How could she object? Especially when she really didn’t want to. Anything to prolong his stay.
She climbed out and headed to the door. She dug into her purse for the keys. Another minute ticked by, and she was still digging. They had to be in there somewhere…
“Darn. I think I left them inside. I’m not used to not having my car.” She jogged down the porch steps and carefully crossed some garden stones in the flower bed, aware of Sam’s gaze.
“Should we call someone?”
“No need. I keep a spare just in case, in Molly’s old hiding place. Where is it…? A-ha.” She found the ceramic tile with a cracked picture of a frog. She bent down, pried the stone up, and snagged the key. “Here we are.”
She unlocked the door, and he followed her in. Without asking, he took off down the hall and started checking all the rooms. He really took this protector thing seriously.
Who was she kidding? She loved it. Loved that he cared enough about her to do it.
When he returned, she was busy making a pot of coffee. She figured it was the least she could do. “Sam, I can’t begin to thank you for everything
you’ve done for me the past couple of days.” She poured the water into the well and measured the coffee beans.
“No worries. Like I said, my day was free today, anyhow. Besides,” he glanced over at her, an odd smile on his face, “I could always use new material for my next book.”
Certain he was kidding, she laughed. Maybe a little sheepishly, though, since she’d actually considered that very thing earlier. “That would be great, wouldn’t it? I’d buy everyone a copy for Christmas,” she said as she ground the beans for a few seconds, releasing their nutty aroma.
She dumped them in the coffee maker and pressed start, then ambled over to where he was standing at the table, staring at the four open boxes. She sighed. They certainly had turned into a disappointment.
“Sorry I couldn’t find anything on the tapes. You may want to check them again. I could have missed something.”
“Yeah. I think I will. Just in case.”
“I could stick around, if you’d like. Help you sort through some of the folders. There may be something I overlooked.”
She looked up, trying to gauge his sincerity. She knew she’d come a long way since high school, and, since she’d lost all that weight, there’d been more than a few men who had expressed interest in her. Men she’d quickly dismissed, since she had no interest in getting emotionally involved again for a very long time. Maybe when she reached Molly’s age… So it wasn’t as if she didn’t know she had some appeal to the opposite sex.
But enough to capture Sam’s interest to sift through all these boxes on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, just to find something she could use for her video project? Of that, she was more pessimistic.
“Well, at least until you’ve had some coffee.” She hesitated. “Why are you so interested in helping me, anyway? You haven’t seemed too interested in the project until now.”
He chuckled. “Have you forgotten what I do for a living? I’m a crime writer. The stuff that’s happened these past few days is right up my alley.”
And though she had been the one to bring it up, expecting to hear such a rational, practical response, her heart sank. Spending time with her had clearly not been a factor.
Shocker.
She straightened her back, resolved not to let him see how crushed she felt.
“Like you said,” he mused. “On the heels of Mr. Williams’s body turning up, there has to be a connection. Obviously, you’ve hit on something that’s making the killer nervous. And to be frank, I’ve never had a front row seat during a murder investigation like this. I’m usually piecing things together after the criminal’s been apprehended and is standing trial. Not as things are happening.”
He sounded…thrilled. Thrilled Mr. Williams was murdered. Thrilled she and Sam had almost died.
“You’re thinking of writing a book about what’s happened?” Hearing it out loud like that sounded even worse than in her head, and she grew angrier. “Profiting off Mr. Williams’s death? His murder? All for a lousy buck?”
So impassioned a moment ago, Sam’s eyes cleared, and he came back to earth. He stared at her, his brows furrowed. “I wouldn’t be profiting from his death or disrespecting his memory. If anything, I’d have a golden opportunity to present Jackson Williams as a three-dimensional person, someone with hopes and dreams and passion, that a broad audience can appreciate. People who otherwise would never have heard about Mr. Williams. They’ll see him as something other than just a victim.”
Allie shook her head. He had to realize this was wrong.
“I know it’s been a lot of years, but I remember your relationship with Mr. Williams. He was your soccer coach, wasn’t he? And our advisor on the newspaper. I remember seeing the two of you after school, reviewing pictures you’d taken, hearing his words of encouragement to you. You’re going to stand there and tell me this man, this man who cared so much about you and all of us…you’re going to sell him out?”
Sam’s throat pulsed, and she could see she’d really made him angry. But she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to change her mind on this. From the glint of cold anger in his eyes, neither was he.
“I’m not selling anyone out.” His voice was cold. Devoid of emotion. Even anger. “As I said, if anything, I’d be giving Mr. Williams’s a chance, post-mortem, to tell people about his life, about the unfair ending to it. You’re right. I did know Mr. Williams. And I can assure you he wouldn’t have issues with my writing.”