When a Stranger Calls. Kathleen Long
focus fully on the woman beside him.
“Call me Lindsey.”
He nodded.
She frowned then spoke. “I’m on the page that agrees Mickle’s testimony seemed a bit convenient, and had no evidentiary proof of any kind.”
Matt widened his gaze and nodded. “Very good.” The light shifted to green, and he pressed the truck forward. “Maybe we’re not so far apart in our thinking after all.”
“What’s your goal for our visit?”
“My goal…” He mulled the question, taking his time before he answered. His goal was to have Lindsey realize reasonable doubt existed about his father’s guilt, but as far as she needed to know…? “My goal is to find the crack in Mickle’s story. Fair enough?”
Lindsey nodded. “Fair enough.”
NERVOUS ANTICIPATION FLUTTERED to life in Lindsey’s chest as Matt pulled the SUV to a stop at the entrance to a gated neighborhood. An elderly guard leaned forward through the casement window of the small guardhouse. “Name?”
“Matt Alessandro.”
“Here to see?”
“Lorraine Mickle. Forty-two Hemingway.”
“She expecting you?”
“Yes.”
Lindsey held her tongue as the gate lifted.
The guard tipped his cap. “Have a good visit.”
“Thank you.” Smile lines creased Matt’s cheeks as he grinned. “We plan to.”
“Very smooth,” Lindsey said softly as the SUV cleared the gate.
“Please.” Matt’s grin deepened. “I’m quite certain you didn’t earn your reputation without bending the rules a time or two.”
“Reputation?” Lindsey smiled, unable to resist the teasing tone of Matt’s voice.
“It never ceases to amaze me how people will welcome you simply because you act like you know what you’re doing.” Matt cast a quick glance in her direction and her stomach caught.
She nodded in agreement, saying nothing, not trusting her voice to be steady at that moment. After all, hadn’t she done that very thing when she’d opened her front door to this man just yesterday? She’d welcomed him into her home because he’d been so self-assured.
“Amazing,” Matt repeated, holding her gaze for another second before refocusing on the road.
Lindsey turned her own attention to Hemingway Lane as he eased the truck into the turn. Lorraine Mickle. The woman on whom the motive portion of the case against Matt’s father had hinged. The woman who had seen Tony Alessandro and Camille Tarlington in a lover’s argument.
Allegedly.
Matt pulled the truck into a driveway, and Lindsey fought the shiver that slithered its way up her spine. Her gaze landed on a gaudy mailbox painted to resemble a pink flamingo. Number forty-two.
“Ready?”
His voice broke her trance.
“Ready.” She gripped her briefcase and climbed from the truck, headed toward what she hoped would be answers to the questions that had come back to life after seventeen years of silence.
Composed was the only word Lindsey could think of to describe the look painted on Lorraine Mickle’s face as she opened the door. If she didn’t know better, Lindsey would swear Mickle had been expecting them. The woman showed not an ounce of surprise as they introduced themselves.
Mickle’s blond hair had been twisted artfully into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her ivory skin showed subtle lines of age, but she was a lovely woman. Lindsey’s best guess would put Mickle’s age somewhere around forty. A smattering of fine lines framed her pale green eyes, but her features remained sharp, her jaw and neck flawless, like those of a much younger woman.
“I’ve just put on a pot of coffee, can I get you both a cup?”
Matt and Lindsey exchanged a quick glance. “Thank you,” Lindsey answered. Matt nodded his agreement.
The small ranch, though cozy, could only be described as immaculate. Lindsey had the sense she’d stepped into a decorating magazine photo spread, surrounded by carefully selected furnishings and decorations.
Mickle disappeared through a doorway into the kitchen and returned a few moments later, a coffee cup in each hand. “I apologize for my appearance.” She nodded to the emerald-green velour robe she wore. “You caught me getting ready to take a shower.”
“We apologize for not calling first,” Matt said.
Lindsey couldn’t help but be impressed by the sincere expression he wore.
“No problem. I’m always happy to have company.” Mickle’s expression remained welcoming. “Would you like to take a seat?”
Matt shook his head. Lindsey mirrored the move. Both remained where they stood, each now holding a steaming cup. “We don’t plan to stay long, Ms. Mickle,” Matt said. “We appreciate you seeing us.”
“No problem.” The woman’s face broke into a gracious smile. “What can I do for you?”
“I wonder if I could ask you a few questions about the night Camille Tarlington disappeared? We understand you and she worked together at my father’s floral shop.”
Lorraine’s smile tightened as she nodded. “Yes. We did. Horrible tragedy.”
“Why were you so quick to suggest my father and Mrs. Tarlington’s alleged affair?”
The suddenness of Matt’s question shocked Lindsey. She could only imagine how Lorraine Mickle must feel.
Yet the woman didn’t bat an eye. “There was nothing alleged about it. Anyone who knew them knew they shared something intimate. When the police questioned me about anyone Camille had argued with, Tony…your father…immediately came to mind.”
Lindsey’s pulse quickened. According to the notes she’d read, Mickle had come forward. She hadn’t been asked about a possible motive because she’d offered the information first.
Matt closed the gap between him and Mickle. His features tensed. “I’m confused. You were questioned regarding the argument?”
Mickle frowned but stood her ground. “I thought you asked me about what I told them.”
“I did.” Matt nodded. He said nothing additional. Lindsey realized he was giving the woman just enough rope to hang herself.
Mickle glanced from Matt to Lindsey. Lindsey sipped her coffee and smiled, waiting patiently for the answer.
“I misspoke.” Mickle’s confident smile returned and she chuckled softly. “It’s been a long time, you need to remember I’m not as young as I used to be.” She nodded as if the memory had suddenly come into focus. “I did tell the police about the argument. I thought the information might help.”
She focused her attention on Matt. “Your father had a quick temper. I heard him arguing in the back room with Camille. He left the shop shortly after she went out on a late delivery.” She shook her head. “Camille never returned, and the police came to see me the next day after your father,” she said, nodding in Lindsey’s direction, “reported she’d never come home.”
The acid taste of coffee burned Lindsey’s throat. She’d never forget that night, or the way her father had paced from room to room, from window to window, after he’d returned from his weekly bowling league and found Camille not at home.
“So you offered the information about the argument, correct?” Matt asked, his tone intent and stern.
Mickle nodded. “Just as I said.”