Buried [Completed]

Chapter fifteen

On Monday Dougal headed for the library right after breakfast. Charlotte was at her desk when he walked in, and he had to smile, seeing her in her sweater and pearls. Miss Prim and Proper, but now he knew she had a wild side, too.

He was tempted to walk up to her and kiss her. It would be interesting to see her reaction. But no, be honest with yourself here. You really just want to kiss her. Which wasn't a smart idea. Whatever the reason Charlotte had turned down Wade's proposal, the two of them belonged together. Wade was a solid, dependable, loyal man. He'd make the sort of husband a woman like Charlotte deserved. Once Charlotte had time to think it through, she'd realize her mistake and patch things up with him. So he should be a gentleman and pretend their sex on the beach had never happened.

"Morning Charlotte."

She nodded, seemingly preoccupied by the book in her hands. It was Ian McEwan's Atonement. She didn't seem to be reading it. Just examining it like a puzzling artifact.

"Good book. Have you read it?"

"Years ago."

He raised his eyebrows.

"I found it in the return chute this morning." She frowned, then flipped to the title page, which she showed him.

Someone had hand-written in a faltering, flowery script: Charlotte I'm sorry.

"Sorry for what? Returning the book late?"

"But it isn't a library book. It's not coded and it doesn't have a protective cover."

"It didn't come from me, if that's what you're wondering. The other night shouldn't have happened. But I'm not sorry it did."

She wouldn't meet his eyes.

"You, on the other hand, probably have a different opinion."

A young mother with two children entered the library then and Dougal left Charlotte in peace, settling at his usual table where he quickly set out his laptop and notes. Out of habit, he checked his email first. Nothing new from Librarianmomma. He knew it was wrong— possibly sick— to feel disappointed. But he did.

He turned his attention to his notes on the second murder. Based on the information in the faxed articles from the East Oregonian, Mari Beamish had a husband and a four-year-old daughter. This was where he'd start.

First he needed a phone number. He tried various computer searches, looking first for anyone with the surname of Beamish, who still lived in Pendleton. He was jotting down numbers and addresses when a hand touched his shoulder.

"Finding what you're looking for?"

The mom and her kids had left, so they were alone again.
"I got what I came for."

He set down his pen and looked her directly in the eyes.

"And then some."

Cheap shot. Just went to show what a bugger he was. Charlotte blushed. God— it amazed him how easily she did that.

"About Satur—" she began.

"No explanations necessary. I figure you and Wade just need a little time to work things out. If you're worried I might make trouble— don't."

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the next work station.

"How reassuring."

"Right. One more thing. I'm heading to Pendleton tomorrow. Just for a few days to follow up on Mari Beamish. I'll drop my rent checks in your mail box before I leave. You forgot to take them with you last time you were over."