Gingerbread Man

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 belonged to a judge's son, I wouldn't even be bothering with this." He lied as smoothly as a politician, he thought. And yet something flickered in the chief's eyes. Was that a hint of suspicion behind the friendly smile? Had there been the slightest narrowing of those worry-free eyes? No. Not now, at least. If there had been such a flash, it was gone fast. "I tried to talk to Ms. Baker, over at the library, last night but she wasn't too inclined to help me out. And it's not as if I have a warrant or anything, so I