The Good Neighbor. Sharon Mignerey

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СКАЧАТЬ “I’ve never seen more beautiful roses.”

      “They are Helen’s pride and joy,” Megan said, wishing he’d skip the small talk and get to the point.

      “You know her well?” he asked.

      “She brought me a loaf of freshly baked bread the day I moved in three years ago and I’ve talked to her almost every single day since.”

      Megan met his gaze head-on. His dark brown eyes drew her in, the expression there so interested, so focused, she imagined telling him all her secrets. Though it would be a relief to tell someone, sharing with a cop, especially now, would fall under the heading of “stupid.” He cocked his head to the side as though waiting to hear what she’d say next, his dark hair falling across his forehead.

      “She’s one of my favorite people,” Megan said. She met his gaze, wished she knew what he was thinking. “Aren’t you going to ask about Robby?”

      “Okay,” he agreed. “What about him?”

      “I don’t—didn’t—know him very well at all. He’s been back in town only a couple of weeks.”

      “But that isn’t what you want to tell me.”

      It wasn’t.

      Megan bowed her head, searching for the right words, knowing there wasn’t anything except the bald truth. Finally she shook her head.

      “You’re going to think I killed him.”

      “Did you?” Such a calm question, those dark eyes still drawing her in.

      “No.” She swallowed. “But I told him that his grandmother would be better off if he were dead.”

      TWO

      Megan’s statement echoed in Wade’s head as he looked at her. She had a girl-next-door wholesomeness about her that he knew from experience was usually only skin-deep. For some reason, he wanted Megan to be what she seemed. Of course, he had hoped to spend the next fifteen years of his career without investigating another murder.

      Clearly that wasn’t going to happen.

      Her dark blond hair was sun-streaked as though she spent a lot of time outside. At the moment, though, she was pale, the sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks clearly visible. Her hands were clasped, probably to keep them from trembling. All the classic and expected things of a witness in this circumstance. But, her own words took her from witness to suspect.

      She held his gaze steadily without saying anything further, which intrigued him. Most people couldn’t stand the silence and were eager to fill it up. Not this woman, though. She didn’t look away, but there was nothing defiant in her gaze. All Wade heard was the murmur of voices beyond them and the chirp of a bird in a nearby tree.

      Finally, he cleared his throat. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that it was one of those things you say in jest when you’re mildly annoyed.” He never spoke first. It was a cardinal rule of his, one he was acutely aware of breaking.

      Then, she did look away, her gaze moving toward the backyard, a shimmer appearing in her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “I’ve never—I don’t say things like that.”

      She never what? He wondered even as he acknowledged that she was telling him she’d been serious about the threat. He’d given her a way out, and she hadn’t taken it.

      “Maybe you should just tell me how it happened. Give me some context to work with.”

      Those vivid eyes fastened on him once more, and he realized her lashes were the longest he had ever seen. She really did have beautiful eyes. If he were to trust the old saying that eyes are a window to the soul, then this woman was innocent. Tempting, but he knew better.

      He looked away from her face, studying the blood on her clothes. Though it would take a forensic examination to know for sure, his study now matched his first impression—there was no blood spatter from a live wound, but instead smears that might have come from touching someone you hoped would still be alive.

      “Where do you work?” he asked, looking at a vaguely familiar emblem embroidered on the pocket of her shirt—a pair of hands cupped beneath a loaf of bread.

      “Our Daily Bread,” she answered, giving him the name of a local home-health-care agency and making him wonder what she did there, since he’d already met several of the nurses and the PA. She touched her forehead with her palm. “I’ve got to call in. I was due at my first patient’s house a long time ago.”

      “You’re a nurse?”

      “A physical therapist. I work with patients who can’t get to the rehab center at the nursing home.” She reached for the clip on her belt that held her cell phone.

      “Why is that body still lying out here?” The sonorous voice of Wade’s boss, Chief Carl Egan suddenly carried toward them.

      Wade looked up to see the chief coming toward him, his eyes shadowed by the brim of the black baseball cap he always wore.

      “There you are, Prescott. What do we have so far?”

      “Maybe now is a good time to make that call,” Wade said to Megan. “I’ll be back.” Standing, he headed for the driveway, leading the chief away from his witness. “The body is still here because I haven’t examined it yet,” he said.

      “And why not?”

      “It’s not going anywhere. Not like other evidence and witnesses.”

      “Uh-huh. Continue.” Though Egan’s tone was curt, he relaxed a little, folding his arms over his chest and rocking back on his heels the way he did when he was concentrating.

      “At the moment, we’re taking witness statements and doing the initial neighborhood canvas. As soon as we’re done, we’ll begin processing the crime scene.”

      The chief lifted his hat, scratching his nearly bald head. “You can’t just leave a corpse lying out here in the driveway. This is a small town, Prescott. People aren’t used—”

      “The body was like that when I got here,” Wade said. “So I don’t have any context for the crime scene.” He nodded toward Megan. “She’s the one who found him, and in a minute, I’m going to get her to show me exactly where and how.”

      “Well, get to it, Prescott. You’re my expert, but I can tell you, you’ve already ruffled a few feathers. Doc Wagner called me up while I was on my way over here and bent my ear about the way you’ve run roughshod over everyone.”

      Wade didn’t bother correcting that, but said, “Maybe he should have thought of that before he moved the body.”

      The chief’s head came up and he looked back toward Wagner. “He did that?”

      “He did.”

      “Well. That does color things a little different now, doesn’t it?”

      “We’ve got a mess,” Wade added. “Since the body was moved, I don’t yet know whether the victim died here СКАЧАТЬ