Little Empty Promises (Georgiana Germaine #10)

Chapter 29

29

Samantha invited me inside, and I walked with her and Mack to the kitchen. I sat down on a barstool, and she turned toward her husband, saying, “I believe I’m going to need a cocktail for this conversation.”

“Anything you want, honey,” he said. “What’s it going to be?”

“I’ll have my usual.”

He nodded and turned his attention to me. “What about you? We have wine, beer, gin, tea, coffee, soda … and water, of course.”

Given I was planning on heading home after our visit, to wind down and enjoy a couple of drinks with Giovanni, I kept it simple and asked for a glass of water.

Mack stopped as he passed by Samantha, bending toward her and planting a kiss on her forehead. She gave his hand a squeeze, and then he proceeded to open one of the kitchen cabinets, whistling as he said, “One strawberry margarita, coming right up.”

While the cocktail was being made, Samantha sat down next to me. I was hoping she would continue the conversation we’d been having before, but she went quiet. It was possible she was trying to work up the nerve to continue what she’d started. And although I didn’t want to push, I was tired, and I had little gas left in my peopling tank.

We chitchatted about topics of no consequence, and then Mack brought over her cocktail. She put the straw in her mouth and sipped and sipped and sipped, finishing half of it. Then she set the glass on the counter. “Mack, would you mind leaving the two of us alone for a few minutes, honey?”

Based on his furrowed brow, he did mind—and not just a little—a lot.

“I’d like to stay,” he said. “I believe it would be for the best. Don’t you agree?”

“I understand why, but I’ll be fine,” she said. “I promise.”

He stood there for a long second, not saying anything. Then he did as she asked, exiting the kitchen and making sure she knew he would be in the den if she needed anything.

When Mack was out of earshot, Samantha said, “I’ve told Mack what I’m about to tell you, but I didn’t give him much in the way of details.”

I considered telling her to take her time, but in truth, all I wanted was for it to come out. The faster, the better.

“What is it you need to tell me?” I asked.

She downed the rest of the margarita, slid off the barstool, and took the glass to the kitchen sink. Turning on the faucet, she rinsed it off, and put it in the dishwasher. Then she opened a cupboard and grabbed a shot glass and a bottle of tequila. She poured a single shot and offered me one.

I declined.

“Suit yourself,” she said.

She swigged back the entire shot and then breathed a long sigh as she returned to the barstool.

“I believe I’m ready now,” she said.

Good.

I’d been ready for what felt like ages.

“It started out as a quiet, slow day in the library,” she began. “There’s often a lag time in the middle of it, and sometimes no one else is there except us—the employees who work there, which is me, Cordelia, and Johnny. I’d just started putting some books on the shelves, and I heard the front door open and close. I looked over to see who’d come in, and I saw a man. He was tall and muscular, and he didn’t look like the usual type of person who comes in. Everything about him stood out.”

“Can you explain why?”

“He was wearing dark sunglasses, and he had his long hair in a ponytail, which he’d pulled through the opening in the back of his ballcap. He also wore a black leather vest beneath a black T-shirt like he was in a motorcycle gang, except the pants he was wearing looked like nice dress slacks. His entire look seemed so odd to me, but I suppose I don’t know what’s trendy these days.”

“Do you remember what time he entered the library?”

“I’d say it was early afternoon, between one and two.”

“Did the man acknowledge you, or did you acknowledge him?” I asked.

“When he first came in, he was glancing around, and he saw me staring at him. He tipped his head toward me, but he didn’t say anything. Then he disappeared into one of the aisles. Because I was preoccupied with what I was doing, and he was so quiet, I forgot about him for a while.”

“And then?”

“I was walking to the front desk, and I saw him sitting in one of the chairs on the opposite end of the room, by the window. He had a book in his hand, and he was reading. Well, to clarify, I assumed he was reading at first. When I think back on it now, it seems to me he wasn’t focused on the book at all.”

“What was he focused on?”

“He was looking around, watching people come in and out, that kind of thing.”

“Where was Cordelia at the time?”

“She was standing in the romance section, talking to Johnny.”

“Did the guy ever pay any specific attention to Cordelia while he was there?”

Samantha shrugged. “He may have. I’m not sure.”

“Did any of you talk to him?”

She pointed a finger at herself. “I did.”

“When?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say it was about an hour after he arrived. I wasn’t sure why he was hanging around and not leaving. And given he didn’t seem interested in the book in his hand, I went over to have a chat with him.”

“What did you say?”

She tapped a finger to the counter, thinking. “I mentioned I hadn’t ever seen him come in before. He said he’d just moved to the area, and I suggested he apply for a library card. He told me he already had one, but I doubt that. As we were talking, I glanced down at the book in his hand. In all the time he’d been sitting there, he’d only turned a few of its pages.”

“What was the book?”

“I couldn’t tell, and before we could chat any further, the phone rang, and I went to the desk to answer it. When I returned, the book was gone, and so was he.”

I had to admit, it did seem suspicious.

But the fact she found the man odd didn’t make him a murderer.

“I understand why the timing of a strange man you’ve never seen before coming into the library seems suspect,” I said. “Maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t. Either way, you can’t blame yourself for any part of what happened.”

“I did do something wrong, though. I should have given you this information the night she died, and I didn’t.”

“Why did you wait until now?”

“When I learned about what happened to her, I was in shock, to be honest. I hadn’t processed all that had gone on that day yet. When I did, I realized I needed to say something, to tell someone, even if it amounted to nothing. I let my fear stop me from doing the right thing.”

“What are you afraid of, Samantha?”

She choked up, struggling to get out the words. “I’ve had nightmares ever since she died, nightmares of me telling the police, and word getting around town about that strange man. What if he was the one who killed her? If he finds out I’ve been running my mouth, what’s to stop him from coming after me?”