Kay Hooper - Stealing Shadows

"Excuses?"

"That's what it sounds like to me. One reason after another to hold me at arm's length until – what? Until I lose patience and give up?"

Cassie was spared having to answer when the phone rang.

"Dammit," Ben muttered, as Cassie answered the phone.

"I think the mayor wants to talk to you," Cassie said, and both of them heard the relief in her voice.

Hannah Payne hummed softly to herself as she pinned the pattern to material spread out on the living room floor. She should have been in her sewing room, of course, the extra bedroom that Joe had fixed up for her. But he was napping in their bedroom right next door, since he had to go in to work that night, and she didn't want to disturb him.

From time to time she felt a little chill of worry over that missing girl, but Joe had been right when he'd told her she would just upset herself if she listened to the radio all day waiting to hear about the poor thing.

There was nothing she could do to help, after all.

Snug in her own safe little world, Hannah worked contentedly, disturbed only when the phone rang just after two o'clock. She lunged to grab the receiver before it could ring again and wake Joe.

"Hello?"

Silence.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Soft music began to play.

Hannah began to be afraid, even though she couldn't have said why. It was a music box, she realized; nothing else had quite the same tinkling sound. Just a music box, and someone was obviously playing a joke on her.

"Hello? Who's there?" She didn't recognize the tune -

"Bitch."

With a gasp Hannah hung up the phone. She sat there on the floor, feeling very, very cold. Just a joke, of course. Somebody was being bad, being mean, that was all it was. That was all.

Joe wasn't going to like it when she asked him to stay home from work another night.

It was three o'clock that afternoon when Abby pulled her car to the curb in front of the Sheriff's Department, left Bryce inside, and came up the walkway to the steps.

Cassie was sitting on the fourth one.

"Hi," Abby said.

Cassie echoed the greeting, then added, "Matt isn't back yet."

"He's still out there with – with the Ramsay girl?"

"Where she was killed, yeah. They sent her body back to town about an hour ago, but the crime scene unit is still out there collecting evidence. Or what they hope will be evidence."

"That FBI agent still around?"

Cassie wasn't surprised that the other woman knew. "Out there with Matt and the rest."

"Word has it he's from one of those serial killer task forces the FBI sends around the country."

"He isn't. Though I believe he spent some time in Behavioral Sciences at Quantico."

Abby eyed her. "Then why is he here? Nobody believes Matt called the Bureau, least of all me."

"He didn't." Cassie smiled and briefly explained her history with the agent, finishing with, "He'll stick around, watching and listening and offering unsolicited advice. Probably drive Matt nuts – even though he really is pretty good at figuring out murders. But I guess you could say he's here for me if for anything."

"I see. And what does Ben say about that?"

"Not much so far." Cassie jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "The mayor and three members of the town council are in there talking to him right now. I was just in the way, and the focus of intense curiosity, so I came out here for some fresh air."

Abby sat on the step beside her. "Has Ben kept you hanging around here all day?"

"Well, I've suggested taking a cab home, and one of the deputies offered to drive me, but Ben needed to stay here until Matt gets back and he asked me to stick around." She shrugged. "Maybe I can help."

"And maybe he just wants you with him."

Cassie turned her gaze out toward Main Street, absently focusing on a woman a couple of blocks down who seemed to be picking up litter from the sidewalk. "I don't know why he would. We either spend our time discussing the finer points of lunatic killers and their methods or else end up in a – a senseless debate neither of us can seem to win. One of us pushes, and one of us backs away. It's like some frustrating dance."

"One of those, huh? I've been there."

"He's a very stubborn man. Not as stubborn as your Matt, maybe, but – "

"Nobody is as stubborn as Matt." There was a touch of amusement in Abby's voice. "As for Ben, the word I'd use to describe him would probably be 'determined.' "

Cassie sent her a glance. "Yeah?"

"Definitely. As far as I can tell, nothing much has ever stood in his way when he wanted something."

"I suppose that goes for women too?" Abby pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I imagine so, though to be fair, he hasn't exactly cut a heartless swath through the county. He's usually had a girlfriend but seems to prefer them one at a time – and they seem to stay friendly with him once it's over."

"Figures." Cassie sounded disgruntled.

Abby hid a grin. "Well, he's a nice guy."

"I know. I know he is." Cassie sighed and watched her breath turn to drifting mist. It had warmed up during the afternoon and the skies had cleared somewhat, so sitting on the front steps of the Sheriff's Department was actually rather pleasant, but it was still a winter day and there was still a chill in the air.

"And not at all bad looking," Abby went on, warming to her theme. "Of course, some women don't care for dark men, and I suppose it could be argued that since he's still single at – let's see, he's Mart's age, so he must be about thirty-six or -seven – then he probably has a few intimacy issues lying about. But maybe I've seen too many talk shows."

Cassie smiled, continuing to watch the woman moving slowly toward them along the sidewalk, bending from time to time to pick up something from the pavement. "Intimacy issues, huh? Yeah, well, he isn't the only one."

"You can tell me it's none of my business if you like, but which one of you is backing away?"

"Me, at the moment."

"Ah. You don't like dark men?"

Cassie kept it light. "It's lawyers. I mean, I know he's been a judge, and now he's a prosecutor, but all those lawyer jokes just get to you after a while."

"And he's a politician too," Abby noted sympathetically.

"Worse and worse."

"I suppose you could try reforming him."

"Oh, no. Any woman who tries to reform a man deserves everything she gets."

Abby laughed.

Cassie smiled, then said, "Abby, who is that woman? The one coming toward us?"

Abby looked. "Oh. That's Lucy Shaw, poor thing."

"What is she picking up? I thought it was litter, but – "

"Nobody knows what she thinks she's picking up. Whenever she manages to escape her son's watchful eye, she ends up roaming the streets picking up invisible things until he comes looking for her."

Remembering, Cassie said, "Oh, yes, Ben told me about her. And nobody knows what did this to her?"

"Not that I've ever heard. I just assumed it was Alzheimer's, even though she couldn't have been much past forty when I first noticed her roaming the streets."

"She looks about seventy now," Cassie murmured.

"I know, but she's younger. When she was a young woman, she was famous for her needlework. Apparently she still does some in lucid moments, because her son usually sells a few pieces at the church bazaar every year." Abby paused, then added, "I should go call him now. She never seems to wander into traffic or get hurt in any way, but she isn't dressed warmly enough to be out here."

Lucy Shaw was wearing faded jeans neatly rolled up above her ankles and a cotton cardigan over a T-shirt. Untied and ancient Reeboks flapped on her sockless feet. Her mostly gray hair was untidy but not witchy, and she was almost painfully thin.

She turned up the walkway that led to the Sheriff's Department. She had been moving steadily and straight down the street, but now she moved much quicker, bending only once to pick up whatever her mind told her was so important. She held one hand cupped close to her body, as though holding small items, and her other hand curved around it protectively. She stopped near the foot of the steps, straightened, and stared at them with vacant eyes.