Debby Giusti - The Colonel's Daughter

She hadn’t expected him to remember. The empathy she heard in his voice caused her eyes to cloud again. Jamison had understood when no one else seemed interested in how a younger sister felt about the death of the brother she idolized. Even her parents hadn’t wanted to talk about their son’s future cut short.

Teddy swiped her credit card and ripped off the tape register receipt. Holding out the thin strip of paper, he handed Michele a pen. “I just need a signature to complete the transaction.”

Relieved to focus on something other than the special agent, Michele hastily signed her name. Grabbing the flowers and vase, she turned to find Jamison standing much too close.

She dropped her gaze, trying to ignore his muscular shoulders and the manly scent of his aftershave. Instead her focus settled on his right hip, where—beneath the smooth line of his sports coat—he carried a SIG Sauer, loaded and ready to fire.

“Sorry.” He stepped aside. His demeanor and voice, now devoid of inflection, reminded her that their involvement had ended months ago. Just as with Lance, she had no reason to think about what might have been.

Ironically, on her brother’s last trip home, Lance had laughingly teased that only a military guy would make her happy. Michele had agreed, but his death had changed her mind. Now she just wanted to guard her future and her heart.

The bell tinkled as she pushed the door open and stepped into the Georgia humidity, grateful no one was standing close enough to see the confusion she couldn’t hide and shouldn’t be feeling. She’d left Jamison months ago. A good decision, or so she’d thought.

Slipping behind the wheel of her car, she glanced back at the florist shop. Would she have felt differently if her brother hadn’t died?

Maybe then she wouldn’t have been afraid of her feelings for the CID agent. But Lance had died and her father had been injured in Afghanistan, and then Dawson had taken a bullet meant for Jamison in a bloody shoot-out that had made her run scared.

Now Yolanda.

If only Michele could run away again, just as she had done ten months ago. She wanted to go back to the secure life she’d made for herself in Atlanta, but she couldn’t leave her mother alone after the tragedy that had happened. The brigade would return sometime next week. Michele would wait until her father came home before she left Fort Rickman and the military.

By then, Jamison would have found the killer.

Her stomach tightened and a gasp escaped her lips as she realized that finding the killer would, once again, put Jamison in the line of fire.

* * *

Why did Michele continue to get under his skin?

Jamison clamped down on his jaw and pulled in a deep breath, needing to distance himself, at least emotionally, from the colonel’s daughter and concentrate on the florist, who continued to stare at him.

“Can I help you, sir?” he asked a second time.

Glancing at the clerk’s name tag, Jamison held up his CID identification. “I need information about any floral deliveries you’ve made in the last couple days, Mr. Sutherland.”

The florist nodded. “You’re here because of that murder on post.”

A crime everyone seemed to have heard about by now. “What can you tell me?”

“Mrs. Hughes ordered a bouquet for yesterday afternoon.” Sutherland flipped through his order forms. “Here it is. A bouquet of cut flowers, carnations and daisies, interspersed with a few yellow roses.”

Glancing up at Jamison, he added, “Yellow roses are a popular homecoming flower. As you probably know, Major Hughes’s unit is scheduled to return to Fort Rickman next week.”

“Did Mrs. Hughes discuss her husband’s return to post?”

The florist shook his head. “Not to me, but it’s common knowledge. Plus, the local chamber of commerce keeps track of all the homecomings. Having the brigade back will be good for business.”

Jamison pulled his notebook and pen from his pocket. “What time did you deliver the flowers to the Hughes residence?”

“I didn’t. Mrs. Hughes stopped by the shop yesterday and placed the order before she went to the commissary. I had the table arrangement ready when she finished shopping.”

“Did she say why she wanted flowers?”

“No, sir, but Mrs. Hughes bought flowers once a month or so. Usually for a wives’ event. Sure is a shame.”

“How’d you learn about her death?”

“One of her neighbors stopped in earlier today. She was pretty shook-up. Fact is everyone’s upset.”

“Do you recall the neighbor’s name?”

“I can find it if you give me a minute.” Once again, he sorted through the order forms. His face lit up as he pulled a paper from the pile and held it out to Jamison. “Ursula Barker bought an arrangement shortly after I opened this morning. She lives down the street from the Hugheses and shared that the whole neighborhood is worried. Course, I don’t blame them with a killer on the loose. I’m worried, too. You guys have any idea who did it?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” A pat answer, but the truth was that the CID and military police had nothing concrete to go on so far.

The florist pursed his lips. “Guess I shouldn’t have asked, but just like everyone else on post, I’m looking over my shoulder, if you know what I mean.”

Jamison did know. No one wanted a murderer on the loose. He continued to question the florist but learned nothing more that would have a bearing on the victim’s death. After leaving the floral shop, Jamison called CID headquarters. He quickly filled Dawson in on his interview with the florist before he turned the discussion to his earlier stop at Prime Maintenance.

“I talked to the supervisor. The only maintenance man on duty last night was Danny Altman. He’s prior military, worked in Atlanta and was questioned when his girlfriend died unexpectedly. Her death was ruled accidental.” Jamison passed on Altman’s Freemont address. “Find out more about the girlfriend.”

“Roger that. I’ll talk to Mr. Altman and see if he remembers anything pertinent concerning last night, as well.” Dawson paused for a long moment. “I talked to

McGrunner.”

Both Dawson and Jamison thought highly of the young military policeman who had a good work ethic and the makings of a future CID special agent. He had been on patrol last night, and Jamison knew where Dawson was headed.

“Look, Dawson, I drove by Colonel Logan’s quarters,” Jamison admitted. “That’s all.”

“Military police were on patrol in the colonel’s housing area. You didn’t need to worry about Michele.”

“The killer left two witnesses behind.”

“Yes, but neither Michele nor her mother can identify him.”

“He may not realize that. If I were a killer, I’d get rid of everyone involved.” The muscles in Jamison’s neck tensed as he thought about what could happen. “Did any of the neighbors hear sounds of a struggle?”

“Negative.”

“I blame that on the storm. Most folks were probably hunkered down inside their quarters. Thunder and wind would have muffled any noise coming from the victim’s quarters.”

“Roger that,” Dawson agreed. “And if the killer had used a stun gun, Mrs. Hughes would have quickly lost muscle control and couldn’t have screamed for help.”

What about Michele? The thought of her with the killer made Jamison clamp down on his jaw.

Thank God she and Mrs. Logan hadn’t been hurt.

He pushed the cell closer to his ear. “Any word from the medical examiner?”

“Negative.”

Seemed they were still batting zero. Although it might be a long shot, Jamison thought of another person who needed to be questioned. “The florist said a neighbor by the name of Ursula Barker told him about the victim’s death. Have one of our people check with Ms. Barker and verify the florist’s story.”