Evidence of Murder

Seconds ticked past as their stares dueled. Ryan’s jaw clenched. What did the guy expect to see—a guilty sign flashing behind his eyeballs?

Abruptly, Connell shifted his attention to Sam. “We’ll look into this as soon as we’re done here.” He crossed the pavement toward the garage where a pair of technicians worked.

“Let’s get in the truck and turn on the AC while they finish,” Ryan said to Sam.

They climbed in, and Ryan started the vehicle. He ran his palms up and down the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the white police van that sat nose to nose with the Silverado. “It’ll be tough to go through that stuff, but it’s probably needed to be done for a long time.”

Sam didn’t say anything, just nodded. Silence fell, not uncomfortable, just…heavy, as if patiently awaiting something significant.

Ryan cleared his throat, swallowing the lump that kept creeping up his windpipe. “The last time I spoke to any of my family wasn’t much fun.”

“Tell me.”

Ryan closed his eyes and tumbled back in time.

He whizzed up the Interstate, tunes from a mellow country radio station keeping him company. His cell phone rang, and he checked the caller ID then turned down the radio. “Hi, Dad.”

“Where are you?”

No “Are you all right, son? We’ve been worried.” Ryan squelched the sarcasm before it reached his lips. Michael T. Davidson didn’t have warm fuzzies in his vocabulary. Why should his offspring expect any? “I’m almost to St. Paul.”

“Good. You’ll be home in less than an hour. Your mom and sister have nose prints all over the front window.”

“Yeah, I got a late start. Loose ends to tie up.”

“I’m on the Internet right now studying the business offerings for junior year, and I’ve got a plan mapped out that will shoot you straight into Stanford for your postgraduate work.”

Ryan squeezed his eyes shut then popped them open. Dad’s voice droned on about “the plan” that would have Davidson and Son printed on the stationery of his investment firm. A sour taste settled on Ryan’s tongue.

“I’m not going to major in business. I’ve decided to take forestry.” Wow! Did that pop out of his mouth right here on the phone? Silence roared from the opposite end of the connection. “Sure, I get good grades in the number-cruncher classes,” Ryan continued, “but I’m bored stiff. I love the outdoors—working with nature. Remember those Boundary Waters canoe trips I went on with my youth group? And all those weekends on our Mississippi houseboat? When you let me tag along hunting with your business clients, you said I had a knack—”

“I’m not in the mood for this joke, young man.” Dad’s tone was a brick wall. “You know my position. Hunting and fishing are relaxing hobbies, but there’s no money in it. My son is not making a career out of such wasted effort.”

“Too late, Dad. Before I left school, I declared forestry my major.”

“Are you on drugs, nature boy?” The words sliced like razors.

“Huh?”

“We’re not about to toss away everything you’ve planned and worked for all these years on a whim.”

Heat seared Ryan’s veins. “Wrong! All the things you’ve planned for me and made me slave for all these years. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m twenty—”

“You are a child, Ryan. An unstable little boy. I won’t have your mother and sister upset by your antics. Don’t you even mention—”

“Mom and Cassie won’t care what major I take, as long as I’m happy. You’re the one who goes ballistic if anyone tries to wiggle out from under your thumb.” Ryan winced. Had he just shouted at his father?

A foul word entered Ryan’s ear. He blinked. His controlled dad never cursed. But more followed—worse than dock lingo—mixed with orders about what an ungrateful son could do with his trees, and his wildlife, and his canoe and his pigeons. Pigeons?

His mom’s voice, high-pitched, entered the background. Dad’s thunder dialed up in volume, and Ryan pulled the phone away from his ear, words still pummeling him.

“Ryan?”

Mom. She must’ve snatched the phone.

“I’m here.” His words rasped through a tight throat.

“Come home, okay? Whatever’s going on, we’ll work it out.”

The noises faded and disappeared. Mom must have left Dad’s office.

“Cassie and I can’t wait to see you. This’ll be a great summer.” Her voice quavered, and she cleared her throat. “Don’t worry about your dad. He’s had a tough time at the office lately. We have to give him a little space to work it out.”

Good old Mom, the enabler. He’d learned that bit of shrink-speak in his general psychology elective. “See you soon. Tell Cass she’d better have her tennis game polished up, because I’m going to wipe the court with her.”

Mom let out a thin chuckle. “Sure, honey. Bye.”

Ryan opened his eyes, back in his pickup, staring at the police technicians’ van, his family dead and gone. “That was the last time I heard my parents’ voices, and I never got to speak a word to Cassie, not then, not ever again.”

A slender hand covered his, resting on the seat. “I’m honored you shared that with me. You’ve kept everything bottled up for too long. Talking it out is one of God’s ways of bringing healing.”

“God? If He exists, He’s the One who let all this happen.” Ryan pulled his hand away. “Mom trusted Him. Cass, too. And I did once upon a time in a fairy tale.”

Sam’s gaze darkened, but she met his glare strong and steady. “Happily ever after doesn’t come without trials in this world. But if I didn’t know it was there for us with a loving God, I would’ve given up and died years ago—mentally and emotionally for sure. Maybe it’s time for Ryan Davidson to join the living again, too.”

He snorted. “Yeah, well, you can keep your ‘loving God’ theory. And just where do you get off lecturing me about life, Ms. Sheltered Homebody?”

The color drained from Sam’s face at the same rate as the anger seeped from Ryan’s heart. Would it help if he bit his unruly tongue off? He had no right to expect another ounce of grace from her, any more than he expected any from the God who let his family die.

SIX

Sam groped for the door handle. “I’ll see if Detective Connell is ready to investigate my break-in.” She hopped out. “He’ll probably give me a ride home so you can get busy here.”

“Wait. I’m sor—”

She shut the door and hurried, stiff-legged, toward where the detective was consulting with one of the lab techs. The humid breath of summer wafted across her skin, but a chill fist gripped her heart.

She’d been right when she first saw Ryan Davidson’s photograph. He was a cold and bitter man, and by his own admission, not a believer or, for sure, had seriously backslidden. Obviously, he needed the help and healing only God could give, but she was no counselor. At least she could count herself officially beyond temptation to think of him in any romantic light. Not that she had been, of course, but now she had an unanswerable comeback for her conniving friends.

“Detective Connell,” she called. “Whenever you’re ready to leave, I’d like to ride with you to my place.”

The detective looked up, but his gaze traveled to a point beyond her shoulder. Sam turned and almost bounced off Ryan’s broad chest. The guy was sneaky quiet. She hadn’t even heard him get out of the truck.

“You left your car at my place,” he said.

“I’ll get Hallie or Jenna to bring me over to get it later.”

“No need. This project will have to wait a little longer.” He jerked his head toward the garage. “I have to get back to work now because we have three families coming for boats this afternoon, and Larry can’t handle all that alone. But as soon as we close up shop, we’ll bring the car to you if you’ll trust me with the keys.”