To the Grave by Carlene Thompson Page B

walked, drawing closer to his car in what served as a driveway, and stood a few feet closer to the wooded area. It looked dense at night, although the trees grew widely spaced in a less than two-acre grove. In the soft dusk he caught the movement of a small animal venturing toward him from the protection of the trees. Too late in the season for a groundhog, he thought. A raccoon coming to search for trash? The cottage, usually vacant, wouldn’t be a usual stop on the trash-patrol circuit. More likely, a cat crept near.
    And so did headlights. Oh damn, not sightseers, James thought angrily, although he knew a few had come by earlier. Perry Lane was off the beaten track and many people didn’t even know the small collection of fishing cottages existed. Today that had been a blessing. Word might have spread by now, though, and people with nothing better to do on a Saturday night were hunting down the scene of a murder.
    The car slowly stopped in front of the cottage and someone turned off the headlights. A sense of violation filled James. Who in hell would be bold enough to actually approach him here after what had happened today? What did they think gave them the right? Or did they believe he was merely a fellow sightseer sharing their morbid curiosity?
    The car’s interior lights came on as a woman emerged and called, “Hi, James! When I couldn’t reach you at home, I didn’t even try your cell phone. I knew you’d be here. I wanted to see for myself that you’re all right. I hope you don’t mind that I came.”
    Patrice Greenlee. James’s irritation ebbed as he saw his partner at Eastman and Greenlee Law Practice. He’d known Patrice since he was on the verge of adolescence.
    â€œI’m glad you’re here,” James said loudly as she walked toward him. “I was starting to get the creeps.”
    When Patrice reached him, she pulled him close and hugged him. At forty, Patrice stood five-seven, with a slim, toned body, above-the-shoulder curly ash-blond hair, high cheekbones, and striking light gray eyes. Tonight she wore a full-length black cashmere coat unbuttoned over a chic blue dress and white running shoes.
    â€œWhy didn’t you call me?” she demanded. “I heard on the police scanner about a body being found on Perry Lane and remembered that your family has a cottage here. I called the office, your town house, and your cell phone, but I got no answer, and I’ve been in a knot all day.”
    â€œYou could have saved yourself all that anxiety by not always listening to the scanner.”
    â€œI can’t stand not knowing what’s going on around here.”
    â€œSo instead you listen constantly and get worked up like today.” James shook his head. “Where’s your best guy tonight?”
    â€œWe were having dinner at the Larke Inn dining room when he got a call,” Patrice said, referring to her fiancé of two months, Lawrence Blakethorne, owner of Blakethorne Charter Flights. “Sometimes I hate cell phones. The call was about the big merger of Blakethorne and Star Air that lately is just consuming Lawrence. He said it was an emergency, as usual, and he had to go to his office to look up some files. He dropped me off at the house on the way, and after I got there I decided to come looking for you. I didn’t even bother to change clothes except for my shoes.” She held up one running-shoe-clad foot. “Classy, huh?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “So they did find a body at this cottage.”
    â€œUnfortunately, yes.” James sighed. “I thought I’d take another look at the place and it wouldn’t bother me, but … well … you always seem to know when I need a friend.”
    â€œNo one should be out here alone,” Patrice said briskly. She gazed at the cottage and dug her hands deep into her pockets. “They were as vague as possible on the police