Below the Bones (Widow's Island #5) - Kendra Elliot Page 0,9

clarified. Mike had said we a few times, and she suspected he didn’t mean Tessa.

“No. You and me.” He raised a finger as she opened her mouth to protest. “Lamb liked you. We both know that. He talked to you more than anyone.”

Mike was right. Lamb had believed he was irresistible to women and saw Cate’s professional demeanor as a challenge. He’d been desperate for her to like him. She and Les, the lead on the case, had agreed to milk that to their advantage. Cate had stretched her acting skills, giving Lamb subtle hints that she was weakening. He’d eaten it up.

“Is that true?” asked Tessa. “Did you have a rapport with Lamb?”

“But Sowle won’t talk to me,” she said, grasping at straws.

“I can handle Sowle if an interview is needed,” said Mike.

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Tessa stated. “There’s a lot of work to do here before anyone runs off to prison.” She made a note on her phone. “I’ll expand the missing persons search. I’ll include Vancouver Island and the northern coastal counties of Washington. Tomorrow we can get started uncovering the other graves. We need to verify that’s what they are and if they hold women and lockets.”

“Everyone on the island knows something’s going on up there,” Henry pointed out. “Before the three of you arrived, I was asked about it at the bakery. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few curious gossipers decided to go take a look.”

“I’m posting someone up there all night,” Tessa answered. “I already worked out a shift rotation so no one is there for too many hours overnight. Bruce has been up there most of the day.”

“Do you need any more manpower?” asked Henry. “I’m capable of scaring off some snoops.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” said Tessa. “But I think we’re covered.”

“I’ll get Jeff Lamb’s visitor and call list from the prison,” said Mike. “I want to know who he’s been talking with for the past eight years.”

“Are we moving too fast?” asked Tessa. “Are we wrong to push forward so hard on the Lamb murder connection?”

“No,” said Cate firmly. “I’m positive this is related.”

She felt it in her gut.

5

Cate was distracted.

As she started to wipe down a table at the bakery, she realized she’d already cleaned it twice. Yet the next table over still had the flaky crumbs of a croissant spread across its top and under the high chair. The customer and her toddler had left more than ten minutes ago.

She gave herself a shake and tackled the crumbs.

Her focus was nonexistent, her mind constantly wondering what was happening at the burial site. Mike, Tessa, and the newly arrived forensic anthropologist had left for the location nearly six hours ago. She checked the clock behind the bakery counter. It was nearly three o’clock, and she hadn’t heard a word from anyone. She was being left out, and she didn’t like it.

Not my business anymore.

Then why am I on pins and needles?

Jane bustled out of the kitchen, a large tray of assorted pastries in her hands. She set it near the case and restocked. There was always a midafternoon rush on iced-coffee drinks and snacks. Cate wasn’t going to get rich running the bakery and bookstore, but she supported several employees and enjoyed the relaxing work.

And no one would shoot at her.

Hopefully.

The bells on the door jingled, and an older woman with a lovely genuine smile stepped in. Cate couldn’t help but smile in return. Behind the woman, Bruce pulled the door shut. He was in uniform.

Aha. This must be his visiting mother.

Cate wiped her hands on her apron. “Afternoon, Bruce.” He had dark circles under his brown eyes. No doubt a result of the long dull hours watching over the crime scene. He’d started to return her greeting when his mother stepped over to Cate and took her hand.

“I’m Patsy. Bruce’s mom. He told me about you, Cate. You have a darling little bakery.” She was a petite woman with long curly brown hair, beautifully streaked with natural gray and blonde.

Cate sensed a lot of strength in the small woman.

“Thank you.”

Patsy looked pleased, patted Cate’s hand, and turned to the bakery counter, where Jane stood watching the encounter, an amused look on her face.

“Oh my,” said Patsy, looking from Jane back to Cate. “The genes are strong, aren’t they? Clearly you two are related.”

“Jane is my grandmother.”

“So nice to meet you. Please call me Patsy.” Bruce’s mother took Jane’s hand the same way she’d taken Cate’s. “Oh! We’re