“And how would you know that?” I ask. “Do you make it a habit of following women around?”
“I didn't follow you. She told me you were there.”
“I didn't even tell her my name. How could she possibly tell you I was there?”
“She said some woman she never saw came up to the bar and was sniffing around asking questions about Feathered Nest and the people who go up there. Said she was tall and blonde. Didn't take a whole lot of stretch of the imagination to figure out it was you,” LaRoche says.
“Tall and blonde. Interesting. Sounds very much like Andrea, doesn't it?” I point out. “And Cristela Jordan, for that matter.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I saw you and Andrea at the hotel the day I went up there. The day someone shot at me,” I say. “You looked awfully friendly for someone who says she doesn't know anyone in this town and has never been here. Of course, the hotel isn't technically in Feathered Nest, so I guess she might not have been lying. Did you just not tell her who you really are?”
“Where do you get off shoving your nose in my private business?” he sputters.
“When dead people wind up on my porch, bullets come flying at my head, someone follows me in the woods, and broken glass from my outside light ends up on the backseat of my car, everything becomes my business,” I say.
“What are you talking about?” he asks.
“Now who's playing dumb? I know you were there when I was at Lacy's. The other bartender, Kenley, told me you go sit up there and watch Andrea all the time. I must have chosen just the perfect time. Even if you weren't following me, you showed up at the bar and saw my car. Thought you'd leave me a little message.”
His eyes darken, and heightened awareness pricks at the back of my neck. I'm on a slippery slope now. This confrontation might have gone too far. But I want to push him. I want to get him to the very brink and shove him over, to force him to reveal all the cracks that will soon make him shatter. He takes a step toward me, but his eyes snap over my shoulder before he says anything.
“Emma?”
I turn to the sound of Jake's voice and see him walking toward us, holding flowers in one hand and a bottle in the other. He looks distinctly unhappy to see me there.
“Jake... “ I start.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“I just came to look…”
“At my father's grave? You wanted to gawk at it again? See if anything else horrible happened to it?”
He sounds angry, and I take a step closer to him.
“Cole Barnes said…”
“You went to talk to Cole Barnes?” he demands.
“What the hell is with you and interfering with active investigations?” LaRoche growls from behind me. “Barnes was just released. He's still being investigated, and anything he says needs to be on record. Not babbled out to some nosy woman who doesn't know how to keep her distance.”
“How dare you talk to me like that?” I say, turning back to look at LaRoche.
“He's right,” Jake says.
I whip around to face him.
“Excuse me?”
“You said you've always been interested in true crime, and it fascinates you?”
“Yes.”
“If you were so invested in it, you would have known about the disappearances and murders around here. It's been going on for two years. Two years, Emma. People have been losing their lives, and no one can stop it. News about it has been splashed all over every channel and newspaper across the damn country. If you had even the slightest interest in crime, you would have heard about it. But you said you found out about it and started getting interested after you got here, and I told you.”
“It's just…”
“It's just you're nosy and unbelievably insensitive. I can almost understand you having some curiosity about it and wanting to know more, especially after you and I started getting closer. You want to know what's happening,” he says.
“Exactly. I just want to know.”
“That's not enough,” he snaps, cutting me off. “Being curious is one thing. Being inappropriate and pushing yourself into situations where you don't belong is something entirely different. Do you have any idea how much all this has hurt me? How many wounds it's opened up? I trusted you. I leaned on you to help me get through it. Then I find you creeping around the cemetery prying into my father… into my wife.”
“Jake, I'm sorry. I know I should have told you before I went to talk to Barnes, but there were some things I just needed to know.”
“So, you went behind my back to talk to the man who is responsible for all this pain and torment. For what reason? What did you possibly think you could get out of that?” Jake asks.
“She gets off on it,” LaRoche sneers. “It's the same reason she went up to the hotel.”
“What hotel?” Jake asks.
“The one where Ron Murdock, the man shot dead on her porch, was staying. She went up there, asking questions.”
“I was trying to find out more about him,” I protest. “I don't think it's that strange to want to know more about a man I watched die.”
“It is that strange when you didn't even know him, and you've already gotten an explanation about what happened to him,” the chief says. “You're prodding around trying to make more out of things than you should. I'd think you would learn after someone shot at you.”
Jake's hand grabs my wrist and pulls me around to face him.
“Someone shot at you?” he demands. “When did this happen? Why didn't you tell me?”
“I didn't want you to worry about me,” I tell him. “The police don't even know who did it. It could have just been an accident, or some stupid kids joy riding and shooting without thinking about where the bullets might end up.”
I can feel LaRoche staring at me, the same searing, threatening feeling from the woods. I want my words to throw him off, to keep him guessing about how much I know so he will trip himself up.
“You still think that after your light got broken?” Jake asks. He shakes his head and takes a step back from me. “I can't do this. I can't handle worrying about you on top of everything else.”
He storms away, heading back toward the entrance to the cemetery.
“Jake, please. Just let me explain,” I call after him.
He hesitates and looks back at me. “You need to watch yourself, Emma. If you aren't more careful, someone could get hurt.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Listen to him,” LaRoche says. “Sounds like he knows what he's talking about.”
“I don't need your advice,” I snap. “You haven't even explained to me why you were up at the hotel that day.”
“Like I said, I don't need to justify anything to you. But since it seems you're determined to play Miss Marple, I'll tell you. It's not like I need to deal with getting your obnoxious little ass killed. I was up at the hotel to see Andrea. But you already know that. You saw us together. We're having an affair. I’d appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut about that. You don't need to go around messing up people's lives over two adults wanting to spend some time together.”
“But why meet her all the way out there?” I ask.
“Ever heard of discretion? I don't particularly want people around here knowing what's going on between the two of us,” he says.
“Because it's happened before?” I ask. “I imagine you've made some people pretty unhappy with your dalliances.”
“You don't know what you're talking about,” he glowers.