Heartbreak Bay (Stillhouse Lake #5) - Rachel Caine Page 0,55

you, Mrs. Gregg. That’s helpful. Anything else?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she says. “Y’all be safe out there. Those poor, poor little children.” She clucks her tongue and closes the door.

I start for my borrowed truck, but I spot a man loitering near it. He looks like a cop, and I don’t want to get into that. Not until I make a bit more progress. So I hit a few more houses, taking precautions every time as promised. Two want nothing to do with me and close the door in my face. One asks if there’s a reward. I tell him there’s not, and he immediately loses interest. Sheryl’s next-door neighbor is surly and makes me damn glad I’ve texted my whereabouts, but he does support what Mrs. Gregg’s told me about the day Tommy left; nobody saw any sign he was packing, and the neighbor describes Tommy as an outdoorsman, often gone fishing or hunting. Not unusual around here at all.

He doesn’t seem to have any suspicions about Sheryl. In fact, he’s adamant that she’s a good woman and a good mother, and seems very certain of it.

I wonder how he’d feel if he knew about her past.

Nobody else seems to have noticed Douglas Adam Prinker or his white van, and I sure hope it’s not made up out of whole cloth. That’s the drawback of busybody neighbors; I was the victim of one when the news about Melvin first broke. She swore up and down that she saw me helping him carry a woman into the house. It was a lie, told for attention and because she was certain I deserved the punishment anyway.

I don’t think Mrs. Gregg is lying. I just have built-in wariness that’s hard to shake.

I get met at the last door I knock on with a shotgun, which persuades me it’s past time to be going. The phone lines, I’m certain, have been burning up, and Mrs. Gregg will have spread news of my interest far and wide. That might be useful. But for now, it renders me persona non grata.

Unfortunately, the cop I spotted earlier is still waiting by Sam’s truck when I approach, and I slow down to figure him out. He’s a youngish man, tall, paler skin than most, and developing what looks like an uncomfortable sunburn. Blond hair and very blue eyes. He’s wearing khaki slacks and a button-down, and he straightens up when I come closer and offers me a handshake. I don’t accept. “That’s my truck,” I say.

“Technically, it’s not. I checked,” he replies, and takes a card from his pocket. “Randall Heidt, Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. I’m one of the investigators. And I don’t much appreciate you interfering in what we’re doing, Mrs. Proctor.” But I notice he didn’t stop me from doing it either. Interesting.

“Ms.,” I say, and I’m thankful he hasn’t deployed Mrs. Royal, because he clearly knows who I am, and a quick Google search would show him who I’ve been. “I’m not interfering.”

“You’re interviewing potential witnesses.”

“Sheryl Lansdowne wasn’t abducted from here.”

“She might have been stalked here,” he says. “I’m advising you to back off. Look, I don’t want to be on your bad side, but you really can’t be doing this. Understand?”

“Am I doing anything illegal?”

“Potentially obstructing an investigation.”

“Good luck proving that in front of a judge. Having iced tea with an old lady and knocking on some doors isn’t a crime.”

“I’d like you to share your notes with me, please.”

“What notes?” I say. “I didn’t take any. And I’m under no obligation to tell you about my conversations unless you want to arrest me and take me in for questioning.” The notebook’s burning a hole in my pocket, but I try to keep from giving that away.

I must be successful, because he sighs and says, “Just give me something. Come on.”

So I give him the information I’ve gathered from Mrs. Gregg . . . except for the bit about Douglas Adam Prinker. I hold that back only because I want Kez to have it, and the second this man gets his fist on it, he’ll clench it tight. I tell myself I’m doing the right thing, but truth is, I’m not really sure I am. Well, shit, they weren’t even canvassing properly yet. If they talk to Mrs. Gregg, they’ll get it themselves. That’s not really an excuse. And I feel a little ill when I don’t disclose.

It’s also Heidt’s fault that he doesn’t push me at that point, but mostly it’s