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“Sounds good. What do you say we keep this to ourselves for the moment?”
“My thinking, exactly.”
Ryker drove her back to Bleak Ridge House. She got out of the SUV before he could stop her and took off his coat, handing it back to him.
“That really is lovely. Thanks for breakfast, and I’ll see you this evening.”
“You got it. Call if you need me.”
“Ditto,” she said, heading inside the hotel.
Ryker drove down to his office and headed inside. He took messages off the answering machine. There wasn’t anything urgent, mostly because people who needed something generally just called his cell. He thought about asking for the police report but decided against it. In the same way Middleton didn’t want to alert the MCU that there had been a murder, Ryker didn’t want the detective or anyone else to know he and Lori were investigating.
He did some actual work on the paper: writing his weekly editorial, setting up the online edition of the paper, and doing the final steps for the print version. He was getting ready to go to press on Sunday, which meant everything needed to be set and ready to go tomorrow.
He was surprised when his phone rang, and he looked down to see Lori identified as the caller. He’d entered her cell phone into his contacts.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,” he said, hoping she could hear the smile in his voice.
“There’s actually another discussion I was going to listen to, but I wasn’t a participant, so I thought I’d sneak out. I’m afraid it’ll be too dark to go down to the dock if we wait.”
“On my way.”
He hung up and grabbed his spare expedition parka. He could have reminded her to go get a heavy coat, but he kind of liked seeing her in his dad’s old sheepskin jacket. Locking his door behind him, he headed out to his Range Rover and drove to Bleak Ridge House. Lori was waiting for him just inside the lobby and came out as he pulled up. This time he beat her to the SUV’s door and opened it for her.
“Shit. I forgot about the cold. Let me go get my jacket,” she said, turning back toward the hotel.
“Is it as warm as the sheepskin?”
“Not even close,” she admitted.
“Then you take it, and I’ll wear the other one.”
“Are you sure?” she asked hopefully. “It was so toasty this morning.”
“Consider it yours for the duration.”
“I might run off to Chicago with it.”
“You might, but I doubt it. Then again, you might just decide to stay in Maine.”
He closed the door before she had a chance to react. He hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud. He got in, closed the door, buckled up, and put the Range Rover in gear.
“You’re right. I just might,” she said without preliminaries. “By the way, Jonathon Lockwood reminded me all authors are expected at the cocktail party tonight. I thought maybe we could go to the crime scene, then I could make a mandatory appearance and cut out.”
He chuckled, but decided it was best to keep his hopes for how the evening would end to himself for now. The fact was he was quickly becoming attracted to the lovely schoolteacher-turned-successful author. He drove down to the dock, shaking his head as he got out to hold her door. He held the sheepskin jacket so she could put it on and then pulled on his own jacket. She reached into her bag and got gloves and a knit cap she pulled down over her hair.
“Take me to where you saw the murder,” he said.
Lori nodded and led him to the spot on the seawall where she’d looked down to see Cobain being killed. “This is it.”
Ryker glanced around. “Let me get this straight, you came down here in the dark by yourself?”
“I did. I wanted to get some fresh air and was kind of hoping to soak up some atmosphere. Something must have caught my attention and I looked down at the dock. I could see two people struggling. I saw Cobain’s killer—not sure if it was a man or a woman—kind of jerk Cobain…”
“Did you know it was Cobain?”
“Not until I got down there.”
