Her steadiness must have been a facade, because her fingers twisted together and he saw fear on her face. “Do you think he was?” she asked.
“He?” Seth repeated.
“I just assumed it would have to be a man... I mean, could a woman have enough strength to bludgeon someone to death like that?”
Not likely for a woman, but he wouldn’t rule one out. “I doubt the killer was still in the house when you arrived home.” Seth’s guess that the murder had happened within the last half hour or so suggested the killer hadn’t been gone long, though.
He asked her what cars she noticed parked on the street. She turned her head, telling him she recognized the pickup truck near the corner as belonging to the man who lived in that house. Otherwise...
“That almost has to be her car, doesn’t it?” He followed her gaze to the sedan right in front of her car.
“I’ll find out,” he said, and continued to ask questions.
No, Ms. Boyd hadn’t seen anyone outside or even looking through their windows when she turned onto the block and then into her own driveway, although she really hadn’t paid attention. “Less than usual,” she admitted. “Because my feet hurt.”
“New shoes?”
“Yes, and I’m going to throw them away.”
He smiled faintly, then asked, “Does anybody else have a key to your house?”
The way her hands continued to writhe, he was surprised he hadn’t heard the snap of her knuckles cracking.
“The landlord must.” She frowned. “And...I suppose Andrea might have had one. I guess she must have, or she couldn’t have gotten in, could she?”
He didn’t even try to hide the spike of anger. “You know the victim?”
Her gaze slid away from his.
“Any reason why she might have been in the house?”
“But there isn’t any reason for her to be here. I mean, the real estate firm she works for also manages the property, but I haven’t needed any repairs, and I can’t imagine anyone complained that I was doing damage to the house. Why else would she have let herself in?” Alternating between determined poise and vulnerability, Ms. Boyd was now all but vibrating with indignation that spilled over. “I can’t believe she’s allowed to just do that. If I’d thought anyone could just poke through our stuff, I wouldn’t have rented a house through that firm.”
“I’ll be talking to her boss, but I seriously doubt she was supposed to let herself into rentals when the tenants weren’t there. That makes me wonder why she did. Have you heard from her in the recent past?”
Ms. Boyd shook her head. “Not a word. She showed me the house, I filled out the application, went into the real estate office to sign some paperwork and pay first and last months’ rent. They gave me the key and that was it.”
She and her son had lived here for eleven months, she said. And yes, she’d run into Andrea a few times since at the grocery store or pharmacy, so she must live here in town. They’d been friendly, in a casual way. “She’d ask how the house was working out, we might talk about some event here in town or the weather. Nothing really personal. I think she was only being polite.”
“Is she married? Does she have children?”
Her forehead creased. “She’s married, I’m pretty sure, but I don’t know about kids. I don’t remember her saying anything.”
His phone rang just then. He was relieved by the interruption, as he was undecided about how much more he wanted to ask her right now versus later. Particularly whether he should, bluntly or subtly, mention the physical resemblance between the two women.
After the brief conversation, he turned to her and said, “You won’t be able to get back in your house for at least twenty-four hours, probably longer. Do you have a friend you can stay with?”
“But...I need some of Jacob’s things. And mine!”
Her feet hurt, he remembered. “Give me a list of the most important things, and I’ll see what I can do.”
* * *
THE DETECTIVE’S EXPRESSION was completely uncompromising. He wasn’t going to let them back in the house at all. The idea of going back in made Helen feel sick, anyway. She couldn’t until the body was gone, and even then...how would she feel cooking in that kitchen? Walking right across the vinyl where Andrea had died, even when the blood had been washed away?
Not letting herself look at the man who seemed to take up more space than he should, she pressed a hand to her stomach. “I don’t know if I can keep living there.”
He had unnervingly blue eyes, which she knew were intent on her face right now. Somehow, that intensity compelled her to turn her head and meet those eyes.
“Death doesn’t have to contaminate a home,” he said calmly.
“But murder?” Helen asked around the lump in her throat.
