Obsession & Eyewitness. Carol Ericson

of you.”

      The man shuffled forward a few more steps, his arms held out. He started whistling.

      Michelle sucked in a breath. Was it some sort of signal? She dipped into the hallway and looked both ways.

      The man stood before Colin and peered at him through a veil of stringy hair. His filthy clothes hung on his gaunt frame, his lips, still puckered in song, framed by a wild beard. He dropped his arms to his sides and his hands nestled amid the folds of his raggedy clothing.

      Colin steadied the metal-gray barrel of the gun. “Put your hands back in front of you where I can see them.”

      The man gave him a gap-toothed smile. “I had a gun once. Don’t have it no more.”

      “Let me see your hands. Real slow.”

      The man hunched his narrow shoulders and raised his arms again. He held his hands, tipped with dirty fingernails, in front of him where they trembled. “Is that what you want, boss?”

      “What are you doing here?”

      “Is this your house, boss?”

      Colin’s jaw tightened. “No.”

      “Not mine, either.”

      “So what are you doing here?”

      Michelle glanced at the time on her cell phone. The police had a mile to get here at high speed. Where were they?

      The man moved his hand toward his face, and Colin’s finger tightened on the trigger.

      He scratched his beard and turned his head toward Michelle. “I scared the pretty lady, huh?”

      Michelle nodded, and her heartbeat began to return to normal. He seemed harmless enough now, but maybe Colin’s big gun had something to do with that impression.

      Sirens wailed in the distance, and the grungy man swore. “You didn’t have to go and call the cops on me. I didn’t do nothing wrong. Just scared her. Wasn’t even trying. Heard her going through the rooms and figured I’d better wait it out in the closet. Didn’t know she’d go snooping in the closet.”

      Colin narrowed his eyes. The hand on his gun seemed to relax, or at least his knuckles were no long the color of white marble.

      Michelle shifted her gaze to Colin’s face. Was he thinking what she was thinking? This man with his long hair, overgrown beard and disheveled clothing didn’t fit the profile of Amanda’s killer. And he definitely wasn’t responsible for the murders in Vegas and San Francisco.

      Colin repeated his previous question. “What are you doing in this house?”

      Waving his arms at his sides, the man said, “It’s empty, isn’t it? I needed a place to crash.”

      Several pairs of footsteps charged up the stairs. “Michelle? Roarke? You up here?”

      Colin backed up to the door, keeping in front of her and keeping his gun trained on the homeless man. “In here.”

      His own gun drawn, Chief Evans barreled through the door almost knocking Michelle’s shoulder. “Face down. Prone position.”

      Colin lowered his weapon and shook his head. “I think he’s just a homeless guy camping out.”

      Another officer had joined the chief and shoved the stranger onto the hardwood floor. The cop dragged the man’s arms behind his body and snapped a pair of cuffs on him.

      The homeless man started whistling again.

      “We’ll take it from here, Roarke. Looks like we just might have our man.”

      Colin cleared his throat. “I think…”

      The chief hustled the stranger past Michelle and Colin. “We’ll handle it.”

      The man winked at Michelle as Chief Evans shoved him out the bedroom door. Another officer squeezed past Colin into the bedroom.

      “Did he have a weapon? Did he hide anything in here?”

      “We didn’t get that far. I think the dude’s just a homeless guy looking for some temporary shelter.”

      “Chief thinks we just nailed Amanda’s killer.” The officer pulled a pair of gloves out of his pocket. “I’m going to do a thorough search of the room. Thanks for your assistance. You can leave now. The chief knows you’re not officially on the Gunderson case, Roarke.”

      Colin glanced at Michelle and rolled his eyes. “Come on.”

      He steered her through the front door, which was now standing open. The curious folks from down the street gawking over Amanda’s murder site had shifted their attentions to Columbella House and the scruffy man now being stuffed into the backseat of a Coral Cove P.D. squad car.

      Michelle gulped in a few breaths of salty air. “He’s not Amanda’s killer, is he?”

      Colin wandered to the side gate, grabbed the top and leaned forward, peering at the path that rambled to the beach. “No.”

      “Maybe—” Michelle twisted the arms of the sweatshirt that she’d wrapped around her waist “—he’s mentally ill. He could’ve been on his way to Columbella, stumbled across Amanda getting in her car and just gone off.”

      He turned his head and raised one brow. “Did that guy look capable of attacking someone the way Amanda was attacked?”

      “You mean sneaking up on her and slitting her throat.” Michelle kicked at the weeds clinging to the gate, sending puffs of dandelion floating through the air.

      He brushed the back of his hand along her fingers where she’d hooked them, like claws, onto the chain-link fence. “I’m sorry.”

      She sniffled and blinked. “No. He didn’t look capable of kicking a cat. He’d fall over. But that’s not going to stop Chief Evans or Mayor Davis from railroading this guy. He’ll be languishing in some jail cell just in time for the summer tourists to start flooding Coral Cove.”

      “That’s stupid.” His fingers curled around hers. “If they’re that shortsighted, they just might allow the real killer to walk. And maybe strike again.”

      Michelle shivered. “You think I’m on his list?”

      “I know you graduated the same year as the other women.”

      “The three murders could be completely unrelated—a coincidence.”

      “And the petals?”

      “The petals.” The terror from this morning when she’d seen the rose petals on her porch punched her in the gut. She sagged.

      “Let’s get out of here.” Colin peeled her fingers from the gate and laced his own with hers.

      They skirted the lingering knots of people in the street and Michelle tugged on his hand. “So which is it, Colin? Do you believe the killer scattered those petals on my porch or do you believe some innocent bystander carried them there on the bottom of his shoes?”

      Colin wanted to reassure her, drive the fear from her big, brown eyes, but he couldn’t lie to this woman. He couldn’t pretend that she didn’t face some danger from this wily killer.

      “If it’s the former, I’ll make sure he never gets that close to you again.” He tightened his grip on her hand.

      A bicycle wobbled down the street between pedestrians, and the bespectacled rider raised his hand in salute. Michelle waved back, and Colin blew out a breath. What now? Couldn’t he ever get this woman alone? He had some more reassuring to do.

      The cyclist pulled up beside them and shoved the glasses up his nose. “Michelle, are you okay? I heard what happened this morning and that it happened right outside your front door.”

      The man lurched off the seat of his bike, straddling it with his feet planted firmly on either side. His gaze dipped