Jenna Hughes was one hell of an intriguing woman.
CHAPTER 15
“Trouble?” BJ asked, watching Jenna walk briskly through the desks toward the front door of the sheriff’s office.
“Always.” Carter, too, was eyeing Falls Crossing’s most famous citizen’s backside. Even hidden beneath fleece-lined layers, her ass was definitely tight and oh, so female. He drew his eyes away, but figured BJ had seen his silent appraisal. “So, what’s up?”
“Charley Perry. Apparently he likes being a celebrity. Station KBST has been offering up sound bites all morning about their ‘exclusive interview’ with him.”
“Give me a break,” Carter grumbled. “I thought I told him to keep his mouth shut.”
“That’s like telling a grizzly to be gentle when you’re offering him a piece of steak.”
“I suppose. Any news from missing persons about Jane Doe?”
“No matches yet.”
Great, Carter thought, and found the remote to the small television that was balanced atop a filing cabinet. Just…great.
“What’s this?” BJ was looking at the plastic envelope on Carter’s desk.
“Looks like Jenna Hughes found herself another fan.”
“You are every woman? You are one woman? Jesus, who does this guy think he is? Julio Iglesias?” She was studying the envelope.
“That’s Enrique—you’re dating yourself.” He glanced at the note again and it bothered him. More than he wanted to admit. He considered her beautiful face. “Whoever sent it thinks he owns her.”
“She have any idea who would do this?”
“Nope—but she did come up with the name of a stalker who chased her around a few years back. Vincent Paladin, some creep who hung out in video stores.”
“Does he live around here?”
“Don’t know. Yet.” He tapped the desk and scowled. Was it just coincidence that Jenna Hughes received the note at the same time that a Jane Doe was discovered up at Catwalk Point and Sonja Hatchell came up missing…the incidents seemed unrelated…or were they?
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Jane Doe appeared to be the victim of a homicide that had occurred a while back.
Sonja Hatchell was missing. But she could have taken off on her own, or been lost in the storm.
And now Jenna Hughes was being terrorized, if not stalked.
“Hey, what’s going on?” BJ was staring at him. “I see gears grinding in that brain of yours.”
“Just thinking about coincidence. You believe in it?”
“Never.”
“Me neither,” he said, and chewed on the edge of his moustache as he pointed the remote at his TV and clicked it on.
“Uh-oh, here we go.” BJ was already staring at the small television screen and there, in all his glory, was Charley Perry, chatting up a reporter. Charley’s white hair was combed, his beard trimmed, his plaid shirt clean and pressed. “Look at him, all gussied-up and dignified-looking.”
“Idiot.” Disgusted, Carter clicked up the volume and listened as Charley Perry shot off his mouth. “I should have his ass arrested for impeding an investigation.”
“And think of all the negative publicity the sheriff’s department would get then.” BJ winked at him. “Remember, you’re an elected official, sworn and dedicated to upholding the law and—”
“Yeah, I get it.” He watched Charley expound on his theory of what had happened to the unidentified woman, then tell the story of how he and his faithful dog, Tanzy, had found the remains. The screen had switched to the dog in question, a white-and-liver-spotted mutt that seemed to have some springer spaniel in her. Tanzy whimpered and hid behind Charley’s bowed, jean-clad legs, avoiding a treat offered by the reporter. The segment was soon over, and Carter clicked off the set. “That was newsworthy,” he groused.