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“When is the last time you saw Andrea Sloan?”
She shook her head. “You’re looking for some connection that doesn’t exist. But let me think...” Grocery store? No, there’d been once since then. “I was jogging. Mostly, I take Jacob in his stroller, but that day Iris kept him. Andrea runs, too. I’d forgotten that. We came face-to-face, jogged in place for a minute to exchange pleasantries, then went our separate ways. It was...I don’t know, six weeks ago? Two months?”
“Did you know she jogged?”
Helen shook her head. “Not until then.”
“Were you dressed alike?”
She didn’t like the way he’d fixated on their resemblance. “No, she wore a brand name, formfitting running set and, I’m sure, top-of-the-line running shoes. Me, I wear a T-shirt and sweats or shorts depending on the season and weather.” She remembered inwardly cringing that day at what Andrea probably thought of her outfit.
“Pleasantries?” he asked.
“Chilly, but at least it’s not raining. House is still working out great. Nice to see you.”
A smile showed in his eyes, she’d swear it did.
“No calls since then?”
“No.”
“Can you think of any reason at all she would have wanted to speak to you?”
“No! It doesn’t make sense. If this weren’t such a small town, I’d have probably never run into her again after I signed the rental agreement. You can see yourself that I haven’t trashed the place—”
As if she’d crashed into a plate-glass window, a horrifying thought struck her. What if Richard had called or stopped by the real estate office, asking questions about her? Could Andrea have come by to warn her? If Richard or his hired hand had made her nervous enough, she might have let herself into the house to be less visible.
Yes, but if he’d actually seen Andrea, how could he have made the mistake?
But he might not have, Helen reminded herself. Andrea’s assistant might have told her that a man was hunting for Helen, or Richard might have called rather than showing up in person.
Helen jumped up. “I have to check on Jacob.” She found him asleep, thumb slipping out of his mouth.
With the remote, she turned off the movie and TV, then gently picked him up. She straightened, to see that, once again, Renner had followed. “Naptime,” she murmured.
He nodded.
At least he didn’t follow her. Jacob never opened his eyes as she laid him down and tucked him in, then pulled his door almost closed.
Renner didn’t return to his seat at the kitchen table until she did.
“You thought of something, didn’t you?”
Her heart picked up tempo. “Something?”
“About Ms. Sloan.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said flatly.
He studied her speculatively. “Oh, I think you do.”
“I had nothing to do with a woman I hardly know getting murdered in my kitchen.” That sounded almost panicky. What did it matter? But she had to get rid of him. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore without a lawyer.”
* * *
WHATEVER SHE’D THOUGHT had scared the life out of her, and, man, Seth wanted to know what it was. Almost forty-eight hours had passed since Andrea Sloan had died, and he had no more idea why she’d been killed now than he had at the beginning. The one and only person he’d spoken to during this investigation who was acting squirrely was this woman. And he wanted to know why.
“I haven’t accused you of anything,” he said mildly. “I don’t believe you killed Ms. Sloan.” Which was true. But she knew something, he’d bet on it.
She crossed her arms, as if holding herself together. “Is your name Seth?”
“What?”
“I’m sorry—” Hot spots of color appeared on her cheekbones.
“Don’t be sorry.”
“It’s not like I’d use—I mean, I’ll still call you Detective—I just...” She shook her head, unable or unwilling to explain.
He could hope she would be less intimidated if she thought of him by his first name—except that he needed her running a little scared of him.
