Evidence of Murder

The reporter-woman’s smile faded. “I’m sorry. I know this must be a difficult time for you, dredging up bad memories. Looking at those pictures was bad enough for me, but—”

“You saw the photos?” Ryan’s spine stiffened. “Did the police show you? Not hardly! Or was it the lady dry cleaner angling for a little free publicity?”

Color bloomed in Hallie’s cheeks. “I developed those photos.” She squared her shoulders. “And Samantha’s other friend, Jenna, found the film at Sam’s place. We’re all in this happy little conspiracy together. Sam and I turned them in to the police, so maybe now you and your family will have an opportunity for a killer to be caught. All I want is to chat with you so we can air a segment that maybe, just maybe, will flush a rat out of hiding…or, at the least, entice someone to come forward with helpful information.”

Ryan’s mouth opened, but he was fresh out of things to say. How could a guy speak with a mouth full of crow anyway? A wry chuckle gusted from his chest. “Come on in.” He waved toward his office. “I guess I could share some more of my foul mood, if it’ll help your ratings and my family’s chance for justice.”

“Now you’re talking.” The smile returned to the reporter’s face.

They stepped up the dock toward the sidewalk that would take them up to the building, the cameraman backpedaling ahead of them. Ryan shook his head. The guy’d been filming the whole time. How much of himself shooting blanks from the hip would come out on the TV news? Ouch! He hadn’t been firing harmless blanks; he’d been filling his own foot with lead—again—where the attractive Samantha Reid was concerned.

“Don’t worry.” The woman next to him spoke under her breath. “Your quantum leap to Planet Wrong Conclusion will end up on the editing floor. You have a lot to learn about Sam, and I’d like you to still have that chance.”

Ryan stared down at her. Was the woman a mind reader? And what was that knowing smirk all about? Her gaze turned toward the parking lot, and his followed. A midsized car jerked to a halt on the tarmac, and a woman dressed in jeans, a T-shirt and a practical pair of running shoes lunged out of the vehicle. She charged toward them, small purse slung over her shoulder, glossy ponytail swinging.

Sam? Er, Miss Reid? She looked steamed enough to blow a gasket. No way could she have heard his conversation with her friend.

“Where’s Bastian?” She halted in front of them, hands on hips. Little gold flecks in her green eyes glinted up at him.

“Ba—Oh, your cat. Last time I saw him, he was purring in your arms.”

“Don’t try to tell me you didn’t sneak into the dry cleaners last night to finish your snooping expedition. My vase is broken, my flowers are wilted, a window is open and my cat is gone!”

“Someone broke into your building?” The reporter gripped her friend’s arm. “Oh, how awful! Are you all right?”

Ryan looked from one woman to the other. Hallie’s mouth had drawn up into a tight line, and Sam deflated and that full lower lip quivered.

“I’m f-fine.” She sure didn’t look it. “I slept through the whole thing.”

The women’s stares at each other conveyed volumes of information Ryan couldn’t read.

“Honest, Miss Reid—”

“Sam.” She met his gaze.

Good. Now he had official permission. “Sam, I was nowhere near your neighborhood last night. You have my word on it.”

Her gaze searched his face. “Then who…” The words trailed away.

“Maybe the same person we’re all looking for.”

“Please don’t tell me that. As furious as I was with you, I wanted you—no, needed you to be the one. Then I wouldn’t have to imagine other possibilities.”

If only he was guilty. Maybe that would take the haunted look from her eyes. He knew the feeling all too well. What was her story, anyway?

“It seems like none of us is going to have any peace of mind until we get to the bottom of this.” Hallie’s voice drew their attention. “Maybe finishing the interview will be a step in the right direction.”

Ryan nodded in unison with Sam.

The reporter grinned. “You two make quite a pair of intergalactic travelers. You arrived at the same planet on the same morning!”

Clearing his throat, Ryan led the way toward his office building. The cameraman brought up the rear, not filming for the moment.

“What did Hallie mean by that?” Sam asked as she fell in step beside him. The girl had long legs and a runner’s stride. Another thing to like about her.

Ryan shrugged. “Oh, some remark she made earlier about a quantum leap to a conclusion.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

As they climbed onto the porch, Old Jake heaved himself to his feet and ambled over.

Sam scratched the animal’s head. “Labrador, right?”

Jake groaned his ecstasy and leaned into Sam’s leg.

Ryan laughed. “We figure he’s mostly Chocolate Lab with a little Springer Spaniel thrown in.”

“Is that why he’s got a few splotches of white in his coat and around his muzzle?”

“The gray face is his age showing.”

“You must’ve had him for a long time then.”

“This summer. He’s mostly deaf, as well as old and a little arthritic. Whoever owned him decided he was no good for hunting and dumped him off in the country to fend for himself.”

Her eyes flashed. “That’s awful!”

“No argument from me. He wandered up here this spring, skin and bones.”

“He’s well fed now.” She ran her hands down his sides.

A throat cleared behind him. “Oops, sorry!” Ryan turned and motioned to the reporter and the cameraman.

Then he led the way into the cool office lobby. A faint scent of cedar greeted them from the genuine wood that lined the walls and floor.

Larry, one of the staff, looked up from behind the long reception counter and froze with his hand poised over calculator keys. “Did I space out some business interview we were supposed to do today?”

Ryan waved at him. “Personal. About…you know.”

Larry jerked a nod then went back to pecking at the machine. Ryan led his guests into his office, which looked out the side of the building nearest the guest parking lot.

“Not much for frills, are you?” Sam stood gazing around the room. “And I thought my office was bare.”

Ryan took fresh stock of his surroundings. An old metal desk, a bit scuffed and dented but serviceable, took up much of the floor space. A lone filing cabinet stood nearby, and a state-of-the-art computer center filled one corner. No artwork hung on the pale walls, just a plaque indicating membership in the local chamber of commerce. No photos or other personal memorabilia sat on the desk.

The nicest piece in the room was a rather crude oak gun case that he’d cobbled together in high school. It worked fine to hold his several shotguns and rifles, though. The only other item of interest was the view from the French doors behind his desk, and that showed only a small deck, the paved guest parking lot and a wall of trees beyond that.