Read Online Witness by Susan Page Davis - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Susan Page Davis
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good ten seconds.
“Petra,” he said softly, “I’m not trying to scare you, but I’m concerned about you. If you truly saw a murder, you’re in danger. I can’t discount that. You said you want to hire me. All right, I’ll do what I can. And I’ll start with the premise that you’re telling me the truth and that what you say you saw really happened.”
“Thank you.” Her voice dropped to where he could barely hear her. “I’d like to have you look into it—you know, like we talked about. If you can do it without causing more trouble.”
“I’m sure I can get some basic information. Whether I can find out what really happened that night, I don’t know, but at least it will help us decide whether this guy is on the level.”
“I just want to know the truth. I don’t want to stir up things that shouldn’t be stirred.”
“I understand. And I want you to call me if anything else happens. If he leaves a message on your voice mail, not just a hang-up, I want to hear it. Or if he stares at you out the window, tell me. Any time something out of the ordinary happens, write it down. We’ll document everything. Then, if he forces another confrontation, we’ll have some evidence to take to the police.”
“All…right.”
He wished her voice held more confidence. “I meant it when I said to call the cops if you’re frightened. Call me anytime, and I’ll drive down there if you need me. But if you think there’s the slightest chance you’re in danger, you call the cops.”
“I will, Joe.”
“Good. Are you going home tonight?”
“Yes.”
“When are you coming up to see your sisters again?”
“I’m supposed to attend a seminar Saturday morning at the university. But I’ll probably come the following weekend.”
“All right. We’ll get together then. Meanwhile, if I learn anything pertinent, I’ll call you. And don’t hesitate to call me,” he repeated.
“Shouldn’t I…well, give you some money or something?”
“Yeah. Well…” He considered for a moment telling her they’d talk about it later, but immediately gave himself a mental kick. Since when did he not demand a retainer up front from the client? He opened the top left drawer, took out a rate schedule, and slid it across the desk. “Here are my usual rates. Why don’t you just give me enough for a day’s work and we’ll see what I turn up. If you want me to keep going with this, we’ll talk again.”
She wrote him a check, and he reluctantly took it from her and pocketed it. It felt strange, taking money from a woman for whom he felt a growing attraction.
“Let me walk you over to the store,” he said.
“It’s only twelve steps. I counted.”
He smiled, and at once he saw an answering light in her eyes.
“Come on. I’m walking that way anyhow.”
He left her at the door to the gift shop and ambled on toward the police station, already planning how to approach Petra’s case. One thing for certain: now that he was officially on the job, he would make sure she was safe.
SIX
J oe paced his office as he mulled over Petra’s case. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. If what she’d told him was accurate, she could be in serious danger. Even if she was wrong and there hadn’t been a murder, her neighbor sounded like the type with a short fuse who might get violent if she so much as frowned at him over the back fence. And here he was ninety miles away, helpless to protect her.
He’d wandered into the gift shop once or twice since the opening, but Keilah and Bethany were so busy they’d only waved at him or absently told him to help himself to coffee out back. For some reason that depressed him, and he had gone to the grocery store for a large can of ground coffee so he could drink and brood alone.
He poured himself a fresh cup, stirred in the sugar and carried the mug to his desk. He bumped his mouse and the screensaver disappeared, revealing his file on Rex Harwood. Born in Augusta, grew up in
“Petra,” he said softly, “I’m not trying to scare you, but I’m concerned about you. If you truly saw a murder, you’re in danger. I can’t discount that. You said you want to hire me. All right, I’ll do what I can. And I’ll start with the premise that you’re telling me the truth and that what you say you saw really happened.”
“Thank you.” Her voice dropped to where he could barely hear her. “I’d like to have you look into it—you know, like we talked about. If you can do it without causing more trouble.”
“I’m sure I can get some basic information. Whether I can find out what really happened that night, I don’t know, but at least it will help us decide whether this guy is on the level.”
“I just want to know the truth. I don’t want to stir up things that shouldn’t be stirred.”
“I understand. And I want you to call me if anything else happens. If he leaves a message on your voice mail, not just a hang-up, I want to hear it. Or if he stares at you out the window, tell me. Any time something out of the ordinary happens, write it down. We’ll document everything. Then, if he forces another confrontation, we’ll have some evidence to take to the police.”
“All…right.”
He wished her voice held more confidence. “I meant it when I said to call the cops if you’re frightened. Call me anytime, and I’ll drive down there if you need me. But if you think there’s the slightest chance you’re in danger, you call the cops.”
“I will, Joe.”
“Good. Are you going home tonight?”
“Yes.”
“When are you coming up to see your sisters again?”
“I’m supposed to attend a seminar Saturday morning at the university. But I’ll probably come the following weekend.”
“All right. We’ll get together then. Meanwhile, if I learn anything pertinent, I’ll call you. And don’t hesitate to call me,” he repeated.
“Shouldn’t I…well, give you some money or something?”
“Yeah. Well…” He considered for a moment telling her they’d talk about it later, but immediately gave himself a mental kick. Since when did he not demand a retainer up front from the client? He opened the top left drawer, took out a rate schedule, and slid it across the desk. “Here are my usual rates. Why don’t you just give me enough for a day’s work and we’ll see what I turn up. If you want me to keep going with this, we’ll talk again.”
She wrote him a check, and he reluctantly took it from her and pocketed it. It felt strange, taking money from a woman for whom he felt a growing attraction.
“Let me walk you over to the store,” he said.
“It’s only twelve steps. I counted.”
He smiled, and at once he saw an answering light in her eyes.
“Come on. I’m walking that way anyhow.”
He left her at the door to the gift shop and ambled on toward the police station, already planning how to approach Petra’s case. One thing for certain: now that he was officially on the job, he would make sure she was safe.
SIX
J oe paced his office as he mulled over Petra’s case. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. If what she’d told him was accurate, she could be in serious danger. Even if she was wrong and there hadn’t been a murder, her neighbor sounded like the type with a short fuse who might get violent if she so much as frowned at him over the back fence. And here he was ninety miles away, helpless to protect her.
He’d wandered into the gift shop once or twice since the opening, but Keilah and Bethany were so busy they’d only waved at him or absently told him to help himself to coffee out back. For some reason that depressed him, and he had gone to the grocery store for a large can of ground coffee so he could drink and brood alone.
He poured himself a fresh cup, stirred in the sugar and carried the mug to his desk. He bumped his mouse and the screensaver disappeared, revealing his file on Rex Harwood. Born in Augusta, grew up in
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