Gingerbread Man Read Online Free Page B

Cross a street and you found yourself in a typical small
town that could have been Mayberry. Walk the other way and you
might think you'd been dropped into the middle of a scene from The Last of the Mohicans, with the wild-looking forests and
that dark-water lake. Vince had rented a cabin along its shore for
a remarkably reasonable price. He'd found lodgings easily, with no
more than a couple of phone calls. He figured this late in the
fall, with the water too cold for swimming, and with the leaves
past their peak and rapidly vacating their gnarly branches, he
wasn't facing much competition for the space.
    The redhead was almost as contradictory as
the town. Cute as hell, though certainly no raging beauty. She was
small, slight, with a pageboy cut and bright green eyes. She had
secrets, that redhead. She'd been shaken when he'd said where he
was from. A blind man could have seen it. Maybe she knew something
about his case.
    Or maybe he was just so damned eager to find
some answers out here that he was seeing things that weren't there.
He'd gone back to his apartment in Syracuse only long enough to
pack what he needed and make a few hasty arrangements. He'd placed
a quick call to the chief, and another to Jerry saying he had
decided to take that time off—that he was going to the country for
some R and R. He couldn't very well say where he had really gone,
much less why. Hell, he was out here on a whim. A hunch. A
children's book at a crime scene, which could have been left there
by anyone. School kids hanging out where they shouldn't. Vagrants.
The former residents of the condemned house. A freaking pack rat
could have dragged it in, for all he knew.
    He was reaching. He had no plan, no outline,
no standard operating procedure. All he had was his gut. And his
gut was still so knotted up over what he'd seen inside that
dilapidated house that he wasn't even sure he could trust it
anymore. He was staggering under the weight of his own broken
promise and the knowledge that he'd missed the book the first time
he'd been inside that old house. It did little good to rationalize
that it had been out of sight. He knew the weight of his conscience
wouldn't ease. Not until he found the monster who had killed those
kids, and made him pay.
    And he wondered if the weight would ease,
even then.
    The Dilmun police chief leaned back in a
chair that must have had to strain to hold him. He was a big man.
Not fat. Just big. "So what brings you to Dilmun, Detective
O'Mally?"
    "Research on a case. Technically I'm off
duty, but you know how that goes. You wear a badge, you're always
on."
    "You got that right." The chief nodded toward
a chair, and Vince sat down knowing he had a foot in the door.
Reminding the man of the vocation they held in common ought to go a
long way.
    "Actually, the chances of there being any
connection between the suspect I'm looking for and this town are
slim to none."
    "Probably," Mallory said, smiling.
Believing.
    "Still, I thought as long as I was here,
enjoying some down time, I may as well check it out."
    "Makes perfect sense to me."
    Mallory seemed totally relaxed and not the
least bit suspicious. He leaned back even farther, crossing his
arms behind his head, and thumping his boots onto the desktop. "So
who is it you're looking for?"
    "Don't know. What I do know, is that
he was in possession of a book from the Dilmun Public Library. A
long overdue book, by the looks of things."
    Chief Mallory raised a brow. "Is that what
he's wanted for, son? Delinquent library fines?"
    "Nah, but it's almost as trivial." He would
keep it light. At the first mention of child murders, he figured
he'd be screwed. The entire town would clam up in panic, and every
rat in it would scurry to his hole. The sheriff would probably run
Vince out on a rail. So he wouldn't mention it. He had his cover
story ready. He'd had time to think about it on the drive down
here. "This guy stole a car, went joyriding, and wrecked it. If the
heap hadn't