Read Online Nowhere To Run by Carolyn Davidson - Free Book Online Page A

cottage.” Mr. Broadbent shifted his weight in the chair until he resumed his comfortable position. “Most of us along the water here don’t mind if folks walk the beach in front of us, as long as they don’t leave their garbage behind. I wouldn’t have thought twice about if it wasn’t for this business about the Harmon girl.”
    “When did you say you first noticed him?” Alex questioned, remaining standing. Definitely worth interrupting lunch, he told himself, images of his abandoned steak no longer dancing through his mind.
    “Hard to say,” Mr. Broadbent gave a laborious sigh. “I was working on the sunrise piece, so that would have been about three weeks ago. I’m putting together a time sequence series,” he told the Sergeant, “precisely the same location, painted in the different lighting of the time of day.”
    A silence stretched for a few beats and Alex hoped the man wasn’t going to suggest he view the artwork.
    “Did he seem to be watching out for Sarah in particular?” He volleyed the question before the invitation could be extended.
    Mr. Broadbent considered his answer. “I wouldn’t say so,” he stroked his beard thoughtfully. “But then I wasn’t paying him too much attention. Let me think.” He sank into silence again while he apparently tried to recreate the scene in his mind.
    “He appeared to be taking in the view. The Harmon girl would have passed in front of him to take the shortcut up to the Bluffs trail, but I didn’t notice any interaction. No that’s wrong,” he corrected himself. “I think I did see her give him a wave when she passed by on one of the later mornings. She didn’t stop, just a quick wave as she ran.”
    The artist seemed to have paid closer attention to the girl and her morning runs than he might be willing to admit, Alex thought to himself. Just as quickly he dismissed the man as a likely perp. Don Broadbent would be hard-pressed to make it to the top of the cliff path with his cane to carry out the murder.
    “Would you mind if I went down and had a look?” He asked now.
    “No problem,” his host responded. “I’d come down and show you myself but the rocks aren’t easy with my legs.”
    Don led Alex to the sliding door at the back of the house and stood at the window to watch the officer cross the small garden, descending the manmade steps to where they ended at the top of the rock beach. “Watch your footing there”, the man called after Alex, pointing with his cane towards the rock shelves that formed a natural set of stairs.
    He wasn’t kidding, Alex thought to himself, cursing his soft soled shoes as he almost twisted his ankle on the uneven ground making his way to the large boulder his host had indicated, a few yards to his right.
    Alex sat on the smooth surface of the rock when he reached it, surveying the view to either side. The water stretched out in front of him, seagulls and a lone fishing boat decorating its surface. To the right the white stone shoreline curved an eight odd kilometers towards the town’s harbour and the Lion’s Head cliffs farther on. To the left a similar shoreline led towards the nearby Georgian Bluffs.
    The trail Sarah would have jogged on, reportedly viewed by both Mr. Broadbent and their mystery man, was clearly visible; a dirt path leading into the treed hills through which the Bruce Trail followed the cliffs. Alex turned to look over his shoulder, the glint of Mr. Broadbent’s window in the afternoon sun turning the man’s face to a featureless blur. The artist would have had no problem seeing a person seated on the rock, even in the late arriving morning light of fall.
    Standing up he brushed the sand from the seat of his jeans and retraced his route up the stairs to the house.
    “Could you say what direction the man was looking?” Alex asked Don when he was back inside his home.
    Mr. Broadbent thought for a moment. “I’d say he was facing the Bluffs.” He indicated to their left, and Alex