Gingerbread Man (8 page)

Marty, as he insisted Vince call him, was a
friendly fellow with a ready smile, a paunch of a belly, and a
reddish horseshoe of hair surrounding a shiny patch of scalp. He
wore plaid flannel and carried a toolbox. You had to like a guy who
wore plaid flannel and carried a toolbox. Right now he was
crouching near the door, examining the lock the way a surgeon
examines a tumor, and shaking his head. "You're right you know.
These locks are jokes. Any twelve-year-old with a Swiss army knife
could get in, if he wanted to. It just never occurred to me we
might need serious locks out here. I can't even remember when
there's been a break-in."

"Right," Vince said, "Nothing bad ever
happens in Dilmun."

Marty smiled broadly. "It's practically the
town motto." Then he sighed. "Guess we've let ourselves get a
little complacent out here."

"Maybe. But we aren't even sure there was
anyone in here. There's no sign of an intruder, and Holly didn't
actually see him."

Marty nodded, looked troubled for a moment,
opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of
it.

Vince took note of all of it. "What?" he
asked.

Marty brushed off his hands, got to his feet.
"Holly ... no. Nevermind, it's not important. Look, I can get a
decent deadbolt on this door for you tomorrow. Hardware store is
already closed tonight, or I'd take care of it right now."

"Not a problem," Vince told him. "You want a
beer, Marty?"

"Love one. Thanks."

Vince walked to the kitchenette, grabbed a
beer out of the fridge for each of them, talking as he did. "I
appreciate you coming over so fast. Chief Mallory must have called
you in a hurry." He was in no hurry to get rid of the guy, now that
it seemed he knew something about Holly Newman that he was keeping
to himself.

"Nah, the chief knew he didn't have to
bother. Doris called me just a little while ago."

"Oh." Vince handed Marty his beer while his
brain processed the information.

"Doris is my wife Jenny's sister," Martin
explained.

Vince nodded. "Holly mentioned that her uncle
owned the cabins."

The man looked at him and grinned. "I'm
feeding the small town stereotype, huh? That everyone's
related."

Before Vince could answer, his cell phone
bleated. "Make yourself at home, Marty, while I get this." Marty
sat down as Vince pulled the phone out of his pocket, answering as
he always did, with a terse "O'Mally."

There was a hesitation on the other end, and
his skin started to prickle. Was it the same guy who'd broken in
here earlier—if there had been a guy at all? Then a soft breath
whispered from the phone and he could almost feel it on his ear. He
was just beginning to wonder if this was going to turn into an
obscene phone call when she spoke at last.

"Hi. It's Holly Newman."

He glanced toward Marty, saw the guy grinning
even wider than before, and carried the phone into the kitchen.
"Did you remember something more about the guy you thought you saw,
Red?"

"No. I... look, my mother wanted me to invite
you to the community bonfire, so I'm inviting you."

He lifted his brows. "You don't sound happy
about it"

"I'm not. It's tomorrow night, down by the
lake. You'll see the crowd gathering from your porch around
sundown."

"And when I do, I should... ?"

"Meet us down there," she said.

He thought for a moment. It would be a good
chance to poke around some more, he figured. Meet more of the
locals. Dig a little deeper into the mind of the strange little
redhead. "Fine," he said. "It's a date."

"No," she replied. "It's not."

The click told him she'd hung up the phone.
He looked at his phone, scowling, and wondering just why Holly
Newman disliked him so much. There was something motivating it, and
it was connected to his case, he felt it right to his bones.

"So, you're going to the bonfire with Holly
then?" Marty asked as Vince walked back from the kitchen. He was
sitting on the sofa just to the left of the front door, one arm
stretched across its back, sipping his beer.

Vince frowned. "You psychic, or do you just
have a bionic ear?"

Marty grinned. "Doris asked me for your cell
phone number. Told me Holly was gonna call and invite you."

Vince said, "Now you're feeding another one
of those small-town stereotypes. The one where everyone knows
everyone else's business."

Marty's grin faded. "Yeah, I guess so. It's
just that, uh ... well, you know she
is
my niece."

