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“Sunday?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Pretty sure.”
“A boy?”
“Or man . . . maybe even a tall woman.”
“Could you identify them?” Rachel asked, her pulse jumping as she stared at her own house with its discolored door, the horrid word illegible, but the mismatched paint a scar. Tomorrow, she’d repaint the entire thing.
“Don’t think so. It was dark, not foggy like today, but deep night. Anyway, all kids look alike these days—boys and girls in those oversized hooded sweatshirts and jeans with holes in the knees. It could even have been your son. Never saw the face, y’know.”
She didn’t know, but one of her children had used a window to sneak out, so it wasn’t too hard to believe that her son, too, might have been going in and out of the house at will. She thought of all the nights she’d thought she’d seen someone lurking in the backyard, the times that Reno had acted as if someone was out there. She’d thought she was going out of her mind, when really . . . her own kids might have caused all her trauma.
“Say, did you know that woman who was killed?” Ella asked. “I watched the noon news. She was about your age and they said she’d grown up around here.”
“She was a classmate.”
“And the other one, too. The one who was murdered last week?”
“They both graduated with me.”
“What do you think happened?” The older woman’s eyes gleamed at the prospect of gossip and Rachel didn’t want to get into it.
“I don’t know,” she said, then added, “I have to get back. The kids are home and I have to make sure they’re doing their homework. Thanks!” Before the older woman could ask another question, she tugged on Reno’s leash and they crossed the street to go inside and confront her children, one or both of whom were still lying to her.
CHAPTER 30
Cade had driven back to the crime scene for one last look and then spied his father’s Mercedes parked in the lot next door. He let himself into the office and with a quick wave to Doris, Chuck’s receptionist and secretary, he headed straight to his father’s office.
“Oh, Cade, please wait.” Doris snapped the headset from her perfectly coiffured gray hair.
“It’s okay, Doris. I’ve got this.” A fixture who had been with Chuck since Cade was a teen, she looked positively stricken that he wasn’t waiting as commanded in the small reception area.
Instead he strode into Chuck’s office. Charles Ryder was now the lone attorney in the building, his partner having retired several years earlier.
Cade found his father dressed in slacks and a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up. His face was perpetually tanned, his graying hair thinning, and lately he had been wearing glasses, but he was still fit, his body the lanky shape of a long-distance runner’s. He was putting, hitting a golf ball across a long green mat laid over the carpet to a hole complete with auto return. The ball hit the right spot and the device shot it back down the length of the mat to where Chuck stood still in putting stance. He captured the ball with the head of his putter and lined up again, barely glancing up, not wanting to break his concentration.
“Busy day?”
“Just wrapped up with my last client ten minutes ago. Thought I’d hone my short game before I headed home. And, to tell you the truth, I figured you’d be showing up,” he said, and with a short, sharp stroke hit the golf ball to send it rolling dead center to the return device. It popped back and this time Chuck straightened, cupped the ball with the head of his putter, tossed it into the air, and caught it deftly with his free hand. He rested the putter against the bookcase and dropped the ball into a dish holding several others.
“You expect me to believe that you were waiting for me?”
“Oh, no, no.” He swatted the air as if he could dismiss the idea. “Of course not. But I’m not surprised you’re here considering that a homicide happened right next door. I’ll cut to the chase. Of course I don’t know anything about what happened at the property next door last night.” He sat on the overstuffed arm of a leather couch that had been in the office for as long as Cade could remember. “But before we get into that, how’s Harper?” His face creased with genuine concern.
“Dealing.”
“Is she?” Sucking in a breath through his teeth, he shook his head. “Pretty tough. And she shouldn’t have been there. It’s Xander’s fault she was even here in the first place.” He scowled darkly. “You give a kid a break—a part-time job and a place to live when he’s here—and what does he do? Brings your seventeen-year-old granddaughter up to it in the middle of the damned night!”
He slapped his knees, stood, then walked to his desk, rolled back his chair, and dropped into it. “Sit, sit,” he said, waving Cade into one of the side chairs. “Drink?”
“Still on duty.”
“I’m your father.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Well, hell, I’m having one.” He reached behind him to the liquor cabinet, found a decanter of scotch, and poured himself a healthy shot into one of the short glasses that were on display. “Anyway, I sent Vale packing. Told him that I’d give him decent references but that he had to find another job.” He took a swallow from his glass. “I’m sure Harper’s going to be upset, but hell, I can’t have that.” Another long swallow. “So did I cover everything you needed to know?”
