Chapter Two

Two Months Later

Emma couldn't stop thinking about that night. The night that Inspector Sullivan broke character and let his guard down. If only for a moment. The burn was completely healed. Just a pink layer of fresh skin now. Things went right back to normal and they fell easily back into their routine. She heard him getting ready in the mornings, saw him slip his hat on his head as he walked out the door, and saw him take it off every night when he returned. The man was an island no mistaking that.

Emma went about tidying up the guest rooms as she usually did, save for Sullivan's. He was her only live-in guest. The other three rooms were only rented out occasionally. She vacuumed the hallway, and dusted the pictures on the shelves. She noticed two of the rooms were out of soap. She'd need to remember to put that on her list. It was shopping day. Time to get her personal supplies and all the things that kept this B&B running.

She dragged the vacuum back downstairs and stuffed it back into the closet. Just as she was about to grab her basket the bell over the door rang and a man walked inside.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm lookin' for a room." the man answered.

Emma walked around the desk in the foyer, "All right then. And for how long will you be staying with us?"

"Just for tonight." he said.

"May I have your name?" she opened her book ready to fill in his information.

"John Smith." he said with a snicker.

Emma looked up. She doubted that was his true name, and when she saw the look on his face she became even more suspicious. Something wasn't right. She pushed the feeling down, even as the hairs on the back of her neck were standing.

He handed her his payment and she sat the key on the desk for him to pick up.

"You're in room 4. Upstairs, last door on the right. Breakfast is at seven in the morning." she told him.

He stared at the key a moment before slipping it into his pocket. Emma moved around the desk and towards the front door.

"Am I your only guest?"

Her hand was on the doorknob, "No. There's one other," she paused, "A police inspector. If you'll excuse me I need to see to the shopping."

She walked through the door and exhaled. Something about that man made her uneasy. Any other guest she would have escorted them to their room, but she couldn't make herself with that man. She'd never seen him before, and she could tell he wasn't from Kembleford.

As she browsed the shops she tried to put the uneasy feeling to the back of her mind. She decided to treat herself. She purchased some rose petals and rose oil for the bath, and some scented candles. The nights were turning colder, and candles always made her feel more cozy. She filled her basket several times over and scheduled a delivery for the groceries. Including a special tea she'd been dying to try.

She stopped by the dress shop. She hadn't had anything new in ages. There wasn't really a point. Her whole life was wrapped up in the B&B. She hardly ever went anywhere to warrant a new dress. Still, she ordered some simple floral material for a new apron. She glanced at her watch. It was getting late. If she went home now she could meet the delivery boy with her groceries.

Sullivan tapped his pen on his desk repeatedly. He couldn't focus. He was hungry. The walls of his green office seemed to be closing in around him. He dropped the pen and went to the door.

"Goodfellow," he called as he swung it open.

"Yes, sir?" Goodfellow looked up from his task at the main desk.

"I'm going for a walk." Sullivan grabbed his jacket and hat off the rack.

"Why don't you head home for the evening?" his sergeant asked. "It's past five."

"No, I have some more papers to file. I'm coming back. I just need a break. Staring at papers all day has given me a headache."

"Very good, sir."

"Can you have a fresh pot of coffee on when I return?" Sullivan asked.

"Of course, sir."

He shot the taller man a genuine smile and exited the police station. It was getting dark earlier now. The sun was setting. Shops would stay open until six, but then everything in the town except the Red Lion would shut down for the evening. He began to wish he'd brought his overcoat. The evening air was chilly. Leaves floated on a harsh breeze that had him turning up his collar. This reminded him of his patrolling days. A lifetime ago really. Before the horrors of war.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw red. Flaming red hair.

Emma.

Lord help him, he followed her with his eyes. She walked into the dress shop. He hated that he wondered why she needed a new dress. Had she met someone? Was she taking a trip? Either way it was entirely none of his business.

Then why are you watching her?

That stubborn voice inside his head talked a lot of sense. He shouldn't be watching his landlady. He should be getting his mind clear so that he could return to work. He would not allow himself to have any distractions. He would do his job to the best of his ability and that's all. He knew very well why he'd lived in Kembleford a year and still hadn't any friends.

He refused to put down roots because he knew, curses, he knew he wouldn't stay here forever. This town was like a spell, it had cast itself upon him. It would be hard, and probably painful to break free from it when the time came. As his eyes scanned the shop windows for another glance of her he wondered if it was indeed the town who cast the spell, or simply the bewitching redhead with whom he shared a home.

With that thought he turned back towards the station. Reports weren't going to write themselves. The street lamps were lighting and the quicker he finished his work the quicker he could be home. He could smell the coffee brewing as he opened the door. Sergeant Goodfellow handed him a mug as he passed.

"Good man, Sergeant." Sullivan thanked him.

He left his office door open. He expected Goodfellow to come in and keep him company and help him file the reports away. He valued his sergeant's work ethic, and his companionship. He wouldn't call it friendship. He refused to call it friendship. As far as he was concerned he had no friends. Just people who were scattered throughout his day to day life. It was easier that way, all round.

He heard the phone ring on the desk in the lobby. He vaguely heard Goodfellow answer. He put away the papers he finished earlier and opened a new file.

"Sir?" Goodfellow knocked on his door.

"What is it?" Sullivan looked up from his papers, mug in hand.

"A body's been found."

"Where?" he sat his mug down.

Goodfellow looked at his notepad, "014 Rosewood Lane."

"014 Rosewood Lane..." Sullivan muttered, "I know that addr- Sergeant, that's where I live!"

Sullivan bounded around the desk forgetting his jacket and hat altogether. Goodfellow snatched them off of the rack and followed his boss out the door. Sullivan slid into the driver's seat as Goodfellow dashed to the car. His palms were sweating. His heart felt like it would beat through his chest and explode all over the steering wheel.

It couldn't be Emma. But it had to be. He was the only one staying. He was keenly aware it was just him and her under the same roof alone every night.

So keenly aware.

Maybe there was a robbery and she shot the person? Maybe a homeless vagrant wandered inside? His mind was racing and he hated himself.

You're not supposed to care.

Not supposed to be attached.

He knew better. For all his distance and nonchalant attitude he cared about her.

And for that very reason alone...she couldn't be-

It took him less than seven minutes to arrive at the B&B. He slammed the car door and jogged up the driveway. He opened the garden gate, and it was only then that he slowed his pace. Whatever scene awaited them inside he needed to conduct himself professionally.

Through the glass-paned kitchen door he could see groceries in brown paper bags sitting on the counters. He pushed the door open and saw a man lying in a pool of blood. Relief flooded over him. It wasn't her. He heard movement and looked up just as she entered the room. She was crying, and pale as a sheet. Without thinking she went to him, and as an automatic response he opened his arms. She threw herself against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her as Goodfellow looked on awkwardly.

"Shh, it's all right." he cooed. He widened his feet and stepped to turn her away from the body. "Don't look." he whispered near her ear.

It was much too late for that as she was the one who had discovered the grizzly sight. He took her about the shoulders, "Who is that?" he asked urgently.

And even as the man lay dead he couldn't help but think back to seeing her enter the dress shop. Was he her lover?

"A, a man," she stuttered, "He checked in this afternoon."

"What's his name, Emma?" he stared into her eyes. She seemed far away and he wanted to shake her back to him. She looked down and he watched a tear fall from her eye.

"Emma! What's his name?"

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