up just in time?”
He faced the back of the couch, looking down at the spot where Misty had lain. Laurel had her first fully lighted view of him.
Her mouth went dry and her throat fluttered, just like in high school. Most of the girls in Dusty Springs would have given their eyeteeth for a smile from his brother James, but it was Cade who’d always been able to stop her heart.
He filled up the room, just like he always had. He’d never been as big or tall as James. And while James’s sparkling personality and talent in sports made him the envy of every guy and the heartthrob of every girl in town, Laurel had always preferred Cade’s quiet good looks and shy smile.
She blinked, and the image of the boy turned into the reality of the man.
He stood, legs hip-width apart. Worn, perfectly fitting jeans emphasized his buttocks and muscled thighs. His fists were propped on his hips, which pulled the cotton of his Ole Miss T-shirt tight across his back. Under his baseball cap, his brown hair was dark with sweat.
He was surveying the crime scene, which was what she should be doing.
She forced her gaze away from him and looked at the floor where Misty had lain. Her brain queued up a stop-action movie of the crime, based on Misty’s position, the blood spatter and the condition of the house.
She put herself into the head of the attacker. I sneak up behind Misty and hit her while she’s sitting on the couch.
No. If Misty had been sitting, she’d have slumped over onto the couch, not fallen on the floor in front of it.
Cade turned his head and pinned her with his electric-blue gaze. “My question wasn’t rhetorical.”
She forced herself not to look away. “I didn’t think it was. What do you think about her position on the floor?”
“I asked you first.”
“Fair enough.” She stepped closer. “Yes, I’m here for the reunion. I flew in to Memphis this afternoon and drove straight here.”
“Flew in from where?”
“D.C. I work at FBI Headquarters. I’m a criminologist with the Division of Unsolved Mysteries.”
His gaze sharpened, but all he did was nod.
“Misty invited me to stay with her. I tried to call her several times, on her cell and her home phone, but she never answered, which was odd since she’d made me promise to call. I pulled into her driveway at 8:03 p.m. Rang her bell, knocked on the door, then drew my weapon and turned the knob. It was unlocked.”
Cade turned around and crossed his arms. “You said that. Do you know how unlikely that is? Misty’s—”
“Borderline agoraphobic. I know.” She nodded. “Not to mention a tad obsessive-compulsive. Even in grade school she couldn’t stand to be inside a house alone with the doors unlocked.”
“Which means either she let someone in or they picked the lock.”
“That lock’s at least sixty years old. It could probably be opened with a credit card.”
“So you walked into a dark house that you knew shouldn’t be unlocked, not knowing whether you’d find a burglar, a murderer or a rapist?”
“Or my best friend from high school.” Laurel kept her expression neutral, but it was an effort. “I’m a trained agent with field and crime-scene experience. I know how to enter a suspicious dwelling.”
His face darkened. “Without backup?”
Laurel shrugged. She knew he was right to question her, but she wasn’t wrong. Not totally. She let it drop. “So what do you think about her position?”
“Someone conked her from behind.”
“While she was sitting on the couch?”
“Nope. She’d have slumped over.”
Images of what must have happened played out in Laurel’s head. “Picture this.” She turned to look at the foyer door. “I come in the door. Either it’s unlocked—doubtful—or I somehow unlock it without Misty hearing me.” She stepped toward the couch and raised her hand. “I’m holding the baseball bat. Did I bring it in or pick it up here?”
Cade still had his arms crossed. He nodded toward the couch. “I’m thinking the bat was Misty’s. It was probably near the front door—for protection.”
“What did you do with it?”
“I gave it to Shelton—Officer Phillips—to check for prints.”
“Okay, I’m holding the bat. I raise my arm and swing—” She demonstrated.
“What are you doing?”
The scene in her head freeze-framed. She looked up at him. “Trying to get a picture of what happened.”
“You do realize you’re talking as if you’re the attacker?”
“Oh. A lot of the time I work alone, looking at forensic evidence from photographs or video. I talk to myself.”
His brows drew down. “So you walk in the perp’s shoes. I reckon I see the crime unfolding like a movie—it’s how my dad always did it. I guess everybody’s got their own way of doing things.” He scrutinized her. “So, Gillespie, if you’re acting out what the attacker did, you need to use your other hand. The blow was to the left side of Misty’s head.”
She felt her cheeks heat up. “You’re right. The attacker had to be left-handed.” She looked at her hands. “Wouldn’t you think at least one perp would use the wrong hand, just to throw off the police?”
Cade’s mouth turned up at the corner and Laurel’s pulse jumped at the hint of his killer smile.
He shrugged. “Plus you’ve still got Misty sitting on the couch.”
“Okay. Let’s start over.” She started to turn back toward the door.
“Hold it.” Cade stopped her with a hand on her arm. A large, blunt-fingered, warm hand.
Crime scene, she thought. Crime scene, not high school.
“Are you planning to act out the entire thing?”
“I like to when I can.”
He cocked his head to one side. “Okay, go ahead.”
She gave him a sheepish smile. “Why did Misty get up? Did she hear something and turn around? Here. You be the attacker and I’ll be Misty.”
Cade sent her a look. “Might as well. We don’t have much else to go on. Shelton lifted prints off the dining table, but Misty had a reunion committee meeting here a couple of days ago, so there are going to be dozens of prints.”
“It was three days ago. You stand here, behind the couch.” She moved to go around to the front but Cade caught her arm again.
“Aren’t you going to give me the blunt object?”
“Ha ha. Don’t make fun of me unless you have a better idea.”
He shook his head.
“Here’s something else to think about. Look at the couch.”
“Yeah, I know. Blood spatter across the cushions. Proves she wasn’t sitting.”
“Have you taken samples?”
“Got a few. Don’t forget that this isn’t D.C. It’s Dusty Springs, Mississippi. We’re not equipped to handle a lot of lab work, and I can guarantee you that the state lab won’t consider a minor breaking and entering, even with injuries, top priority.”
Laurel didn’t comment. She knew she could use the FBI lab in D.C., but if she offered, Cade would want to know why she’d use their resources for such a relatively