“You knew Andrea Sloan. Would she want to haunt you?”
All she felt was revulsion. “I don’t know. How can I tell, when I have no idea why she was in my house?”
Detective Renner kept studying her for long enough to make her want to squirm. He must be a whiz at interrogations. Finally, he inclined his head. “Give yourself time. Tonight, it’s probably best if you stay at a hotel.”
Since he had that notebook handy, anyway, she dictated a list of essentials to him. “I can go buy some of the stuff if I have to, but I really need the blue stuffed bunny on Jacob’s bed, and his blankie. It’s probably on the sofa.”
“Yellow?”
“Yes, that’s it. The clothes and diapers and whatnot aren’t as important. Oh, it would be good if you could grab his potty seat from the bathroom.”
“Okay. I doubt it’s a significant part of the crime scene.” He smiled, got out and walked up to her rental, disappearing inside.
She rubbed her breastbone, as if to ease a strange pressure beneath it. Detective Renner had a nice smile, one that encouraged her to trust him, that crinkled the skin beside his eyes and softened the hard lines of an angular face she’d first thought looked dangerous. He wasn’t handsome, exactly, not like Richard. God knew she’d never trust a smooth, well-dressed, handsome man again. But trusting this detective wasn’t an option, either, even if he was a decent man.
Helen Boyd couldn’t trust anyone, a cop least of all.
In fact, the smart thing for her to do was bolt, before this cop had a chance to look into her background and discover she didn’t have one.
Her mind worked furiously, forming arguments on both sides. Running without changing identities wouldn’t do any good. Unless she reverted to her previous one temporarily...? But what if Richard was watching for Megan Cobb? At least here in Lookout, she couldn’t imagine that he’d make a move while the police were actively investigating a murder and keeping an eye on her, too.
Conclusion: she and Jacob were safest here for the moment.
She sagged, with no one to see her. She didn’t have a lot of stuff, but hated the idea of taking off with only what they were wearing. They’d done that last time, and it had been hard to start completely over. This time around, she couldn’t go without Jacob’s blankie and his bunny.
She did keep a couple of packed bags ready, in case they had to bolt. She’d put family photos and other mementos in them, so she didn’t have to carry them around in her purse all the time. Cash, too, and the birth certificate and driver’s license that would turn her back into Megan Cobb. Plus changes of clothes for both of them.
Tomorrow, she’d decide what to do. Andrea Sloan’s murder might not have anything to do with her.
And to think, she didn’t usually allow herself any illusions.
At last, she pulled herself together enough to get out of the car again and go up to her neighbor’s door. If only a chocolate chip cookie and milk could make her feel better. If it turned out Andrea had been killed in her place, Helen didn’t know how she could go on. Except, o
f course, she had to. Jacob needed her.
Allie needed her, too, but she couldn’t think about that, or crushing guilt might leave her unable to protect Jacob—and he had to come first.
Chapter Two
Seth was the sole detective on a police force that had only twelve sworn officers altogether, including the chief. If absolutely necessary, he could borrow an officer or two to help in an investigation. So far, beyond keeping the responding officer on the doorstep until the CSI team and morgue van arrived, Seth didn’t want help. He preferred to talk to neighbors and then the husband himself.
He put off speaking to Ms. Boyd’s boss until morning, but did call the day-care operator, who confirmed that Jacob’s mother had picked him up about five minutes before the six o’clock deadline. Until the ME gave him a more informed time of death than he had so far, Seth couldn’t rule out Ms. Boyd. She’d have had to go home to meet the victim, kill her and then pick up her little boy while appearing completely unperturbed. Hard to see her as that cold-blooded...but it was conceivable. It meant she was a hell of an actor, though. He really believed the seesawing emotions he’d seen were genuine.
That said, his instincts were sending up some flares. He suspected that Helen Boyd had secrets.
