Evidence of Murder

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.

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.

Yeah, his world had gotten pretty stark. The fault of one devious killer, and Ryan meant to find out who that was.

“Let’s do the interview out there.” Hallie pointed toward the deck. “That will give us the outdoorsy feel without standing under the hot sun.”

“I’m game.” The deck offered a clear view of his boats and docks, as well as the access road to his property. He did as much of his paperwork as possible out there, listening to the wind ruffle through the pines that crowded his place.

Ryan opened the French doors, and soon he and the reporter stood on the end of the deck closest to the river. The camera would be able to take in the water and boats behind them. Sam perched on a bench built into the deck rail, out of range of the electronic eye. Ryan wiped his palms on his jeans and glanced at the reporter. “What would you like to know?”

She looked toward the camera. “You rolling, Stan?”

“Still getting the angle and focus,” he answered, fiddling with his lens.

“Could we have a quick practice run?” Ryan cleared his throat. “I’d kind of like to know what you’re going to ask.” And maybe take the edge off his gut reactions before the real deal.

“That’s fair.” Hallie nodded. “I’ll probably start out with something like this—It’s been ten years since you found your family shot dead in your home. In all this time, did you never suspect that they had all been murdered?”

“No, I didn’t.” He shook his head. “My dad was under unusual stress at work and not acting like himself. Besides, I was too busy blaming myself to take a closer look.”

“How could their deaths have been your fault?” Sam’s cry broke in. “You weren’t there.”

Her gaze riveted with Ryan’s. His face went hot and tense. “We had a major fight on the telephone that evening, my dad and I. I figured I broke his heart, and that was why I lost my family.” What was it about this woman? That was more than he’d ever told anybody.

Her lips molded into a soft O. “What a terrible way for things to end between you.” If he didn’t know better, he would have said she was seeing straight into his soul, just like the other night.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Ryan’s voice came out rough. “Whoever killed my mom, and my sister and my dad had better hide under the biggest rock he can find, because I won’t rest until I find out what happened. And why?”

Hallie’s shoulder moved between him and Sam. “What do you hope the discovery of the photos will accomplish?”

He returned his attention to the reporter. “New evidence means a fresh investigation that is bound to uncover facts that were never looked at before.”

“Anything specific you can share with us?”

“Let’s just say I’ve given the police access to—”

Brakes squealed and tires screeched. Ryan turned. The next client wasn’t due for twenty minutes…but this was no client. Yikes! None of those vehicles held clients. A Minneapolis Star Tribune newspaper van roared up the drive, followed by a Channel 11 TV truck, flanked by a St. Paul Pioneer Press car, jockeying for position. The whole world chased a scoop.

Hallie whirled toward Sam, who sat with mouth agape. “So do you want to wait around and be mobbed or get out of here?”

“But what about your interview?”

“If I know Stan the Man, he got it the first time.”

“Too right.” Grinning, the camera guy lowered his equipment from his shoulder.

Ryan glared from reporter to cameraman. All that personal stuff that popped out of his mouth had been caught on film? Wasn’t the cameraman supposed to wait for some kind of cue from the reporter?

Sam rose. “My car sits between the ones for the Press and the Trib. We’ll never make a getaway.”

“There’s a pickup in the back.” Hallie nodded toward Ryan. “Yours, right?”

“Wait a minute—”

“If you wait ten seconds, you’ll have a feeding frenzy, not an interview.” She pinned him beneath a pointed stare. “Go. Leave us. We’ll stay and thumb our noses at the competition.”

People were piling out of the vehicles in his public parking lot. It was hard enough to talk to one reporter about his family’s murder. If a mob of them got in his face, he’d probably slug somebody.

He met Sam’s beseeching gaze. “We’re outta here!”

Her teeth flashed as she grinned and headed for the French doors. “I’m with you.”

Ryan grabbed her hand, and they dashed inside through his office and out into the hallway behind the reception desk. “Circle the wagons!” he called to Larry, who gazed at them wide-eyed. “Don’t let them take you alive.”

A throaty laugh came from the woman next to him. Her warm hand in his, Ryan tugged her up the hall and out the back door, leaving his employee gaping after them. They piled into his gray Silverado, and he peeled out of the staff lot toward the gravel road that provided a second egress to the property.

