Evidence of Murder

By the time Sam finished telling about the police intrusion yesterday, the Davidson disturbance last night, and the flowers on her desk this morning, her friend was leaning halfway across the table, jaw slack.

“Oh, hon.” She settled back. “And I thought a reporter’s life was adventurous.”

Sam sniffed. “This feels more like a trial.”

“The Perils of Samantha Reid.” Jenna’s words and chuckle brought Sam’s head around.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to get the whole scoop, as Hal might say.” Jenna winked a hazel eye. “That Ryan fellow sounds like a dish. Better keep him.”

“I second the motion.” Hallie lifted a hand and waggled slim fingers.

Sam scowled from one to the other. “Romance has no place in my life right now, and certainly not in his. He’s got a murder investigation swirling around him.” She groaned at the conspiratorial look her friends exchanged. Thank goodness, the food came just then, and Jenna glided back to her kitchen while she and Hallie dug in.

A half hour later, Sam paid her bill and exited into the warm sunlight outside the restaurant.

“Just a minute!”

Hallie’s urgent tone stopped Sam halfway across the parking lot. She turned to find her friend striding toward her, unsmiling.

Sam’s brows drew together. “What’s up?”

Hallie stopped in front of her. “I didn’t want to mention it over lunch. Spoil anyone’s appetite, you know. But now that something’s happened with those pictures, I have to come clean with my station about what we found.” Her gaze darted away and then returned to meet Sam’s. “I have to do my job, or I’ll lose it. There will be media attention, most of it directed toward Ryan, but—”

“I get it. Someone besides the police will be asking me questions. Will they assign you to the story?”

“If the main crime reporter is too busy, I might get a taste of the action.” A smile crossed her lips then morphed into a frown. “I just wish you weren’t involved.”

“Don’t worry about it. Maybe some good can come of this mess, and you’ll get another step closer to that anchor spot.”

Hallie’s gaze warmed. “Spoken like a true friend, thinking about the other person first. You can always say, ‘No comment,’ and let us get our answers from the police and Davidson.”

Sam shrugged. “It might be kind of nice to speak my piece. At least people will know that all the police attention isn’t because I’m running drugs out of the dry cleaners or some other nefarious activity at my shop.” She smiled, but the edges of her mouth quivered. How would she handle a camera in her face? She barely managed standing up front in the church choir.

Hallie put a hand on her arm. “I know you hate the spotlight. Too bad you’ve got a reporter for a friend.”

“Finding that film wasn’t your fault, and we both turned it in.”

“Like we had a choice?”

“Right. But none of this involves us directly. It’ll blow over. You’ll see.” It better, or her family would start camping out on her doorstep. Aaagh!

“Speaking from experience,” Hallie said, “with the next homicide, this cold case will go in the deep freeze again, and you’ll open your business on time.”

“Sure, but Ryan will be stuck not knowing who killed his family.”

“Ryan, is it? I knew you liked him.” Hallie strolled away, laughing.

Scowl plastered on her face, Sam hustled to her car. She gripped her car key, tip pointing through her fingers, a defensive preparation that had become second nature. “Just because I feel for the guy’s situation doesn’t mean I’m the least interested in any other way,” she grumbled under her breath. “I’ve got too much on my plate to take on old mysteries.” She slid into the driver’s seat and picked up the thank-you note from the center console. After she mailed this, there would be no reason for further contact with Ryan Davidson.

At the end of the afternoon, Sam returned to the dry cleaners to find the police gone, but a mess left. Evidently, their job description only required tearing things apart but excluded returning anything to proper order. She spent over an hour in the back alley chucking things back into the Dumpster. The disarray inside the building could wait. It would have to, because her energy fuel gauge was running on empty.

She called the cleaning crew to resume in the morning then handled a few bookkeeping chores before shutting the office door and checking the locks on all of the outside doors and windows. Hallie was right. She was exhausted and needed to unwind. A movie and popcorn sounded like a great evening.

When she opened her apartment door, Bastian darted out. The feline streaked down the stairs and into the main building.

Sam shook her head. “Okay, so you’re annoyed at being cooped up all afternoon. Enjoy playing watchcat tonight.” Stifling a yawn, she stepped into her kitchen. He’d be all right. He had a litter box, a bed and food and water in a corner near the storage room.