"Yeah. I know. Do you mind that she asked
me?"

"No. No, it isn't that. I just... look,
Holly's ... fragile."

Vince nodded. "I kind of picked up on
that."

"You could tell, huh? I didn't think it
showed so much anymore."

"It doesn't," he said quickly. "Not in her,
anyway. But everyone else around here acts likes she's made of
glass." It wasn't entirely true. He did see it in her, during that
episode outside his cabin. But there was something rubbing him the
wrong way about the protective attitudes of those around her. He
wasn't sure why, but it bugged him.

"Look, you only just met her. If we seem a
little protective of her, we have reason," Marty said. Maybe a
touch on the defensive side now.

"I picked up on that, too," Vince said.
"Would I be out of line to ask what the reason is?"

Marty looked him in the eyes for a moment,
then tipped back his beer, draining it, set the can on the coffee
table, and got to his feet. "I'll come by in the morning to put
that new lock in."

Vince was aware he'd stepped over the line.
"I might not be here in the morning. I have some errands to run.
But don't let that stop you."

"Didn't plan to," Marty said. "It's my
cabin." Then he picked up his tool box and headed out. "Anyway,
I'll see you tomorrow night at the bonfire."

Vince nodded. Then he realized he'd just
answered the man's initial question as to whether or not he'd
accepted Holly's invitation.

"Not bad, Marty," Vince said. "You'd have
made a decent cop."

"I make a better uncle," he replied. "You
watch your step with Holly. I don't want to see her hurt." He gave
a nod of good-bye, and walked down the steps to the path.

"Don't you worry, Uncle Marty," Vince
muttered as he watched the man vanish around the curve. "I like my
women tough as nails with a hide like old leather. I don't do
fragile."

***

VINCE HAD SOME serious shopping to do on
Saturday. Marty had arrived early, ready to install the new lock,
just as Vince was heading out to run his errands, which gave Vince
a chance to ask him about the vacant phone jack in the bedroom
wall. He learned that a call to the local telephone company and
payment in advance could turn it on, giving him two lines to work
with. He folded up his laptop, pocketed his cell phone, and headed
out.

He drove all the way back to the city. It
took longer than he'd hoped it would, to pick up supplies at home,
and find most of what he needed at the retail outlets. He then met
Jerry for a quick lunch and an even quicker conversation.

Jerry nodded toward Vince's Jeep beyond their
booth window. Boxes stacked in the back showed through the tinted
glass. "Been shopping?"

"Yeah. Gave the old plastic a workout this
morning."

"So, what's the connection you're onto,
buddy?"

Vince shook his head.

"Can't tell you that. Not yet, anyway. Did
you get what I asked you for?"

"Yeah. And it's damned interesting, Vince."
He slid a fat manila envelope across the table, and Vince picked it
up. But before he could ask what was inside, a uniformed cop walked
through the door.

Vince took the envelope and slid out of the
booth. He was supposed to be on vacation. If anyone saw him in
town, much less meeting with his partner and exchanging large
envelopes, questions would surely come up. And Jerry could get into
as much trouble as Vince.

Jerry started to get up, too, but Vince held
up a hand. He'd just slip out alone while the cop's back was to
him.

Jerry understood, and gave a nod. "Be
careful, buddy. And call if you need me."

"I will."

Vince walked out of the diner with the
envelope under his arm, got into his Jeep, and headed back to
Dilmun. He glanced at his watch and knew he was going to be
late.

***

HOLLY PACED AS more and more of the locals
gathered, and she tried to keep her gaze from drifting toward Vince
O'Mally's cabin. She wasn't having much success. His Jeep had been
gone most of the day. Maybe he'd decided that whatever he'd come
looking for wasn't here. Maybe he'd gone back to Syracuse for
good.

"It's early yet, hon." Her mother's hand
curled over Holly's shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. "He'll be
here."

"Who?" Holly pasted an unconcerned expression
on her face. She couldn't very well tell her mother she half hoped
the man was gone for good. Or that the other half only wanted to
see him tonight, to try to find out what he was really after.

