He finally looked up from the screen, and when he did, his blue-eyed gaze was troubled. “I can’t.”
Molly was surprised. “But, John, why not? If Meschelle runs this photo on the front page, everybody will pay attention. It’s super eye-catching. This is much better than running a mug shot of the guy, which I’m sure you must have considered but can’t do because his lawyers would eat you alive. And this is a current photo and shows him in the act. Someone is bound to recognize him and realize that they’ve seen him somewhere around. Then they’ll call in and tell you where you can—”
John pointed at one of the photographs—specifically at Katie, whose hip was thrust out as she blew a provocatively sexy kiss in the direction of the viewer, all while dressed in her very short Snappette skirt and halter top. “That’s my daughter.”
Molly was still confused. “I know, but, John, I’m sure Katie will be happy to help. She’s an outgoing girl. She’ll love the attention.”
“It isn’t that,” John said, staring at her as if she’d gone crazy. “I don’t want that photo of my daughter on the front page of our town newspaper.”
Suddenly, it all became clear—why he was so taken aback by the photos. It wasn’t only the fact that Dylan was lurking around in the background in some of them. No, he was just as disturbed by Katie’s appearance.
But while some of his daughter’s poses were a little suggestive, Molly didn’t think they were shocking. They were the same kinds of photos all the teens she knew were posting online.
Poor Katie. It was hard enough on the kid that her mom had left just as she was hitting her formative teen years and now she was being raised by a single father.
But being raised by the town sheriff? Molly hoped she hadn’t gotten her into too much trouble.
“John, I’m sure Meschelle can have the photo cropped so Katie doesn’t show, or blur her face out, since she’s a minor,” Molly rushed to explain. “There’s no need to mention her name or show her at all.”
He lifted his bottle to take a long swig of beer, staring at the photo and continuing to look pained. “I’ll have to think about this.”
Molly didn’t find this response very reassuring. “Look, I know this must feel very personal to you now. How could it not? Dylan’s trashing my library was very personal to me, too. But we can’t let our personal feelings keep us from doing everything we can to find this guy. I really think letting Meschelle run this photo would—”
He plunked down his bottle loudly enough to cause several of the hotel guests to turn their heads to see what was going on.
“We aren’t going to do anything to find this guy,” he said. “That’s my job.”
Before she could say anything else, he was lifting the camera and turning to leave. “Sorry, but I really better go. I said I’d meet Katie for dinner. This does help.” He waved the camera. “Thank you.”
Molly had a sinking feeling that instead of helping, she’d made everything worse—especially any chance of their having any sort of relationship, romantic or otherwise. She struggled to find something—anything—to say to salvage the situation. “John, I’m sorry. I—”
“No, really,” he said, and managed a tight smile over his shoulder as he strode off. “I mean it.”
Then he was gone.
Molly was certain he hadn’t meant it at all. Sighing, she turned her wounded expression toward Joanne, who was simultaneously sipping a margarita and pretending to be wiping up a spill on an outdoor table nearby, not eavesdropping.
“Did I blow it?” Molly asked her.
“Oh, honey, no.” Joanne was quick to rush to Molly’s side. “He’s just a man, and a protective one at that. Seeing his little girl like that—so close to that fellow he’s been trying to catch for so long—threw him for a loop, is all. And to find out about it from you, of all people!”
“Why is it so bad that he found out about it from me? I was trying to help.”
“Well, of course you were. But he likes you—he brought you flowers, didn’t he? So he wants to look good in front of you. And then you throw it in his face that he can’t even protect his little girl from that piece of lowlife scum—”
“That isn’t what I meant to do at all!”
“Of course you didn’t. Don’t worry about it. As soon as he catches that walking piece of phlegm, it will all blow over, and he’ll be coming back again with flowers to apologize.”
Molly shook her head, thinking of the pain she’d seen in those blue eyes. “I don’t think he will.”
“Oh, come on now. Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, because I wasn’t doing laundry just now. I was using your old computer up at the front desk to download that camera’s memory card. Because I kind of had a feeling he wouldn’t agree to send Meschelle those photos.” Molly shrugged sadly. “So if he doesn’t, I will, Joanne. I have to. I can’t let that guy get away with what he did to the library—not to mention that little baby and her mother!”
Joanne took a long, reflective sip of her margarita. Then, after swallowing, she said, “Well, in that case, you’re right, honey. The sheriff probably won’t be coming back with flowers for you anytime soon.”
Chapter Twenty
John
Sunday was Spaghetti and Meatball Night at the Mermaid Café, and no matter what else was going on, John always tried to make a point of taking Katie there, not only because many other local families showed up and it had a nice community feel, but because he loved spaghetti and meatballs.
Katie was not the biggest fan of either spaghetti or meatballs, however. As a child, when presented with the dish, she had usually screamed until given buttered noodles and no meatballs instead. Now, as a sophisticated young woman, she merely ordered a Caesar salad with a few strips of grilled chicken on top for added protein.
But John would not break with tradition, not even after the bombshell Molly Montgomery had dropped on him . . . the latest in a series of bombshells she’d dropped that were blowing his previously orderly life to smithereens.
How and why did she keep doing this? He had never met a woman who was at once so attractive and so determined to destroy him. Had she come to this island for this purpose only, under the disguise of a friendly children’s librarian?
It seemed so.
Now he sat in one of the Mermaid’s orange-and-teal booths, watching as his daughter happily waved to her friends on the other side of the restaurant. At home, she would have been texting if he’d allowed it, but at the Mermaid, texting was really not allowed, as Ed, the owner, would throw out customers for cell phone use.
John waited until Katie had had a few bites of her chicken and he knew she had something in her stomach and wasn’t still light-headed from all the calories she’d expended at the dance practice she’d been at all day. Then he pulled out the camera Molly had given him and said, “We need to talk about this.”
Katie glanced down at the camera and said, “Isn’t that Elijah’s? He said his dad left it when he moved out.” Her eyes widened. “Oh my God. Don’t tell me he stole it. No way. I know Elijah’s a little weird, but he would never—”
“I’m not talking about the camera.” John switched on the display screen. “I’m talking about these photos.”
Katie blinked down at the screen. “Yeah. What about them?”
He felt a surge of exasperation. “Katie, these photos . . . you look . . . they . . . you . . . the way you’re posing . . .”
She rolled her eyes and turned her concentration back to her salad. “Dad, we were just goofing around.”
“Yes, I can see that. But—”
“We’re not posting them anywhere. Well, the headshots we’re going to send with our apps to cheer camp. But the rest of them were just for fun.”
“Just for fun,” he repeated, looking down at a photo of all three of the girls lifting their skirts and mooning the photographer—presumably this Elijah person. They still had on their cheer shorts or whatever they were called beneath their skirts, but that wasn’t the point.
“Come on, Dad,” Katie said, still laughing as she speared a crouton with her fork. “Don’t tell me you never did silly things in high school.”
“I did,” he said, thinking of an incident involving a spear gun, some eggs, and an old friend’s car. “But we never filmed it.”
“Well, times are different now.” Katie popped the crouton into her mouth. “Everybody films everything. It’s no big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” John said, flipping through the photos until he found the one he wanted. “At least this time. This is why.” He showed her the picture of herself with Larry Beckwith in the background.
At first Katie’s expression didn’t change. She said, “So what? I’m blowing a kiss. You know we all do that in the ‘Mack the Knife’ number—”
Then her expression did change. She reached for the camera in order to bring the screen closer so she could get a better look.