up to see his face. I just jotted down what he told me to and then got back to my paperwork.”
Damned inconvenient, Sutton thought. “Could you tell anything from his voice? His ethnicity or where he might be from?”
The clerk squinted, as if trying to remember was hard. “I don’t remember any accent, so I guess that probably means he’s from somewhere around these parts. I think he was white. I guess he could have been Cherokee, since we get some of those around here sometimes, too. Pretty sure he wasn’t black.” He looked up at Sutton, his forehead smoothing out. “Yeah, he wasn’t black. I kinda saw him out of the corner of my eye, and I think I’d have noticed whether he was black or white.”
“Do you remember if he was tall? Short? Heavy or thin?”
“Kinda tall,” the clerk answered after a moment of thought. “He blocked out some of the light in the doorway, so he must have been tall. I’d say average build. Not fat, not skinny. Really, though, that’s all I remember.” He looked up at Sutton with a hint of pleading, as if asking them not to make him put his brain to use any more tonight.
Ivy took mercy on him. “If you remember anything else about the person who left the note for Mr. Calhoun, please give me a call at the police station.” She stepped forward and handed the clerk her card. “Thanks for your help.”
With a gesture of her head toward Sutton, she headed out of the office.
He followed her out to where they’d parked the Jeep and the Ranger. He’d already grabbed his things from the room while she’d stood guard outside, looking like a tiny soldier with her gun hanging from the holster at her side. His bags were stowed away on the bench seat of his truck.
He was already beginning to regret saying yes to Ivy’s rash offer of a place to stay. If he found himself lusting after her in the middle of a bullet-flying ambush, what chance did he have to be on his best behavior holed up with her in a cozy little house for a few days? And he was probably putting her job in jeopardy as well just by being there.
But the Stay and Save was the only motel in Bitterwood. There was a bed-and-breakfast on the other side of town, but he’d checked. It was booked through the next week. The next-closest place to stay was almost all the way to Maryville—not that long a drive, really, but conducting his investigation from a town over would be a pain in the neck.
Maybe he should suck up his courage and see if Cleve would put him up for a few days. He’d lived with his father for eighteen years. What were a few more days?
“I’m kind of glad you’re going to be staying with me,” Ivy said as he opened the driver’s door of the truck. In the harsh lighting of the motel parking lot, her small face was cast in chiaroscuro, her eyes hidden by inky shadows, making it impossible for him to read her expression.
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“Easier to keep an eye on you,” she said with a half smile. Her tone of voice reminded him of his lingering impression of the girl who’d been his friend all those years ago—feisty, surprising and brutally honest.
He followed the taillights of her Jeep to a small house on Vesper Road, a winding road that led through the woods at the base of Smoky Ridge. In the beams of their headlights, he got an impression of a neat, well-kept house with pale gray exterior paint and bright yellow trim.
Smiling at the quirky juxtaposition of subdued and vibrant, he wondered if she’d been the one to choose the paint colors. It seemed to suit her own contradictions, the interplay of control and impulse that had driven her to follow him all the way to Clingmans Dome that evening.
Maybe she hadn’t changed all that much over the years. The odd, thoughtful girl who’d become his sounding board and loyal champion when they were little more than kids had been a mass of contradictions as well, both fiercely brave and painfully shy, whip-smart and endearingly
Damned inconvenient, Sutton thought. “Could you tell anything from his voice? His ethnicity or where he might be from?”
The clerk squinted, as if trying to remember was hard. “I don’t remember any accent, so I guess that probably means he’s from somewhere around these parts. I think he was white. I guess he could have been Cherokee, since we get some of those around here sometimes, too. Pretty sure he wasn’t black.” He looked up at Sutton, his forehead smoothing out. “Yeah, he wasn’t black. I kinda saw him out of the corner of my eye, and I think I’d have noticed whether he was black or white.”
“Do you remember if he was tall? Short? Heavy or thin?”
“Kinda tall,” the clerk answered after a moment of thought. “He blocked out some of the light in the doorway, so he must have been tall. I’d say average build. Not fat, not skinny. Really, though, that’s all I remember.” He looked up at Sutton with a hint of pleading, as if asking them not to make him put his brain to use any more tonight.
Ivy took mercy on him. “If you remember anything else about the person who left the note for Mr. Calhoun, please give me a call at the police station.” She stepped forward and handed the clerk her card. “Thanks for your help.”
With a gesture of her head toward Sutton, she headed out of the office.
He followed her out to where they’d parked the Jeep and the Ranger. He’d already grabbed his things from the room while she’d stood guard outside, looking like a tiny soldier with her gun hanging from the holster at her side. His bags were stowed away on the bench seat of his truck.
He was already beginning to regret saying yes to Ivy’s rash offer of a place to stay. If he found himself lusting after her in the middle of a bullet-flying ambush, what chance did he have to be on his best behavior holed up with her in a cozy little house for a few days? And he was probably putting her job in jeopardy as well just by being there.
But the Stay and Save was the only motel in Bitterwood. There was a bed-and-breakfast on the other side of town, but he’d checked. It was booked through the next week. The next-closest place to stay was almost all the way to Maryville—not that long a drive, really, but conducting his investigation from a town over would be a pain in the neck.
Maybe he should suck up his courage and see if Cleve would put him up for a few days. He’d lived with his father for eighteen years. What were a few more days?
“I’m kind of glad you’re going to be staying with me,” Ivy said as he opened the driver’s door of the truck. In the harsh lighting of the motel parking lot, her small face was cast in chiaroscuro, her eyes hidden by inky shadows, making it impossible for him to read her expression.
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“Easier to keep an eye on you,” she said with a half smile. Her tone of voice reminded him of his lingering impression of the girl who’d been his friend all those years ago—feisty, surprising and brutally honest.
He followed the taillights of her Jeep to a small house on Vesper Road, a winding road that led through the woods at the base of Smoky Ridge. In the beams of their headlights, he got an impression of a neat, well-kept house with pale gray exterior paint and bright yellow trim.
Smiling at the quirky juxtaposition of subdued and vibrant, he wondered if she’d been the one to choose the paint colors. It seemed to suit her own contradictions, the interplay of control and impulse that had driven her to follow him all the way to Clingmans Dome that evening.
Maybe she hadn’t changed all that much over the years. The odd, thoughtful girl who’d become his sounding board and loyal champion when they were little more than kids had been a mass of contradictions as well, both fiercely brave and painfully shy, whip-smart and endearingly
Similar Books