“Where are we headed?” Sam turned toward him, flushed face alight.

He smiled. “Your place. I feel like huntin’ me a cat. And while we’re at it, we may as well catch a burglar.”

By the wary glint that entered her eyes, he knew he’d better not add killer. He hated to tell her, but whoever sneaked into her place and snooped through her office might be connected to the murders. She was up to her dainty nose in this investigation whether she wanted to be or not.

FIVE

Sam studied the profile of the man behind the wheel of the pickup. Nice strong chin, a little on the square side, but not jutting, and definitely not weak. Just right. And his hand holding hers had been just right, too, wrapping her palm and fingers in a big grip, but not squeezing.

All well and good, but why was she alone in a pickup with a guy she’d just met? She’d wanted to escape the deluge of reporters as much as Ryan, but why did she feel perfectly at home sitting here? And safe? The police maintained he wasn’t a suspect in the murder case. However, those words hadn’t meant a lot to her inner security barometer. Less than an hour ago she’d believed him capable of breaking and entering. What had changed?

The dog. Despite his tough exterior, the man had a core of kindness. Even her moody cat knew it and trusted him. And Sam trusted animals. They had a sense about people that human beings often didn’t.

Ryan shot her a glance with his intense blue eyes, and the corners of his mouth tilted up.

What was the matter with her? She’d better quit staring, or the guy would get the wrong idea.

She looked out the window where the tree-lined bluffs of this picturesque area flashed past. Ryan’s place of business was roughly a half hour from her dry cleaners. Funny that they both lived where they worked and owned their own businesses. Did that mean they were the same sort of people?

Not really, because that was where the similarities ended. He lived in a secluded woodland area, she in a business district. His house traveled with him whenever he wanted to pick up and leave, while hers stayed planted where she intended to put down roots. No, when a person looked at it logically, they weren’t much alike at all. If they could get this awful investigation behind them, they would have no basis to develop an ongoing relationship. She’d just have to disappoint Jenna and Hallie in the matchmaking department. So why did that thought make her heart sink?

Shake it off, girl. Stick with the program. “Why do the police say you couldn’t have been the one who—er, you know? They generally look at family first. Excuse me for asking. My gut says you’re okay, but my head’s not quite there yet.”

Ryan let out a short laugh. “I’m familiar with that internal tug-of-war, and I don’t blame you for asking. They did suspect me at first. Who wouldn’t? But they ran into a brick wall when they considered timing and gunshot residue.”

“I don’t follow what you’re saying.”

“A stray pellet stopped the clock on the wall behind my dad’s desk, pinpointing when the shootings took place. When the crime scene techs tested me from top to bottom for gunshot residue, they didn’t find a speck. No way could I have taken a shower, changed clothes, dried my hair, and dispose of my tainted outfit between the time the murders were committed and the time the first squad car arrived on the scene. They were pretty much forced to acknowledge that my part in events was exactly as I said. That’s when they decided the whole thing was murder/suicide, and my dad was the bad guy.” He snorted.

“Precisely what whoever did it wanted people to believe.”

Ryan met her gaze, grim-faced, then turned his attention back to the road. “And I was no better than the cops in my thinking.”

“Why should you have been?”

“Because he was my dad, that’s why! A son should know better!”

Sam lifted her hands, palms out. “I get the point.”

His shoulders sagged. “Sorry. I’m still riled about all this.”

“I don’t blame you. When you and Hallie were talking, what were you about to say you gave the police?”

“The code for a storage unit. They said they’d check it out today. I rented a unit near the old neighborhood, and that’s where I stuck all the family stuff I didn’t get rid of after the funerals. I was pretty shook up and didn’t sort through anything after selling the house and the furniture. Just boxed it and stuffed it into a rental garage. I pay the rent bill every month, but to tell you the truth, I haven’t been back since.”

Sam frowned. “I can understand why you were in no shape to look at things at the time, but ten years is quite a while to leave your family memories locked away in a storeroom.”

His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. “Not if you think your bid for independence as good as pulled the trigger.”

“Do I ever understand that ‘bid for independence’ thing! I’m still fighting for mine.”

“What do you mean? You own a business, and I don’t see you living with parents.”

“A month ago you would have seen exactly that.” Sam rolled her eyes. “And no business, either.”

“No kidding!”

