No Place To Run. Marion Faith Laird
* * *
“Well, that was certainly peculiar.” Jen stood, arms akimbo, staring at the spot Deputy MacGregor had vacated.
“What?”
“Matt. I’ve never seen him so bowled over. I think he likes you.”
Great. That was the last thing she needed. Lorie rearranged the neat piles of folders on her desk to avoid meeting Jen’s eyes. “Don’t be silly.”
“I’m not. I’m being practical.” Jen walked over and leaned on Lorie’s desk, making herself impossible to ignore. “You’re single. He’s single. You’re a Christian. He’s—”
“Let it go, Jen. I’m not in the market for a man.” Especially not one in law enforcement.
“But he’s cute.”
“So are puppies, but that doesn’t mean I want another one.” Giving the folders one last tweak, Lorie straightened up. “We have a library to take care of, or have you forgotten?”
Jen sighed, but gave in. “Okay. I’ll make sure nobody makes off with the teen horror books.”
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
Lorie waited until Jen was gone, and then searched the tiny room from one end to the other, looking under papers, under books, anywhere the note could have gone.
After fifteen fruitless minutes, Lorie tried to dismiss the note from her mind.
Getting some of the hobby wire she kept in her desk for the summer craft program, Lorie tied up the bathroom window the best she could. Winding the wire around the handle and the broken lock might not do much to keep anyone out, but it made her feel marginally better. Still, the door had also been unlocked. Had it been from the inside out, or was the window merely a distraction? However it had happened, the intruder also had gotten access to her locked office.
A shudder took her by surprise. She reached for the phone. Paging through the phone book, she found three listings for locksmiths, one of whom had married into her family.
Even if she had to pay for the installation herself, she was getting her office lock changed and the window repaired. Today.
* * *
Matt spent the rest of his patrol trying not to think about the new librarian. Filing his report from the car’s computer, he entered “breaking and entering, intimidation, stalking” in the reason-for-call box. He longed to go back to the office and see what leads he could scare up, but that would have to wait until after his patrol.
To think someone might actually have it in for Lorie Narramore gave Matt a stomachache. She seemed sweet. Of course, you couldn’t always tell by looking, but Matt believed she was what she seemed to be: a victim of circumstances forced into taking a life. It was obvious the experience still weighed on her, and he hated the thought that someone was deliberately making it worse.
Driving back on his normal patrol route through the lunch break traffic, he wondered where the new librarian went to church. Or whether she went to church. If she didn’t, he had one more reason not to consider seeing her socially after this case was closed.
He knew from experience that a relationship where faith wasn’t shared would only lead him astray. Back in high school, he’d been more optimistic. Lorene had been so vulnerable, so sweetly tempting that he’d ignored everything he’d ever been taught. She’d ended up breaking his heart, and he had no guarantee “Lorie” Loretta Narramore was any different from “Lorie” Lorene O’Hara.
Nope. He had to keep his head on straight and his heart under control. There was no way he was allowing another attractive Lorie to get under his skin and wreck his good judgment. The first one had nearly ruined his life.
The radio crackled. “Unit 5, there’s a fender bender on Highway 21. What’s your location?”
Matt grabbed the mike and keyed it. “Dispatch, I’m eastbound on Hackberry approaching the intersection of Van Buren.”
Another burst of static... “Paramedics are already at the scene, but we need you for crowd control.”
“On my way.”
Matt switched on the lights and siren and was at the scene in less than three minutes. Setting up orange traffic cones and diverting cars to an alternate route helped to get his mind off the librarian. He managed not to think of her for at least ten minutes, until the paramedic van took off for Lucius Dainger Memorial Hospital in nearby West Bluff.
As he put the stacked cones back into the trunk, another memory of Lorie Narramore drifted up from his memory. She’d been in the Diamondback Marching Band, playing the glockenspiel on the edge of the gridiron, when a tackle had tumbled him into the band. He’d ended up knocking her over and helping her up. Her glasses had rendered her light brown eyes enormous. Hmm. She wasn’t wearing glasses these days, but her eyes were still amazing.
What was it about Lorie Narramore? He wasn’t the kind of bachelor who was drawn to every attractive female in sight. Especially one who by her own admission had shot and killed a man. It wasn’t damsel-in-distress syndrome, either. He had the impression she could handle herself in a tricky situation. So why exactly was he having trouble concentrating on work?
Maybe it was because someone had threatened the librarian. Once he ran the prints, maybe he could match them up with someone in AFIS and this case would be over.
Unfortunately, when he got back to the station, the prints from the office were not in AFIS. Lorie’s prints, however, brought up a large file.
Her mug shot looked strained rather than fearful or defiant. Huge purple shadows bordered her eyes. Her mouth was drawn.
The case had been through the San Diego County courts last year and had made quite a splash. Matt was surprised that it hadn’t made the local news, but if it had, he’d missed it.
Grayson Carl, the man Lorie had shot, was a suspected drug lord, with ties to a network in Colombia and Panama. If she’d been sent to prison, the Orgulloso cartel would have had her assassinated before the year was out. Could they have been the ones behind the harassment in San Diego—and today’s note?
Threatening notes and phone calls seemed a bit mild for them. Drive-by shootings were more their style.
The file was too long to absorb in one sitting. Matt sent it to the printer, including the court transcripts, to read at home.
“Working late, Mac?”
Matt looked up from his computer to see the sheriff’s broad frame filling the doorway.
“A little. Getting some homework on that case your wife sent me on this morning.” The laser printer spat out pages at breakneck speed. “What do you know about Lorie Narramore at the county library?”
Frank’s sandy eyebrows rose. “I looked over your report. On the surface, the note doesn’t sound like much, but, given her background, I don’t like it. I was hoping she’d left her troubles in San Diego.”
“Do you really see an international cartel coming after someone in our little county, Frank?”
“I wish I could say no and mean it.” The sheriff ambled into Matt’s tiny office and plunked down in the blue upholstered visitor’s chair. “The way things have been going lately on the illegal-drug front, I’m not so sure.”
Matt leaned on his desk. “I’m not going to find anything in here about Ms. Narramore that I won’t like, will I?”
“Depends on what you don’t like.”
Matt wasn’t happy with the answer, but knew Frank wouldn’t say any more until Matt had had a chance to read through the file and come to his own conclusions. But what would he find? True, she’d been acquitted, but the nagging question remained.
If she’d truly been innocent, why had she ever been tried for murder?