The Good Neighbor

“Uh-huh,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You’re the only female on duty today, so you’re stuck with collecting the evidence whether she’s a friend or not. Understood?”

“Yes,” she replied evenly, leading Megan down the hall and rolling her eyes when they were out of sight of Chief Egan. “My gosh, he’s acting as if you’re a suspect, instead of the person who reported the crime.”

Megan didn’t say anything about the chief. Instead, she asked Caroline, “How’s your grandfather?” He had been a patient last winter when he’d suffered a mild stroke.

“Testy as ever,” Caroline replied in her cheerful tone. “He likes making me think that he doesn’t want Billy and me living with him. And I’d almost believe him if he didn’t light up like Christmas when Billy gets home from school. Billy can’t wait to show his great-grandpa his papers, and Gramps can’t wait to see them.”

Caroline’s description of a family that took care of one another, even as they meddled and interfered in one another’s lives, made Megan envious. She thought of the void in her own life. Helen Russell was the closest thing she had to a mother, a bond that was sure to be tested when the old woman found out how much Megan had disliked and distrusted her grandson—a man who was no longer here to tell his side of the story.

“You’re awfully quiet back there,” Caroline added as Megan passed her bloodied shirt and pants over the bathroom stall. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Megan said.

“Is there anyone I can call for you?” Caroline asked.

“I’m worried about my neighbor, Helen Russell. If you could call Reverend Ford and ask him to check on her, that would be great.”

“Consider it done.” She paused, then asked, “What about you? Anyone I can call for you?”

“No, but thanks, Caroline.” Megan emerged from the stall as Caroline carefully labeled the paper bags she had put Megan’s clothes in. “What’s going to happen with my clothes?”

“You’ll have to ask Detective Prescott. He’s sure a stickler for making sure everything is packaged just so. We all had to sit in on training just last week.” She frowned. “With all this, I guess it’s a good thing we have a system.”

“Hey, enough of the chitchat!” Chief Egan called from outside the door.

Shaking her head in disapproval at his tone, Caroline pushed open the door. Chief Egan stood in the hallway, his arms folded over his chest. “Ms. Burke, you’ll wait in here.” He pointed toward a conference room.

Relief feathered through her chest—she had been sure that she was on her way to jail.

“Maybe she’d like a cup of coffee, Chief,” Caroline said.

He scowled, then asked, “Would you?”

“Yes, please,” Megan said as much to goad him as because she really did. “With cream.”

“I’ve got some half-and-half in the back instead of that icky powdered stuff the officers use,” Caroline said. “I’ll get it after I lock this up.” She held up the paper bags and disappeared down the hallway while Chief Egan waited pointedly next to the conference room door.

“So you and Caroline are friends,” he said to Megan.

“We are.” Not close ones, but no reason to admit that at the moment.

“Uh-huh,” he said, motioning Megan into the room.

Megan went to the end of the table and chose a chair that let her look out into the front of the building. She hoped she looked calm, but the truth was, inside she felt as though she was shattering into a gazillion little pieces. The truth was that inside she felt like she was eleven again, a child whose whole world had shattered.

Looking out the window to the street beyond, she was able to reassure herself that she was not in Hackensack, New Jersey. She closed her eyes, deliberately recalling each of the businesses on the block across the street. This was Natchez, the town that had been her home for the past three years.

“Here’s your coffee,” came Caroline’s bright voice. She breezed through the door past Chief Egan, a coffee mug in one hand and a pint of half-and-half in the other.

“Thanks.” Megan poured it into the mug filled with coffee, watching the two liquids merge together before handing the carton back to Caroline. Beyond her, Chief Egan gave the dispatcher a curt nod, urging her out of the room.

Then he crossed the room and sat down across from Megan.

“My new detective said he wanted to be here for your statement,” he said. “Do you want to call a lawyer?”

She knew what he was really saying—that he thought she had killed Robby—and she also knew she probably should call a lawyer. Instead, she wrapped her trembling hands around the warm coffee, raised her chin, and met his gaze. “If you’re accusing me of anything, you need to be a lot more direct.”

“When the time comes to Mirandize you, you’ll know it.”

She met his gaze without answering.

“And you’re not hiding anything,” he added, his tone too flat for the sarcastic words.

She wasn’t, at least not in the way he meant.

“You’d better pray you have your story straight by the time Detective Prescott gets here,” Egan said, closing and locking the door behind him as he strode toward the front door.

This wasn’t quite jail—not like it had been the last time she’d been accused of murder.

THREE

Three hours later and with his frustration level mounting, Wade came through the front door of the police station. Just as he had been afraid of, the crime scene had not yielded any obvious evidence that could set him on a logical path forward. Forensics might turn up something, but he couldn’t count on it. The probable murder weapon, a garden spade, had smeared fingerprints on it, as did the lid of one of the garbage cans. The only other interesting things discovered were some old coins next to scuffed footprints that were near the back fence behind the garage. At the moment, he had no idea if those were connected to the crime.

All he wanted to do was go home where he could lose himself in the hard, physical labor of turning over the caked red dirt that passed for soil in his backyard. Caroline said hi from her place at the front desk as he paused to pick up messages from the credenza behind her.

“Chief wants to see you,” she said. “And Megan Burke is still here.”

“Thanks,” he automatically said, pushing through the gate that separated the front of the office from the bull pen where his desk was. His gaze lit on the glass-encased conference room across from Chief Egan’s office. Megan sat at the head of the table, her gaze focused on the door he’d just come through. She looked directly at him. As intensely as had happened when he’d met her this morning, he had that punch in the chest of pure, male interest. He’d been here six months, working only a couple of blocks from where she worked, and he’d never seen her until this morning. He wished that he’d met her some other way.

But wishes, like prayers, were futile things.

With that he reminded himself of the big reasons to shelve his interest until he forgot about her. She was his probable best witness in a major case, possibly a major suspect. If that wasn’t enough, all he had to do was remind himself of the nightmares that haunted him, which didn’t mix with a relationship. At the turn of his thoughts, he gave himself a mental shake. He’d gone from thinking the woman was pretty to planning a life with her in a single bound. Irrational and stupid.

Across the hall from the conference room door, Chief Egan sat behind his desk, his feet propped on the credenza behind him, and a telephone receiver tucked between his ear and his shoulder. Their eyes caught in the reflection of the glass doors above the credenza. He waved at Wade to come into his office, dropping his feet to the floor and turning to face his desk.

Glancing a last time at Megan, Wade headed for Egan’s office. He ended the call with whomever he was talking to and resettled the baseball cap on his head. He pushed several sheets of paper across the desk toward Wade.

“I’ve had a couple of interesting phone calls,” Egan said as Wade picked up the sheets. “Your suspect—”

“Witness,” Wade corrected.

“—had a very public and heated argument with the victim a couple of days ago in front of the pawnshop.” Egan waved toward the sheets. “I took Thomas Johansen’s initial statement.”

“Of Johansen’s Pharmacy?”

“That’s right. I’ve known the man for thirty years, and he’s as trustworthy an individual as you could ever find.”

A good trait to have, Wade thought, since he wouldn’t want an untrustworthy pharmacist to fill his prescriptions.