How Secrets Die (15 page)

Kate appreciated the optimism. But somehow she didn't think this situation was going to be resolved that easily.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I
T
LOOKED
AS
if he'd finally found something Johnny Foster was good at, Mac decided. He'd assigned Foster the task of searching out a witness to confirm the time Kate arrived back at the cottage. Apparently considering that investigative job made him a detective pursuing truth on the mean streets, à la his favorite cop show, he'd diligently gone up one side of Main Street and down the other.

Mac gave a quick glance around before he headed back toward the cottage, not surprised to see that several people were openly staring. It was nearly one, and he wanted to remove the police tape before Kate got there.

Luckily, Foster's search had hit upon an unassailable witness—the Reverend Charles Wallace, pastor at the Baptist church a few doors down from the café. He'd been the last one out after a meeting and had checked the time as he'd locked the door. He'd noticed Kate's car pulling into the driveway of the bed-and-breakfast at a time that made it clearly impossible for Kate to have attacked Larry.

Even if she'd rushed in and hit him with no preliminary discussion, which was ridiculous, she still couldn't have hidden the weapon before Mac arrived. Something approximately the size and shape of a baseball bat, according to the medical examiner.

He might be able to narrow it down once any fragments were isolated from the wound, but with the victim alive and undergoing medical treatment, the search was made more difficult. The man had actually sounded as if he'd regretted not having a dead body so he could check it out in his own methodical manner.

Reaching the cottage, Mac pulled off the crime scene tape on the door. They'd worked late, looking for any evidence, but the pickings had been slim. The assailant hadn't left any calling cards, as far as they could tell.

At least with Kate cleared, if not out of the picture, he could move ahead without the weight of suspecting someone for whom his feelings were anything but tepid. He opened the door with the key Mrs. Anderson had provided and stood looking around for a moment. Kate wasn't a suspect, but was she a potential victim? As long as he didn't know why Larry had been attacked, it was impossible to know.

The sound of steps on the walk had him turning. Kate didn't look as dazed as she had the previous night, but there was strain showing in the wrinkles between her brows and the lines around her mouth. Well, that wasn't surprising, was it?

Kate came to a stop when she reached him, glancing from him to the open door. “I see you've made yourself at home.”

“We had to have a key last night.” As usual, she'd made him feel off balance. “I'll return it to Mrs. Anderson.”

“Why bother? It seems the immediate world can walk in and out with no problem.” There was no mistaking the irritation in her voice. That wasn't surprising, either.

“I'm also going to tell Mrs. A. that she needs to have the lock changed. There seem to be too many keys around for comfort. And find a safer place to put them.”

Kate gave a curt nod. She stared at the door for a moment, and he thought she squared her shoulders at the prospect of entering. “I suppose we'd better go in.”

Mac followed her inside, not sure what to make of the mood she was in. Was she angry with circumstances, or with him?

“What's the idea of questioning me here?” She rounded on him as soon as the door was closed, leaving him with no doubt. “Do you expect me to confess because I'm back at the scene of the crime?”

“Just like before, I thought you'd prefer talking here to talking at the police station,” he said mildly. “No ulterior motives, I promise.”

For an instant she stared at him, and then her anger seemed to deflate. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I thought you were joining the ranks of those who think I attacked Larry.”

The sense of her words sank in, and he frowned. “What do you mean? Has someone said that? Surely not Allison or Sarah or Emily?”

“Sorry,” she said again. She rubbed her forehead. “They've been more supportive than I'd expect. After all, they barely know me, but they rallied around.”

“Who, then?” He closed his hand over hers, holding it in a warm clasp. “Someone's upset you.”

“Larry's mother.” The lines around her mouth seemed to deepen. “She came to the bookshop looking for me. Not surprisingly, she blames me for what happened to her boy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Don't you mean her baby? That's usually how she reacts when anyone has the nerve to criticize Larry.”

That forced a smile from her, which was his intent. “That attitude might explain a lot about him.” She shook her head. “We shouldn't make light of it. He's badly injured, and I imagine she's just striking out blindly.”

“That doesn't give her the right to throw accusations around. I'll speak to her.”

“Not on my account,” Kate said quickly. “She has enough to handle right now.”

Kate was more generous than a lot of people would have been. “I have to talk to her anyway, and I'll make sure she knows you couldn't possibly have injured Larry. You didn't have time.”

Kate's golden-brown eyes lit with understanding. “You must have found someone to substantiate when I got back here.”

“I put Foster to work on it right away. As it happened, the minister at the church across the street noticed your arrival just when he was locking up, and he knew what time it was when he left the building.”

She nodded, turning away slightly. “At least now you don't have to waste time suspecting me.” The words were tinged with ice. She was blaming him.

Mac's emotions surged, and he grabbed her wrists, spinning her to face him. “You know better than that.” She did, didn't she? He tried to think past the pounding of his heart. “You do,” he insisted.

Kate's eyes darkened, the brown seeming to overwhelm the gold. “Do I? Last night I thought...”

“Last night I was trying not to leave room for anyone to say I hadn't done my job. That I hadn't pursued every avenue because I was protecting you.” He loosened his grip, letting his fingers move over the delicate skin on the inside of her wrists. “It was because I knew you didn't have anything to do with it. Not because I suspected you.”

The tension went out of her all at once. “I imagined you believed...”

He shook her lightly. “Think again. I know you didn't have anything to do with the attack on Larry. We have to find out who did. And why.”

“Okay.” Her lips trembled on the edge of a smile. “I could think about that better if you let go of me.”

“Same here,” he admitted. He let go and took a couple of steps back. “Maybe this is a safe distance for a rational discussion. You think?”

“Could be.” Kate seemed to prepare herself for action. “So, what comes next? Do you have any ideas about the attack on Larry? Any evidence?”