Doris just shook her head and moved away,
toward the heap of deadwood that had been piled up for the bonfire.
Around the pile, in a concentric circle, people milled. Picnic
tables littered the area, and the early arrivals claimed them.
Others spread blankets on the ground, or unfolded lawn chairs. Off
to the left, on the round pavilion, a local band set up their
instruments. Farther from the woodpile, some of the locals were
erecting dome tents, planning to make a full night of it.

Already the sun was drooping low beyond the
hills out past the lake. It had been a nicer day today than
yesterday. Chilly and breezy, but dry. The sky was dusky now,
violet and pink as the sun sank lower, and the wind stirred the
water with its breath.

And still not one sign of life from O'Mally's
cabin.

"You looking for someone?"

His voice came from right behind her, and she
jumped. Then she bit her lip and closed her eyes, still not facing
him. Damn, he'd caught her staring off toward his place. He would
probably reach the same conclusions that her mother had.

"I... was just wondering if your burglar had
come back." There, that was better. She turned, trying for a smug
expression.

He said, "He might have for all I know. I
haven't been home all day."

"I know." She frowned, and felt a stirring
discomfort because he stood so close.

"Did you see anything suspicious?" he
asked.

Holly shrugged. "It's not like I've been
watching."

"No?"

She shook her head.

"Then how did you know I hadn't been home
yet?"

"Lucky guess." She saw his Jeep now, in the
vacant area they used as a parking lot for lakefront gatherings.
He'd parked there and come straight here, rather than going back to
the cabin first. Almost as if he were in a hurry. He wore jeans and
a brown leather jacket, unzipped so that his blue button-down shirt
showed underneath. It wasn't tucked in tightly, so it bagged. She
wondered if he ate enough. A cop his age should have a paunch. He
had a haggard look to him—eyes slightly heavy lidded, and shadowed.
He didn't have laugh lines around his eyes. He needed them.

His eyes met hers, and she knew he was aware
of her perusal.

"Oh, Detective O'Mally, there you are!" Doris
called, hurrying from the table she'd commandeered to where the two
of them stood, gazes locked. "Holly was getting impatient,
wondering where you were."

That was enough to make Holly break eye
contact. She jerked her gaze toward her mother and felt her face
heat. "I was not."

Vince could have smirked at her, but he
didn't. He shifted his feet, maybe a little uncomfortable. "Sorry
I'm late, Ms. Newman."

"Doris, please. And there's no need to
apologize."

"Doris," he said. "And there is. I had some
errands to run, and it took longer than I expected."

"Have you had any luck tracking down your
library book bandit?" She asked the question, Holly thought, as if
he were chasing down an armed bank robber, and it was the most
interesting case in the history of criminal justice.

"None at all." He worked up a smile for her.
Holly thought his smiles always looked as if they took effort to
produce. "Fortunately, it doesn't matter, since I'm on
vacation."

"So you keep insisting," Holly muttered.

He glanced at her sharply, about to say
something rude, she was sure, but then his eyes widened on
something beyond her, distracting him. "You're shitting me. Is that
who it looks like?"

Holly turned to follow his gaze, and spotted
the town's reclusive celebrity settling into his lawn chair, as his
niece draped a blanket over his shoulders. He'd barely got himself
seated before several children made a beeline for him. He was
surrounded in a matter of seconds. "You didn't know Reginald D'Voe
lived out here?" Holly asked.

He shot her a glance. "I knew he had a place
here, years ago, but I read that he moved to the west coast."

"You never would have struck me as a fawning
fan, Vince," she said, fighting a smile.

His brows creased. "I don't fawn." Still, it
was the first time she'd seen him lose that preoccupied scowl of
his. "I grew up on horror flicks, though, and I think he starred in
most of them. I was planning to drive by his house while I was out
here, just to see what it looked like."

"It looks like something out of
Scooby
Doo,
just about like you'd expect, I suppose. It's that
creepy-looking one on the hill." Holly pointed across the lake, to
where the house loomed, its windows dark, its shape like a phantom
against the night sky.

"Of course it is," he said, shaking his head
as if he should have guessed.

Doris chimed in, "Reggie's something of a
recluse, you know."