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Robin’s focus stuck on an earlier word. “Arrest...? Arrest?”
“A nice place to stay and plenty of money for food. You’ll be fine.”
With Brenda’s bracing personality threatening to knock over Robin, I slid in, “Perhaps you should call you father’s lawyer. Get him to get in touch with someone local, just in case.”
“In case what?” Robin demanded with flared eyes and nostrils.
Brenda gave me an exasperated look as if I’d been the untactful one. “Never mind that,” she told Robin. “Come with me. I need another pair of hands anyway to reposition a stall door while I fix the hinges.”
With the promise of that take-your-mind-off-your-father-being-suspected-of-murder treat, Brenda reached for Robin’s arm.
Robin yanked away. “Hold a door? Hold a door? I’m not—”
She half ran back to the truck and roared away.
Brenda shrugged and turned toward the barn.
Tom made a what next sound.
I checked the time. “Town, so I can get to the station.”
I was anchoring the Five today while Leona covered a charity event. She’d be back in time to do the Ten — which would no doubt lead with her charity event no matter what hard news tried to push to the front. But my taking the Five gave her time to prep for the event and, possibly, get a little more rest.
As Tom drove us toward Sherman, I thought about Robin. I felt sympathy for her. At the same time, there was one thing I found interesting.
When Brenda explained her logic to Robin about how no one who hadn’t been a witness or the killer him-or-herself could be certain that someone else wasn’t the killer, I’d immediately heard in my head the expected, natural, automatic response from Robin:
Why would my father kill Keefer Dobey? He had no reason to kill Keefer Dobey.
She hadn’t said that.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I hated this waiting.
Preparing the Five for me to anchor and the Ten for Leona didn’t offer much distraction.
It was a slow news day. I gladly apportioned more time to Sports, with college basketball at its hottest, and tried not to grimace over a wire piece on happy daffodils across swaths of the country.
Nala Choi and I prepped two pieces, one for each broadcast, with background on Keefer Dobey’s murder that could be topped with the breaking news of an arrest... if that happened.
It didn’t.
Which brought me back to waiting.
And thinking.
If Randall Kenyon killed Keefer Dobey, the biggest question was answered.
That was a black and white question.
My questions were better suited to answers with lots of gray in them, maybe some paisley or plaid.
Yes, there remained the question of why. But that might require therapy, rather than an interview — law enforcement or journalistic.
Also questions surrounding his heavy-handed attempt to throw suspicion on Wendy Barlow.
Not that heavy-handed surprised me terribly in connection to Randall. He was the bull accustomed to getting what he wanted by threatening to enter the china shop.
