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“Just about. But have you seen anyone coming or going at the property next door?”
“Just people from Bell-Cooper, and that’s a pisser, let me tell you. I had been trying to buy that property for years but got nowhere with the archdiocese, and then this yahoo from Seattle comes down here and starts buying up everything. You know he’s got a deal for Reacher’s farm and the old Galloway sawmill, even that damned cannery—Sea View—and God knows what else? The whole thing has had Lila tied in knots. You know she didn’t get the listings to begin with, nor did Annessa, who was supposed to be a friend of hers, use her to do the purchasing?” Pointing a finger at Cade, he said, “Lila’s a helluva real estate agent, as you know. She should have had those sales and boy was she mad when she didn’t get a one! I don’t blame her. Some friend.” He clucked his tongue. “Well, I guess that’s neither here nor there now. The poor woman’s dead. I just can’t imagine.”
“You never saw a silver Toyota? A RAV4 hybrid. 2019?”
He shook his head. “I don’t really pay all that much attention, but no, I don’t think so. Let me ask Doris.” He pushed a button on an antiquated intercom. “Doris, would you mind coming in here a second?”
“I’ll be right there,” was the metallic response, and true to her word, she appeared in the doorway. As ever, she was dressed in a pantsuit, this one black, with a pink blouse and a scarf in hues of gray.
Cade posed the same question to her and her face pulled into a wrinkled knot of concentration. “I don’t think so, but my desk doesn’t face that direction, and even if it did, there aren’t any windows on that side of the building, at least not downstairs. You have to be on the upper floor to really see much because of the fence.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”
“No worries.”
“Anything else?” she asked Chuck. “If not, I’m going to take off. The kids and grandkids are coming over tonight. Pinochle, you know.” She brightened at the mention of her family.
“God, that’s right. It’s Tuesday, isn’t it? Sure. Go, go. That’s fine. I’m about out of here, too. I’ll lock up. Thanks, Doris.”
“Good night,” she said to her boss, then gave a nod to Cade and bustled out of the office.
“She’s retiring next year,” Chuck said thoughtfully. “She’ll be hard to replace.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“Guess so.” He finished his drink. “What about Rachel?” he asked. “Lila said she’s looking and I think she worked for an attorney in Astoria.”
“Years ago.”
“She’s good with computers.”
Cade wasn’t going t
o douse Rachel’s chances but it seemed more than a little incestuous to have his ex-wife working for his father.
“I’d see the grandkids more.”
“Maybe.”
“Worth a shot.”
“Give her a call,” Cade said, but didn’t expect Rachel would jump at the chance to work for her ex-father-in-law and Lila’s husband.
“Got anything else on your mind?” Chuck asked. “If not, I’d better get going, too. It’s family night at our house as well, but with Lila’s mood, it won’t be all that fun, let me tell you. And then there’s Lucas.” He pushed himself to his feet. “If it were up to me, I’d see that he went off to a four-year university, just like you and your brothers did, but Lila won’t hear of it and I don’t suppose the kid could get in on his grades.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I really thought Vale was a good influence on him. Too bad about that.”
“Yeah. Probably for the best. Let me know if you think of anything that you might have seen that’s out of the ordinary.”
“Will do,” his father promised, and as Cade walked to the door, he saw his father pour himself another drink and then reach for his putter again. In no hurry to go home.
* * *
Kayleigh was frustrated. Seated at her desk in the office, scrolling through the reports on her computer screen, only vaguely aware of the noise and activity of the station around her, she reread the interviews of everyone who knew, lived by, or was related to Violet Sperry. Nothing. She also studied the preliminary autopsy report, and found nothing new, nothing to work with.
The investigation was heading for a standstill.
She could feel it in her bones.
The neighbors had seen nothing. The victim, according to everyone, had no enemies. Her husband, Leonard, had an airtight alibi and no greedy children were around to be on the suspect list. Violet’s handgun was still missing, no one in the area had cameras that might have viewed a suspicious vehicle being driven or parked in the area, and so far there was no physical evidence collected at the crime scene—no blood that didn’t match the victim, no latent fingerprints, no discarded cigarette butt or gloves left in the bushes—and no evidence of any affair. No texts or phone calls to an unknown number.
All they had so far was the damned painter’s tape.