For now, he wanted to keep her cooperative, so after making his phone calls, he located a suitcase in the hall closet and filled it with the kid’s clothes and toys first, including a blue stuffed rabbit, before invading her bedroom. He tossed sneakers into the suitcase first, took a pair of jeans off a pile in a bottom drawer, a T-shirt and zip-up sweatshirt from the middle drawer, then made himself open the top drawer. It was astonishingly neat, by his standards. He took out an oversize Eeyore T-shirt he presumed she wore as a nightgown, a plain beige cotton bra and two pairs of panties, then closed the drawer before thinking, Wait. Socks. He tossed two pairs in the suitcase, then went to the bathroom.
The crime scene investigators might not be happy with him, but he couldn’t see what they’d learn from Ms. Boyd’s clean clothes or her or her son’s toothbrushes. He did peek in the medicine cabinet, which could often be revealing. In this case...nope. No prescription drugs. Only ibuprofen for her, cherry-flavored painkillers for Jacob, bath powder, floss and hair spray and gel. Stick deodorant, which he tossed into the suitcase along with the toothbrushes and toothpaste.
A minute later, he carried the suitcase and plastic potty seat out to her living room, where he paused to pick up the thin, tattered blanket before going out to her now-empty car. He was taking advantage of unlocked doors to set everything on the back seat next to the boy’s car seat when Ms. Boyd came hurrying out of the neighbor’s house carrying her son.
She told him she’d go to the Lookout Inn, a pricey place to stay, but without driving a distance she didn’t have a lot of choice. The bed-and-breakfast inns in town probably weren’t any cheaper, and wouldn’t afford as much privacy.
“All right,” he said. “One more thing. Would you allow me to look in the trunk of your car without a warrant?”
She recoiled. “You think I—Of course you can look.” Cheeks flushed, she handed over her car keys, then stayed where she was.
The trunk was as tidy as the floorboards of her car and the house. He did lift the cover to be sure no bloody pipe lurked beneath with the spare tire and jack. Nope.
After slamming the trunk lid, he gave her back the keys. “I may check on you later.”
She looked less than happy at the idea, but dipped her head in apparent resignation and leaned into the car to fasten her drowsy son into his seat. A minute later, she drove off.
Left standing on the sidewalk, Seth watched the car proceed cautiously down the street until it turned out of sight. He swore under his breath and rolled his shoulders.
She left him unsettled. And he didn’t think it was just the uncomfortable fact that she was an attractive woman.
After some thought, he decided part of the problem was that her responses had veered from the norm. Which led him back to where he’d started: Helen Boyd wasn’t telling him all she was thinking, by a long shot. But what was she hiding?
* * *
HELEN JUMPED SIX inches at the soft knock on the door of the hotel room even though she’d expected it. She had horribly mixed feelings about seeing Detective Renner again tonight. She wanted to know what he’d learned, of course. How could she make decisions otherwise? But he made her nervous; he watched her with those penetrating blue eyes until she felt as if he was reading her mind.
He also wasn’t the only one who could find her here. She approached the door cautiously.
“Who is it?”
The detective’s voice both reassured her and didn’t. Like she had a choice about whether to let him in.
He dominated the room from the moment he stepped into it. She couldn’t quite figure it out, since she had the feeling he was trying to be unassuming. Some of it was size; he certainly topped six feet, which made him a whole lot taller than she was. Broader, too, with impressive shoulders and a rangy, athletic build.
As she backed away, she decided unhappily that the quality was innate. The strength of his control and purpose, his determination, were impossible to miss. She wondered if his police chief or whoever was his direct boss ever dared to give him an order.
Of course, he started by assessing her with those sharp eyes before sweeping the room in search of...who knew? Enemies crouching behind the bed or peering from the closet? At last, his gaze settled on Jacob, sound asleep on one side of the queen-size bed. He looked so small in the big bed, so defenseless.
In a low voice, the detective asked, “Will we wake him if we talk?”
Helen shook her head, knowing her voice softened because of his concern. “An earthquake wouldn’t wake him once he’s really conked out. He’s a very early riser, though.”
