Close Neighbors

Anne glanced at him, remembering he’d also been there waiting when Rachel returned. If she’d arrived back with blood on her clothes, he could hardly have helped noticing. Which meant her story had to be true—unless there’d been only a few, inconspicuous, traces of blood. Or unless Chase was trying to help her cover up what she’d done.

That thought had barely formed before it was joined by another, even more disquieting, one. What if Chase had played a role in Graham’s death?

She licked her suddenly dry lips and surreptitiously looked at him again. She could almost feel his distress, but was he just worried about Rachel? Or was he afraid those detectives figured he might have been involved in the shooting?

He’d admitted going to the park. And she only had his say-so that he hadn’t found Rachel and Graham there. What if he actually had? While they’d been in the midst of their argument? Or maybe after Graham had pushed her down?

Of course, every one of those questions, and then some, would have occurred to the cops. They’d have suspected that Chase might have done a lot more than simply drive around—which was undoubtedly the real reason they’d questioned him at length.

Lord, for all she knew, she was sitting here with not one but two people who were at risk of being charged with murder.

Despite the warmth of the sun, she suddenly felt chilled. She’d barely met Chase and Rachel, knew virtually nothing about either of them. What if they were both lying to her?

She had to figure out whether they were, and to do that she needed more information, so she said to Rachel, “Why don’t you go over what else the detectives asked about. Aside from your clothes. Start at the beginning and try to remember everything.”

“Well…they wanted to know about my relationship with Graham. How long we’d been seeing each other and why we broke up. Then they had me go over what happened on Wednesday. Minute by minute, from the time I met him until I got back to my car.”

“All right, let’s hear what you told them.”

Rachel leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, and began.

Her account proved to be a fill-in-the-blanks elaboration of Chase’s. Graham had wanted them to get back together. She’d said it wouldn’t work. That led to their argument, his shoving her and her leaving.

“The detectives already knew I’d fallen,” she continued. “At least they knew someone had. The crime-scene team established that the leaves had been disturbed not far from his body.”

She took a deep breath, then added, “That means he was killed right in the clearing where I left him. And every time I think about that I wonder whether he’d still be alive if I hadn’t just walked away.”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Chase said quietly. “You had no way of knowing anything would happen.”

When Anne glanced at him, his dark eyes were filled with concern. It seemed genuine enough to make her almost certain that he knew nothing about what had happened in the park except what his sister had told him.

But her father’s voice was whispering in her ear, saying, Never trust a brown-eyed man, darling.

It was one of the bits of advice he’d been giving her since he’d first realized she was noticing boys—always delivering the line straight-faced, waiting a beat, then adding, And never trust a blue-eyed one, either.

Turning her mind back to the moment, she focused on Rachel again. “If Graham was killed right in that clearing,” she said, mentally sorting through her thoughts as she spoke, “it couldn’t have happened long after you left. He wouldn’t have just stayed standing where he was indefinitely.”

“It was after I got back to my car and drove off, though. Because I didn’t hear the shot.”

“A few people in the park did,” Chase interjected.

“And none of them investigated?”

“No. According to the news, they all assumed it was a car backfiring. Maybe, if there’d been more than one…”

“Maybe,” she agreed, still wondering exactly what the truth was. “How long did it take to walk back to your car?” she asked Rachel.

“Only three or four minutes.”

That added up. Someone lurking in the trees wouldn’t have stepped out the moment she left the clearing. He’d have held off for a bit, in case she decided to come back, before confronting Graham.

Then the encounter between the two men would have taken a little time. So Rachel could easily have been gone before…The question was, had she been?

“After you finished telling the detectives what happened in the park,” she said, “where did the interview go from there?”

Rachel’s eyes filled with tears. “They touched on a couple of other things, then they came right out and asked if I’d killed Graham.”

The air turned deathly still. Even the aspens ceased their rustling, as if breathlessly waiting for the tale to continue.

Anne waited, as well. Then, when the silence grew uncomfortable, she said, “You know, asking if you killed him and actually believing you did are two different things. People almost never answer yes to a question like that, even if they’re guilty. But the police always ask. To see what reaction they get. Sometimes, it tells them a lot.”

“My reaction was that I started to cry,” Rachel murmured. “I knew there was no way Graham and I should get back together, but I was still a little in love with him. And even though I was awfully angry the other night…” She paused to wipe away a few tears that were making good their escape, then shook her head as more began to flow.

Her distress reminded Anne what she’d liked least about being a private investigator—having to press people who were so emotionally fragile they shouldn’t be forced to answer questions.

And when it came to Rachel, not only was she upset about Graham’s murder, she knew she was a suspect. That would be more than enough to induce emotional fragility. Regardless of whether she was innocent or guilty.

PEERING THROUGH A CRACK in the gate, Julie watched Rachel cry and tried to keep from crying herself. It was hard to do, now that she knew things were even worse than she’d realized.

When she’d asked Daddy if the police thought Rachel had killed Graham, he’d tried to make it sound as if they didn’t. Not really, at least. But they must. ’Cuz a minute ago, just as she was reaching for the latch, she’d heard Rachel say the detectives came right out and asked her if she’d done it.

After hearing that, Julie just hadn’t been able to open the gate until she’d heard a little more. Then Anne had started saying that maybe the police asking wasn’t as bad as it seemed. And that hadn’t been a good time to interrupt, ’cuz she’d wanted to hear why Anne thought it wasn’t so bad.

But after Anne was finished, Rachel had started crying, and she never liked anyone to see her cry, ‘specially Julie, so—

Her thoughts stopped dead as a wasp zoomed past her nose and began to hover midair, directly above the plate she was carrying. Rats! She should have put plastic wrap on it.

Slowly, she took a step backward. The wasp stayed right with her, only an inch above the sandwiches.

Okay, what should she do? If she stepped forward again and reached for the latch, she might get stung. But if she didn’t, the wasp was going to land. And she could never, ever, not in a zillion years, eat food a wasp had walked on.

Deciding, she called, “Dad? Dad, come open the gate. Fast! But be careful ’cuz there’s a wasp.”

A chair scraped across Anne’s patio; a second later she could see her father heading for the fence.

“Careful,” she said again, as he neared it.

He cautiously opened the gate, then slowly brushed at the air in front of the wasp. It was a trick she’d never dare try, but it sometimes made them back off. When it did this time, she stopped holding her breath.

“I came home from Becky’s ’cuz it was getting near lunchtime,” she explained as he took the plate from her. “But when I looked out from the kitchen you were all sitting there talking. So I made sandwiches and was gonna call you. Then I thought that maybe Anne didn’t have any food in her house, so I made an extra one. That was okay, huh?”

“Of course,” he said as they started toward the patio. “It was very thoughtful. Hope you like peanut butter and jelly,” he added to Anne.

“One of my favorites.”

“It’s grape jelly,” Julie told her, pretending not to notice the way Rachel was wiping her eyes. “And crunchy peanut butter.”

“Mmm. That’s the best combination going.” Anne gave her a friendly smile, then pushed back her chair and said, “I’ll go get us something to drink.”