wasn’t any reason she shouldn’t head over to her mother’s now instead of sitting here stalking Sutton Calhoun.
Ivy pressed her fingers against her gritty eyes. Go to your mother’s house, Hawkins. Just put your car in gear and go before you embarrass yourself any further.
“Mom, listen.” She had already reached for the ignition key when she saw a dark gray Ford Ranger sweep by the parking lot entrance, heading east. The truck looked a lot like Sutton’s Ford, though in the waning evening light, she couldn’t get a good look at the driver through the tinted windows. As it moved past, she spotted the Alabama tag on the rear bumper.
Before she thought better of it, she started her Jeep and pulled out onto the road behind him.