His laugh was quiet and a little gravelly. It sent a shiver of reaction over her skin. “I won’t keep you long.” He still eyed Jacob as she led him to the pair of small upholstered club chairs by the window. “He’s past needing a crib?”
“Oh, yes. He was only fifteen months old the first time he climbed out of his crib.” She grimaced at the memory. “He fell, of course, screamed bloody murder—” She pressed her hands to her cheeks, feeling the heat. “That was a poor choice of words.”
Another rumble of a laugh settled her nervousness a bit.
“Fortunately, he wasn’t hurt, but we transitioned to a mattress on the floor pretty quick. Which turned me into the world’s lightest sleeper. Every night, I imagine him wandering around the house while I sleep, completely unaware.” Why was she babbling? “I may not get a good night’s sleep again until he leaves home for college.”
His smile was a little crooked. “According to my mother, that’s no guarantee.”
Helen gave a choked laugh. “Thank you for that thought.” She looked down at the table, clasped her hands together on her lap and struggled for calm before she lifted her chin again. “Have you found out anything?”
“Nothing to explain her death yet, I’m sorry to say. I was able to talk to her husband. You were right. The car at the curb was hers.”
“What about children?” That possibility bothered her terribly.
“Two stepkids,” he said. “Thirteen and fifteen. Her husband is ten years older than Ms. Sloan. The kids weren’t home, so I can’t say how they’ll take her death.”
With a huge lump in her throat, Helen only managed a nod.
“None of the neighbors saw anything helpful, unfortunately. Most weren’t home until five thirty or later. Your Iris naps late every afternoon.”
She closed her eyes momentarily. “I knew that.”
He was silent until she looked at him again, when he said, “So now I have a problem.” All traces of humor or sympathy had vanished from his face. The shadow of his evening stubble only made him appear more
threatening. “I have to understand the connection between you and Ms. Sloan. It wasn’t chance she was killed in your kitchen.”
“I don’t know!” Helen cried. “I don’t have a relationship with the woman.”
“After seeing the two of you, I might have guessed you were sisters,” he said slowly.
“That’s ridiculous,” she protested, stiffening when she realized that hadn’t come out as forcefully as she’d hoped. “Even in a town this size, there must be a lot of women with dark hair and brown eyes. And...and about the same height.”
“Close enough in age to be twins.” He sounded both thoughtful and inexorable. “And it’s more than coloring. You have similar bone structure, noses. Straight on, I wouldn’t mistake you for her, but at a quick glance...” Renner shrugged.
Light-headed, Helen could feel the speed of her pulse in her throat. Dear Lord, she should have run. Before this man got too curious about her.
“I don’t understand.” Her voice came out little more than a croak, but that was surely natural, given what he’d just suggested. “I’m a single mother. New in town. I haven’t been on a date since my divorce. The only man at work who ever asked me out just got engaged to someone else. I do my job, and the rest of the time Jacob is my whole life. How could I have an enemy?”
“Ex-boyfriend. Ex-husband.” Seemingly relaxed, he never looked away.
She could tell him. She could say, I think my ex-husband murdered Andrea, thinking she was me. But then what? Richard was sure to have an indisputable alibi—he’d have been in a meeting with someone like the Seattle city mayor or a congressman. Anyway, admitting to that much would mean revealing her real name—and Detective Renner would soon find a warrant for her arrest. If she’d killed a man in Seattle, why not a woman here in Lookout? Richard was smart enough not to have left so much as a fingerprint behind, she thought bitterly.
Fingerprints. Oh, dear God, if this detective submitted hers, a match would pop up immediately.
Panic pushed her to her feet. She grabbed the chair back for support. Voice shaking, she said, “I don’t appreciate you scaring me this way. Maybe Andrea has been stealing from renters in every house she has keys to. She could have a partner that...that she betrayed somehow. Or a lover. What if they met in other people’s homes during the day? Do you know anything about this woman?” She put everything she had into this scathing speech. “Or did you decide right away that I must be some kind of...I don’t know, ex-CIA agent on the run, or a femme fatale with cast-off lovers hunting for me?”
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