Below the Bones (Widow's Island #5) - Kendra Elliot Page 0,19
blondes?” Mike asked Tessa. “It could steer us toward the third victim.”
“He knows about it, but he also knows it’s not conclusive.”
“Did the investigators from the different cities connect these two women’s disappearances?” questioned Cate.
“They didn’t,” said Tessa. “Yes, they both show up on a list of missing women in Washington, but no one looked closely at the two cases side by side.”
“I guess I know what we’re doing the rest of the day,” Mike said. He held Cate’s gaze. “I could use another pair of eyes. You’re still cleared for temporary duty.”
It’s just computer work.
“Yes, I’ll help.”
Five hours later, Cate’s eyes hurt. And they were no closer to finding a link between the two women than when they’d started. Her back room looked like a command headquarters—of a very small command. Papers were in stacks on the table and on the floor. Her printer had been going nonstop.
Three laptops and several yellow pads took up the rest of the space. “Should we have set up at your county sheriff’s office instead?” Mike asked.
Cate grinned. “This room is bigger than the office. They’ve got a holding cell and a desk. That’s about it.”
“A few chairs,” Tessa added. “And a TV. It’s too crowded if all three of us are there.”
Mike raised his brows but didn’t comment; instead he made a notation on a whiteboard Cate had hung on the wall.
Tessa had dashed to the hardware store and bought the four small whiteboards the place had in stock, causing people to stare as she’d emptied the shelf. “I’m curious to hear what the gossip says I’m doing with all these boards.”
“It’s office supplies. Four whiteboards,” said Mike. “That’s gossip worthy?”
“Yes,” Tessa and Cate replied in unison.
“Your gossips are hard up,” he said. “What do they have to say when crime actually happens?”
“Oh, that makes the gossip mill too,” said Tessa. “I post all our arrests on our Facebook page—it’s easier to maintain than a website. We can’t afford a web developer anyway, and people love to read about who got in trouble that week. It’s in the weekly paper too.”
“What kind of crime do you have on an island?” Mike asked. “Besides this case.”
“We have a lot of domestics,” Tessa told him. “Fights. Burglaries. There’s a drug problem here, which feeds all three of those.”
“Tourist season is different, though,” added Cate.
“Yes, that’s when we get the complaints about tourists clogging the streets and blocking traffic. A lot of trespassing calls, because tourists will cross private property trying to get the best view and selfie. The most interesting call last week was that someone stole a Slip ’N Slide.”
Mike stared at Tessa. “Didn’t you use to work for the Seattle PD? How did you handle the change of pace? You’ve got to be bored.”
“Priorities change.” Tessa pressed her lips together, and Cate knew she didn’t want to discuss her mother’s Alzheimer’s.
“I didn’t hear about the Slip ’N Slide,” Cate said quickly to change the topic. “Who took it?”
“The next-door neighbor. She was tired of hearing the kids screaming nonstop as they used it.”
“I thought you small-town islanders all get along, like in Mayberry,” said Mike. “I’m growing disenchanted.”
“And we’re getting off topic,” said Cate. “Focus, people.”
“I’m beginning to think our recent victims were totally random,” said Tessa in frustration. “We’re simply not finding a link between these two women.”
Cate leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms over her head. Tessa was right. “Okay. Let’s try a different approach for a while and refocus on Jeff Lamb. He obviously has a contact on the island. Who is it?”
“Where’s his prison visitor-and-phone-call list?” asked Tessa.
“I’ve got it here somewhere,” said Mike, reading his screen. “Sending it to the printer.”
Cate went to take the pages from the printer behind the bookstore’s counter. Her teenage employee sat on a stool at the counter, reading a novel, and didn’t look up as his boss took sheets from the printer for the tenth time that day. Cate didn’t care if her staff read on the job. Business was often slow—there wasn’t a lot to do—and if they discovered a book they loved, they could recommend and sell it to customers.
It was a good idea in theory, but she didn’t think it had actually happened yet.
She grabbed five sheets of paper and squinted at the tiny print. “So many phone calls,” she muttered. The last page was personal visits. She felt smug, looking at the short list, recognizing that most of the visits were from his attorney.