She bobbed her head. “Not even a teensy exaggeration. After finishing high school half a year behind the rest of my class, it took me another six to finish college because I needed to work so much to help pay old medical bills. Happily, my job was in a dry cleaners, where I learned a trade hands-on. So when my maternal grandmother left her only granddaughter a sizable chunk in her will, I suddenly found myself free of financial obligation and able to pursue a career that combined my experience with my business degree.” Sam stretched out her legs in the roomy interior and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “The only hitch was finding a dry-cleaning establishment to purchase that would get me out from under my family’s watchful eye and yet not be so far away that they would have instant heart failure when I told them I was moving.”

Ryan chuckled. “Where are you from?”

“Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Hallie’s from there, too, as well as another friend I’m close with, Jenna. She’s part owner and full-time chef at The Meridian.”

Ryan whistled under his breath. “I’ve heard that restaurant is the hottest taste sensation since buttered toast.”

Sam laughed. “I take it you haven’t paid a visit.”

He waved a hand over his polo shirt and jeans. “Suits and ties and power lunches were my dad’s thing, not mine.”

“Jenna’s restaurant welcomes tennis shoes seated next to designer leather loafers. We’ll have to go sometime.” Sam halted on an intake of breath. Did she just ask this guy out?

“Sounds great!”

By the size of Ryan’s smile, that’s exactly what she’d done, and there was no taking it back now. At least not totally. “You know, to apologize for accusing you of taking my cat. You did flowers—I guess I can do lunch.” She forced a big smile. Could he see her pulse racing? Well, he probably couldn’t miss the flush that heated her face.

“You know,” Ryan said, “Bastian likely just slipped out to explore the neighborhood. He seems to possess a normal case of curiosity, considering his species.”

“You’re probably right. If you can find him as easily today as you did the other night, I’ll owe you big-time.”

“Like dinner and a movie?”

Sam sank in the seat, face blazing. This guy was milking her mistake for all it was worth. Why? With all that was on his mind right now, romancing the woman who found those brutal photos couldn’t be high on his priority list.

“Did you call the police about the break-in?”

What did he say? She shook her head free of confusion fumes. “Oh, the break-in? No, I thought it was you.”

“So, it’s okay if I break into your place, but no one else?”

“Davidson, if you’re trying to push my buttons, you’re doing a stellar job. I’ll call the police right now.” She snatched her purse from the floor where she’d tossed it and yanked out her cell phone. She almost dropped it when she heard a shrill ring. But it wasn’t her tune. She looked over at Ryan.

He pulled a cell from a belt holder. “Davidson here.” Long pause. “What? How did anyone get there before you? The case hasn’t even broken on the news yet.” Another pause. “Oh, I see. Yes, I’ll be right there.”

Ryan snapped the phone shut and turned toward Sam, gaze bleak. “That was the police. They opened my storage unit, but someone beat them to it…years ago.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Someone made a stew of my family’s stuff, but it wasn’t a recent job. Everything’s covered with dust. They want me to get over there pronto and tell them if something’s missing. The trouble is I’m not sure if I’ll know. I was in such a fog when I put everything in storage.”

The rasp in his tone jerked a knot in Sam’s heartstrings. “If they need you now, let’s do it.”

“You’d go with me?” Furrows smoothed from Ryan’s brow, and his ice-blue gaze heated.

Sam’s heart-knot melted. “Well, I’m not too keen on being left on the side of the road. Besides, I can report my break-in to the authorities there.”

Ryan smiled. “Smart lady.”

Ryan stared at the carnage in the Gopher Storage garage. Boxes had been upended and the contents rooted through—loose papers tossed everywhere, his mom’s novels jumbled amidst his dad’s textbooks. Broken items were strewn across what little floor space remained among the crammed-in personal belongings. He spotted his mother’s favorite white blouse, torn and dusty and yellowed, tossed carelessly on top of a collection of his sister’s high school tennis trophies.

Memories sucked him under like quicksand.

He tore himself away and staggered the few feet to his pickup. Gripping the edge of the truck box, he hung his head, hauling in deep breaths. A warm hand fell on his shoulder. He glanced down into solemn green eyes.

“Give yourself a minute,” she murmured. “You’ll be okay.”

“Yeah.” He exhaled loud and long. “Seeing that stuff hit me hard.”