Page 273 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

“Sounds like people are thinking all of the town’s problems rest on Bob.”

Nate clenched his jaw. “They do.”

“What about you?”

Nate stopped, meeting Dad’s stare. “I think a lot of the pieces fit but it’s wrapping up a little too easily for me.”

Dad nodded. “Matthew seems convinced Bob’s death was a suicide.”

“He does.”

“But you’re not.”

He shook his head. “Lucky suffered—died a horrible death. According to James Larsen’s statement, there were approximately eight minutes between the two shots that were Lucky’s. It’s not adding up for me that Bob would let Lucky suffer when just days ago Bob had Lucky strapped into some bright yellow getup because he was paranoid his dog was going to be mistaken for a deer.”

Dad narrowed his eyes as he nodded, the way he always did when he was contemplating. “Doesn’t sound quite right.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He started chopping again. “I’ve followed the evidence. I found the spray paint cans he might have used to decorate the Johnstons’ shed, and the Fitzgeralds’ stolen tools were in a drawer in the garage. The presumptive GSR kit tested positive for gun residue on Bob’s hands. Everything but my gut says it was Bob.”

“Always trust your gut, son. Always.”

Nate nodded. “No matter how I spin it, I can’t make Bob letting his dog suffer work.”

“The man certainly loved that mutt. I honestly can’t imagine him hurting a fly. He was a little gruff by nature, but he was always kind.”

Nate rested his boot on top of the stump, finding Dad’s comments a balm against his uncertainties. “I saw a smudge of blue paint in the back of his pickup the night he died—caught my attention right away. As soon as I saw it, I knew what it was. I should have asked him about it, Dad.” He shook his head, still livid for missing his opportunity to prevent a tragedy. “I should have marched my ass right back into that diner, but I didn’t because I couldn’t make myself believe it. I wanted to be absolutely certain I had my facts straight before I started down that road.”

“Of course you did.” Dad stepped closer, giving him a supportive slap on the arm. “Sounds to me like you made the right call.”

Nate raised his brow.

“Aw, Nate, you couldn’t have known things were going to turn out the way they did.” Dad sighed. “This whole situation’s tough—a shock.”

Nate let the ax fall the short distance to the ground and rubbed at the back of his neck. “It’s eating me up—that I can’t figure all of this out. In his note Bob said he couldn’t live with ‘it’ anymore so he wouldn’t. You can’t tell me that ‘it’ was his guilt over tools and spray paint.”

Dad’s eyes sharpened on his. “You’re thinking he had something to do with Callie’s mother?”

Nate nodded, still haunted by Bob’s comments about Callie’s case coming full circle. “One way or the other. He found the locket—Silas’s jewelry in Brewster’s Forest. Last week he brought me a box of Silas’s old drawings and receipts he’d found in the shed. They didn’t do me any good so I asked him if he would look again—see if there was anything else. He was happy to help—super interested in the whole thing. I know some guilty parties like to involve themselves in an investigation, but I don’t think that was it—said he liked watching reruns of CSI Miami.”

Dad chuckled.

“I’m getting close, Dad. I can feel it.”

“Then keep digging.”

He scrubbed at his jaw. “I can’t stop thinking… What if Bob had nothing to do with any of this? What if he was just the poor bastard who happened to come across the locket in the woods and is taking the fall?”

“Those are heavy questions, son.”

“I don’t know what to do—how to let it go. Any of this. Bob’s or Callie’s cases.”

Dad sighed as he looked up to the partly cloudy sky. “Unfortunately, upholding the law never stops. This town might be small—a tiny dot in the world—but it could keep you busy every moment of every day if you let it.”

Nate huffed out a humorless laugh. “I’ve noticed.”

Dad smiled. “What if you see about tabling the case for the next twenty-four hours and give that beautiful woman of yours the best you’ve got on your first Thanksgiving together?” He held up his hand, halting any comments. “I imagine that’s easier said than done, but there’s nothing quite as precious as a first. You both deserve a couple of carefree days.”

Nate looked toward the window where Callie and Mom chatted in the kitchen.