A few hours later, Sam crawled between the sheets and slept so deeply a tornado could have blown her out of bed and she might not have noticed. The next day, feeling rested, she went out for her morning run in the nearby park. When she returned, sweaty and breathing hard, she headed for her office. A truck would be here in a few days to cart the old machines away, and with a little extra hustle the building should be ready on time to receive the new stuff. The plan was back on track.

She opened her office door, stepped over the threshold, and halted on a gasp. Her beautiful vase lay shattered on the floor, flowers strewn everywhere. “Bastian, what did you do?”

No, the cat couldn’t have been in here. The door was closed.

The desk phone shrilled and Sam jumped. It rang again, and she tiptoed between glass shards to answer it.

“Hello, I’m Vince Graham from Channel Six news.” A male voice rumbled. “We’d like to speak to you about—”

“Sorry. No comment.” Sam smacked the phone into the receiver. Who cared about news stories right now? Somebody had been in her building!

Heart pounding, she scurried from window to door, testing all the locks. At last she came to the window above Bastian’s empty bed. A breeze caressed her face like a subtle taunt. The sash gaped open wide, and the antiquated window had been missing its screen since the day she bought the place. She’d meant to have one installed, but it hadn’t happened yet, and now—Sam hugged herself, the scars on her back tingling. She’d had an intruder for real, and she slept through it. And where was the Abyssinian? In all her racing around, she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him.

Her spine stiffened. Only one person had shown an unnatural interest in this building besides the police. And he’d mesmerized her cat. Maybe Bastian went with him when he snuck out after rummaging through her office. So much for apologies. The louse!

She should call the police immediately. She—Oh, no, not that again.

Her business didn’t need any more attention from the authorities. With the police search and a middle-of-the-night visit from a squad car, neighborhood confidence in her business was probably in the tank. She could confront Davidson herself. Sure, she could. What was he going to do to her? It was broad daylight, and if she went right now, she’d catch him at his business. Let him take some negative publicity this time, the sneak. Someone needed to tell him he’d gone over the line—and he’d better have her cat all safe and sound.

Sam whirled on her heel. If Davidson thought his life was insane right now with the police investigation and reporters sniffing a story, he was about to get a visit from one mad woman.

FOUR

Standing on the dock, Ryan shook his customer’s hand and gave him the keys to the four-passenger houseboat that swayed on the river’s current. “Take it nice and easy navigating the locks and dams, Mr. Timmons. When you stop, make sure to set your anchor like I showed you, and keep your outside lights on during the night so other craft won’t run into you. Printed instructions are in the wheelhouse, if you need to refresh yourself on anything. But most of all,” Ryan stretched his lips into a smile, “enjoy yourselves.”

“Sounds good.” The pudgy man beamed. Behind him, a pair of grade school–age girls chased each other, giggling, on the upper deck. The man’s stocky wife, clad in shorts and a tank top, lolled on a lounge chair in the bow of the boat.

Ryan waved as Timmons joined his family on board. “You folks have a great time on the Old Miss.” He untied the boat from the dock and watched them go on their way. Heat from the morning sun bathed his neck. Too bad the sun couldn’t warm anything beneath his skin or make his smile for real.

“Mr. Davidson.” The clack of feet on the dock accompanied the voice.

Ryan turned to see a tall woman with a caramel complexion picking her way toward him across the boards. Why did females torture themselves with high heels? If one of those silly spikes wedged in a board, she’d topple over, and he’d be fishing her out of the drink. The woman’s face looked vaguely familiar. Behind her clomped a shaggy-haired guy toting a video camera on his shoulder. Ryan looked beyond the mismatched pair, and his stomach clenched. A van with the Channel Six logo painted on the side sat on the asphalt in front of his log-cabin-style office building.

Uh-oh! How had the news media gotten wind so quickly?

The smiling woman reached him and held out a slender hand. “Hi, I’m Hallie Berglund, a friend of Samantha Reid’s.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes at his visitor. So that was how. Ms. Reid couldn’t wait to garner attention for her business by letting her reporter pal in on the action. He’d misjudged her as a woman of integrity when she was really out for number one like anybody else.