Free Dead Certain by Mariah Stewart

your life. Of course you’re going to grieve. If you feel you will deal with this loss better someplace else, then for heaven’s sake, Clark, go. You don’t owe me any explanations.”
    “Oh, I feel as if I do. I know that you and Derek were like sister and brother. I know how much he loved you.” He wiped his eyes with his napkin and tried to smile. “You know, there was a time, early on, when I was so jealous of you. I knew how close you two were, and I was always afraid . . . well, that someday, maybe . . .”
    “You know it was never like that between us. Derek never had any real love in his life before he met you.”
    “Thank you, Amanda.” Clark did smile at this. “You have such a generous spirit. I know it’s one of the things that Derek admired about you. He could be so . . . bitchy . . . at times.”
    “It was part of his charm.” She reached over and took his hand and squeezed it.
    She looked up just in time to see Chief Mercer slide into a booth on the opposite side of the aisle and up about four tables just as the brunch crowd at the Sawmill Inn had started to thin. She had to look twice to make certain that it was in fact the chief of police at the table near the window. For one thing, she’d never seen him out of uniform, and today he was wearing khaki Dockers, a blue-and-white-striped shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and shoes without socks. For another, it was unusual to see any of the locals here on Sunday afternoon. The Inn was generally more popular with people passing through than with the residents who, if they were having breakfast out, tended to go early to the small café in the center of town or the diner just off Center Street. She wondered idly what brought him all the way out here on a Sunday afternoon.
    Wonder if the results of any of the tests have come back. Wonder if he’d tell me if they had.
    She’d just decided to excuse herself to the ladies’ room so that she could stop by his table and see what she could find out, when the door opened and a woman walked in.
    Amanda noticed her the second she stepped into the room. Everyone noticed. She was impossible to miss.
    In her late twenties, with pretty features on a soft, round face and rich auburn hair that cascaded halfway down her back in thick waves, the woman wore a plaid sleeveless shirt over a tank top that left little to the imagination and black capri pants. Her biceps and what Amanda could see of her calves bore tattoos of thin branches with thorns interwoven with roses that wound around, front to back, to form a complete circle. Her nail polish was deep red and she carried a large tote bag. Mercer stood at her approach and she embraced him, holding him tightly and closing her eyes. Amanda couldn’t see his face, but saw one of his big hands patting her somewhat awkwardly on the back.
    When the woman sat across from him, there were tears in her eyes. She spoke softly, reaching out every once in a while to touch his hand. Feeling too much the voyeur, Amanda turned her attention back to Clark. There was something about witnessing such tender moments between others that made her uncomfortable. And just for a moment, there was a prickle of something that felt a lot like disappointment to find he was in a relationship. Not that she should care. After all, wasn’t this the man who wanted to put her behind bars?
    “. . . so you won’t be upset if I stay with Chris and Tammy for a while? Maybe a few weeks, maybe longer. I just don’t know.”
    “Oh. No.” Amanda tuned back in. “No, of course not. You just go ahead and do what you need to do. I understand perfectly.”
    “I was hoping you would. I mean, if it bothered you, I wouldn’t go. I know you’ve gone through a lot, too.” He leaned forward just slightly. “I know those pesky police have been asking you a lot of questions.” He pretended to shiver. “Neanderthals, all of them.”
    “Well, you don’t want to say that too loudly”—she lowered