“Plenty of ideas. No proof, unfortunately. The assailant was careful enough to take the weapon with him.”

And if he had been lurking in the yard when Kate came home, or perhaps had rushed to hide when he heard her car, he'd probably been ready to use the same weapon on her if he'd had a chance.

“No fingerprints?” She glanced with a bit of distaste at the film of dust left from Johnny's fingerprinting efforts.

“No. Either he didn't have to touch anything in here, or else he wore gloves.”

For a moment he envied the heroes of those cop shows Foster was so fond of. They could build an entire case on the evidence of a single hair. In real life it wasn't so easy—especially in a town of eight thousand residents with a police force the size of his.

“You're thinking of that person you suspect of being a drug dealer, aren't you?”

“He'll bear investigation, but I'm trying not to make quick assumptions.” Still, no matter how he tried, logic led him to someone connected with both Larry and Jason, and a potential drug supplier was the obvious choice.

Frowning, Kate looked around the cottage as if assessing it as a crime scene. “You're sure you didn't find anything here that might lead you to the assailant?”

“No. We've been over everything. Just the prints we'd expect to find. Like I said, he either wore gloves or was careful not to touch anything.”

Kate looked better for having something to focus on. “What about the weapon? Even though it's gone, did the doctors give you any idea of what to look for?”

“Something about the size and shape of a baseball bat. We may know more later if any fragments are recovered, but right now they're trying to keep Larry alive.”

She shivered a little at the reminder. “What can I do to help you?”

He'd try to keep her concentrating. “I want to know if anything has been disturbed or taken from the cottage, and you're the best person to tell us that. I'd like for us to do a thorough search together, looking for any sign that someone has touched your belongings. Anything of value, or something that could have been used as the weapon.”

“Right. Where do we start?”

There was a lot to be said for the toughness Kate showed, even if sometimes it got in the way. “The bedroom. Most thieves assume that's where you'd hide something valuable. There has to be a reason why Larry was here.”

“And the other man?” She threw the question over her shoulder as she headed for the bedroom.

“Possibly they met here by design, but the assailant could have been following Larry, looking for a chance to attack him. Without knowing the reason, it's hard to tell.” He gestured to the left side of the door. “Start here, and we'll work our way around the room clockwise. That way we don't miss anything.”

Nodding, she moved to the bureau, its top liberally covered with fingerprint powder.

“Sorry.” He blew it off the small lamp. “Foster gets a little excited when he's allowed to fingerprint something.”

Kate didn't comment but went straight to work, pulling out the top drawer. It held an assortment of undergarments. She frowned. “Someone has been in here. But I suppose the police...”

Not just the police.
You
, she meant.
You searched my things
.

“Anything I looked at is exactly the way I found it.” And, no, he hadn't allowed Foster to do that part of the search, but she didn't ask.

“Then someone else has been through here. I always arrange my drawers in the same way, no matter where I am.” She shrugged. “Comes of moving around so much in recent years, I guess.”

“Larry, most likely. But what did he expect to find?”

She pulled out the next drawer. “Maybe it was the other way around. Maybe the other person came first, started searching, and Larry interrupted him.”

“I thought of that, but Larry did leave his prints on the dresser, so I think we can assume he was the searcher.”

“I guess so. At least you have that much established, and when...if...he can be questioned, that evidence might help persuade him to loosen up on what he knows.”

“Now you're thinking like a cop.” He clamped his lips closed the instant the words were out, sure that was the last thing she'd want to hear.

But Kate, moving to the bedside table, didn't seem to take offense. Maybe she was too preoccupied with the search. She riffled through the book she'd left on the nightstand, then put it down.

She frowned, shoving a strand of hair behind her ear. “What was he searching for? What could he possibly think I have that might—” She stopped, looking up at him, eyes widening. “The journal. Jason's video journal.”

Kate raced into the living room, with him right behind her, berating himself. It was the obvious thing. Why hadn't he thought of it? If Larry knew about the diary files, he might think Jason had left something that incriminated him.

Switching the computer on, she leaned over it, fists on the table, as if urging it to boot up faster. He stood close behind her, his gaze on the screen.

A few clicks took Kate to the file. Or rather, to where the file should be. It had been deleted.

Kate sagged, her pain palpable. The journal wasn't a source of information to her—it was a link to her dead brother.

She sucked in a breath, straightening, and her fingers flew over the keys. Mac realized what she was doing before the connection was made.

“An online backup?”

“Outsmarted him on this one, at least.” The files appeared on the screen. “It's there. It's safe.” Relief filled her voice. She turned to him, so close their bodies brushed with the movement, but Kate obviously wasn't even noticing that. “I didn't lose it.”

“I'm glad.” He took a careful step away from her, wary of anything that might send her guard up again. “For your sake, as well as mine.”

“So now we know, don't we? Larry thinks there's something in Jason's diary that might incriminate him.” She bit her lower lip in frustration. “What? I've been through it over and over.”

“So we go over it again until we know. We have to find out what that is.”

At least there was still an opportunity to learn the truth—and it was a truth he should have gone after a year ago.

* * *

B
Y
LATE
AFTERNOON
, Kate was so restless that she'd taken to pacing around the small cottage—a singularly futile pursuit. Mac had left, promising to join her in looking through the journal later. She'd watched Jason's video diary until her eyes crossed, searching for something that had meaning for her.

It was all very well for Mac, busy pursuing the drug connection. That was something the police could do better than she could.

Despite the attack on Larry, she still wasn't convinced that the drug angle was the only thing to be discovered about Jason's death. Pausing in her pacing, she checked her email again. There was still no answer from her business reporter friend, although he'd promised to be in touch when he found something about Laurel Ridge Financial. If she didn't hear from him by tonight, she'd call him.