Death on the Coast by M Comley (best book recommendations TXT) 📗

Lucy pushed open the morgue door and slung her purse on the nearest table.

“I hear you’ve been askin’ around about me,” a gruff voice said from the other side of the filing cabinet.

Lucy spun on her heel, and shock brought her to a standstill. It was Greg Dewhurst, a bandage still wrapped around his head.

“Mr. Dewhurst…” she began.

“Hey, call me Greg. After all, we’ve been introduced, and you seem to think you know a lot about me.”

Lucy hesitated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really?” Greg shoved a notebook across the table toward her.

His alias, his name, and all the notes she’d scribbled were there staring at her.

“You did a pencil shading on my notebook?”

“Figured you were into my life and that’s probably where you kept the notes. Looks like I was right.”

“That’s a violation of my privacy,” Lucy blurted with indignation.

“Oh, and that’s not?” He pointed to the shadings on the paper.

“What do you want, Mr. Dewhurst, or whatever your name is?”

“Leave me alone. You got that?”

“That sounded like a threat. Do you have something to hide?”

“Just leave me the hell alone. You don’t need to go looking for trouble.”

Lucy nervously turned sideways to see if perhaps Len was watching through the window. He was. He puffed his cigar and gave a half nod before returning to the paperwork on his desk. She saw his recorder lying there and wondered if he was bugging her conversation with Dewhurst. “I’m after the truth, Mr. Dewhurst, that’s all. Do you…have something you’d like to add to this investigation?”

He laughed—a wicked sound. “I don’t know what that would be. It’s got nothing to do with me, you know.”

Lucy said nothing, but waited for him to fill in the gap.

“Just stay out of my business and keep your mouth shut. I’d better not find any of that”—he gestured to the notes—“in this rag you call a paper. Could mean trouble.”

“For whom?”

“You heard me. Keep your mouth shut.” His hand suddenly flew across the table, knocking the notebook to the floor, which landed at her feet. He pushed his chair onto its side and stood, glaring at her through narrowed eyes before he slammed his way out of the morgue and then the office.

Lucy was shaking inside.

“You okay?” Len asked from the doorway.

“Did you get all that?”

Len nodded, slowly and calmly. He was a man who’d been around the block more than once. “I got it. Should we call the cop?”

Lucy collapsed into a chair. “Are you kidding? Greg strikes me as a guy who would make good on his promise.”

“I’m not scared.”

Lucy’s head jutted forward. “Well, I am.”

“All the more reason to let the cop know. As much as I want this story, the bigger picture is this guy is acting like he’s above the law and prepared to do something about it.”

“Can we just forget all this, Len?”

He took a puff on his cigar, shrugged, and left her alone.

Lucy tried to convince herself she wasn’t bothered, but it wasn’t working. She turned on the computer and retraced her search history, on the lookout for clues that might give her some idea just how dangerous Dewhurst could be. The simple fact that he’d changed his name and moved around so much was a bad omen. She knew she should tell Brendon, but it could cause the situation to flare. There was every possibility Brendon would take it personally, since it was her, and confront Dewhurst. Then there would be nowhere for her to hide.

Lucy glanced up to see Len staring at her, his hands in his pockets. She wasn’t being fair to him either. She could be sitting on information that would help the investigation. She was allowing herself to be intimidated, letting Len down about the story, and she knew for sure Brendon wouldn’t be happy. But once she set the stone rolling, it wouldn’t stop. Brendon couldn’t be with her twenty-four seven, and one night, perhaps when Dewhurst got liquored up, he might decide to come by her house and start some trouble. He had nothing to lose, while she, on the other hand, had everything to lose. Lucy was fairly sure Dewhurst had heard about Mark taking off, meaning she was alone at the house.

Lucy drew in a deep breath and pushed away from the computer, flicking it off. She left the morgue and went into the small office space Len allotted her. Her job was to be on the outside reporting, not inside at a desk.

She turned on her own computer, intending to write some sort of an update on Angie’s case. She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Len had gone into the morgue and was seated at the computer she’d just left. Even from where she sat, she could see he had the browser open and knew what he was doing. Len was looking up her search history, trying to piece together what she might know. Not only did he want more pieces of the puzzle, she reckoned he was trying to gauge how seriously he should take the visit from Dewhurst.

Lucy smiled inwardly and went back to her work. She’d taken the precaution of clearing her search history before she’d switched off that computer.

Just about a minute later, there was a tap on the wall next to her. Lucy glanced. Len stood there, scowling.

“You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?” he asked her.

“I’m writing the article you wanted.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, don’t play cute with me. I don’t give a crap about what you’re writing because it means nothing. You have the whole thing worked out in your head, don’t you? But you’re letting Dewhurst discourage you from putting it out there because you’re afraid of him. Is that fair to your friend Angie? You don’t think your cop is going to get ticked off? You’re impeding an investigation, my friend, and that’s serious stuff.”

She appreciated his concern for her well-being, or was he more uneasy about his newspaper’s