Death on the Coast, M Comley [book club books TXT] 📗

reputation? “I don’t know that, Len. That’s your assumption. Dewhurst could just be a drunken bully for all we know.”

Len walked in and dropped into the chair next to her desk. “You’re in way over your head, Lucy. I know you think you have it under control, but you don’t. There are things you don’t know—about Dewhurst, about the crime scene, about witness testimonies. Your cop isn’t going to tell you those things because number one, it’s none of your business and number two, too many footprints on this thing are going to cancel out the killer’s. You know it, and I don’t need to tell you. Now, if you’re scared of Dewhurst, and I don’t doubt you are, you can come over and stay in my spare room, or I’m sure there are a number of women in that hen house of a bakery who would love to take you home with them.”

“As attractive as you make that sound, Len, I believe I’ll stay in my own home. I know I have to tell Brendon and just trust that he handles it in a way that protects me.”

“Now you’re talking. You want him to trust you, don’t you? Well, begin by trusting him.”

“I know you’re right. Okay, I’m out of here. You want my article?”

Len chuckled. “Do I?”

Lucy shook her head. “No, probably not. I’ll be in touch.”

Len nodded and turned to another issue with an air of relief. Even though he was a hardened newspaperman, he detested drama of the female variety.

17

Against what would have been Len’s better judgement, Lucy didn’t go straight to the precinct to talk to Brendon. She believed once she let him know that she’d been threatened, he would order her to stay home and do all he could to keep her away from the investigation. She was far too involved to allow him to do that. After all, her husband was a piece of that puzzle.

Instead, she headed back up to Sal’s to have a quiet cup of coffee and a cupcake. She figured at least she deserved that.

“How ya doin’, kiddo?” Sal asked, her eyes sympathetic.

Lucy shrugged. “The closer I get, the farther away I feel,” she answered.

Sal nodded her understanding. “Well, go have a peaceful moment at the corner table. I’ll bring your things over.”

Lucy headed for the corner and slipped off her powder-blue hand-knitted sweater with the pom-pom closures, placing it on the chair beside her. It was warm sitting so close to the kitchen.

Sal sidled up with a tray and set it on the table. She opened her mouth to speak when the front door slammed open and conversation in the bakery instantly ceased. A woman stood in the doorway. A very large woman. She had fists like boxing gloves and was wearing a man’s fishing coat with safety pins holding it closed.

Instinctively, Lucy’s throat tightened. It felt like one of those stereotypical saloon scenes in a Western where the bad guy strides in and starts shooting. Lucy’s attention even flew to the newcomer’s waist… sort of. There was lots of padding in that general area.

Sal rose to her full height and approached the awe-inspiring woman. Her nose wrinkled, and Lucy assumed the woman lacked good hygiene.

“Can I help you?” Sal’s voice rang out.

Lucy detected the caution in Sal’s tone.

“Lookin’ for Greg Davis.”

Lucy’s heart skipped a few beats, and she gasped. Whoever the stranger was, she could hold the key to some important answers. Lucy jerked out her phone and texted Brendon to come to Sal’s right away. WILL EXPLAIN LATER, she added.

Sal looked over her shoulder at the others sitting in the bakery. “Anyone here know a Greg Davis?”

No one uttered a sound.

Sal shrugged. “Nope. Sorry, but we don’t know him.”

The woman cocked her head and squinted with disbelief. “I know he’s in town.”

Lucy took a deep breath and summoned up the courage to respond, “I know where he is.” She motioned for the heavyset Amazonian to come to her table.

Every mouth in the bakery hung open.

Clomp, clomp. “Where is he?”

“Hi, I’m Lucy, and let me buy you a coffee. Sit down, why don’t you?”

The stranger frowned, but the smell of Sal’s donuts must have been too overpowering. “Well…just one, maybe.”

Lucy caught the odor coming from the woman and changed the order. “Bring us a plate of fresh ones, would you, Sal?”

Sal nodded. She hovered by the counter, guarding Lucy. It was appreciated, but not as much as the sound of the bell on the door tinkling and the sight of Brendon coming into Sal’s. He paused, scanning the café to locate Lucy in the corner. The newcomer’s back was to him, and his brow furrowed in question as he approached the table.

“Hello, Lucy,” he greeted her with his deep voice, an upturn at the end inviting to be introduced.

Lucy put her napkin over her nose and drew in a breath. “Brendon, this is a surprise. Coffee break?”

His look was quizzical, but she continued on.

“Won’t you join us?” She turned to the stranger. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name when you came in.”

“Bertha Bannutt.”

Of course it is. “Ms. Bannutt, may I present Sergeant Brendon Colt of the Wellington Sheriff’s Department?”

Brendon nodded and reached for a napkin, pretending to blow his nose.

Lucy continued. “Ms. Bannutt just arrived and is trying to find Greg Davis.” She gave Brendon a meaningful look.

Bertha’s meaty fist hit the table. The donuts bounced and then toppled off to one side of the plate. “You said you knew where he was, so where is he?” Her voice was certainly not conversational.

Brendon was clearly confused, but seemed to catch the look in Lucy’s eye.

“Yes, as I was about to tell you, Ms. Bannutt, I am a reporter for the local paper. I was at work a short time ago…” She chose her words carefully and relayed the salient information to Brendon, whilst at the same time delaying the big woman. “And while I was there, the gentleman in question stopped by to,