The Girl Who Cried Murder

There was no what-if; rain fell practically every week in the mountains, and often multiple days a week. She hadn’t really thought about rain, but that was what raincoats were for, right? “I’ll deal.”

He waited for her to fasten her seat belt before he started the engine. The dashboard clock read 11:35 and, to her chagrin, her stomach gave a little growl in response. Breakfast had been a long time ago.

“I could go for an early lunch,” he murmured, sounding amused. “You wanna come?”

She looked at him through the corner of her eye, trying to assess his motives. “To lunch? With you?”

His sunglasses had mirror lenses, so she couldn’t be sure his smile made it all the way to his eyes. “I suppose we could sit apart, if you like. Though that seems like a waste of a table.”

Mayfair Diner was little more than a hole-in-the-wall, one of three storefronts that filled the one-story brick building on the corner of Mayfair Lane and Sycamore Road. Charlie ate there often, since her house was just a short drive down Sycamore. By now, everybody who worked there knew her by name and called out greetings when they entered.

“What’s good here?” Mike asked as they headed for the counter.

“Depends on how much weight you want to gain.”

He smiled at her blunt answer and looked up at the big menu board. “How are the omelets?”

“I like them,” she answered with a little shrug. “The cheese-and-bacon ones are particularly good.”

“I bet.”

The counter waitress, a plump, pretty woman in her forties named Jean, smiled as she approached to take their order. “Hey, Charlie, what can I get for you and your friend today?”

“I’ll have a grilled cheese with chips and a pickle, and iced coffee with cream and sugar,” Charlie said.

“And you, hon?” Jean looked at Mike, her voice instantly flirtatious.

“I’ll have a veggie omelet and a small fresh fruit cup,” he ordered. “And water to drink.”

Disgustingly healthy, Charlie thought. Would explain his smokin’-hot body, though.

“Find yourself a seat, and I’ll send someone out with your orders in a few minutes,” Jean said with one last flirtatious smile at Mike before she turned to clip their orders to the chef’s order wheel.

Charlie and Mike settled in a corner booth. He took the bench seat that faced the door, she noticed. Always on the lookout for trouble?

An uncomfortable silence lingered between them for a moment before Mike broke it in a gravelly murmur. “You didn’t seem that surprised when the guy at the garage thought your brake line had been cut.”

She looked up sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “If someone told me my brake line had been cut...”

“You’d start with your self-defense class roster?” She flashed him a cheeky grin to hide her own sense of unease with his question.

He grinned back. “Probably.”

What she didn’t want to admit, even to herself, was that there might be someone out there who wanted her dead. For most of her life she’d been fairly invisible, by design. Her ne’er-do-well brothers had brought more than their share of ignominy to the family name. Better not to draw any attention at all than the kind her brothers had managed to elicit.

A smiling teenage girl came over with their orders on a large tray, saving Charlie from having to find something else to say to break the silence. The girl eyed Mike with starstruck shyness, giggling a little as he smiled his thanks. Charlie wasn’t sure the girl even realized there was a second person at the table.

“Does that happen often?” she asked, taking a sip of her iced coffee.

Mike looked up from his plate. “Does what happen?”

Charlie nodded toward the waitress who was still darting quick looks toward their table as she talked with another server. “Googly-eyed females growing tongue-tied in your presence.”

He frowned. “Never noticed.”

Of course he hadn’t. She changed the subject back to the topic of the hour. “How on earth did you even notice that brake fluid in the parking lot?”

“I happened to be looking out the window when you drove away. There was a big puddle of fluid underneath the car, so I thought I should check it out. When I realized it was brake fluid—”

“You hopped in your truck and raced to my rescue?”

“Seemed like the thing to do.”

“When you first whipped around in front of me, I thought you were a maniac.” She shook her head. “That was kind of a crazy thing to do.”

“Blame the academy. Crisis driving is one of the things we’re trained to do, you know.”

“Does the Campbell Cove Academy teach those skills to civilians, too?”

“Only to professional security personnel at the moment,” he said with a shake of his head. “It’s an intense and expensive course, and most civilians won’t have any need to learn the skills.”

“Not sure I agree with that,” she said wryly.

He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. “You really have no idea who might have tampered with your car?”

“Why would I?”

“You just started taking a self-defense course, and now your vehicle is sabotaged. I have to wonder if there’s a correlation.”

She pretended not to understand. “You think someone messed with my car because I’m taking a self-defense course?”

He frowned. “Don’t be obtuse. I’m asking if the reason you’re taking a self-defense course has anything to do with why someone might tamper with your brakes. Have you been threatened? A stalker or a disgruntled ex?”

“Nobody’s threatened me.”

He sat back, studying her through narrowed eyes. “I’m not sure you can say that with a straight face after today. Assuming your mechanic is right about how the brake line was cut.”

“I don’t know who would want to hurt me,” she said firmly.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? She didn’t know who would want to hurt her any more than she knew who would have hurt Alice. But someone had. She was more convinced of that fact than ever.

“Okay,” Mike said after a long silence. “But I think you should be careful anyway. Maybe this morning was a warning shot.”

“I’m planning to be careful.”

“You still planning on trying to get around by bike?”