had.
Ornamental chimes hung overhead.
No wind today.
No sign of life, literally or figuratively.
Chief Riley exited the front door, carefully closing it behind him. He joined Oscar and gestured to the yard. “You see anything out of place?”
The cotton in Oscar’s throat doubled in size, and tears threatened to spill as he shook his head. He didn’t mind. He’d watched Lieutenant Colonel Townley, who Oscar considered the biggest hero America had, break down and sob over situations he had no control over.
Men he’d lost.
Riley seemed to understand and waited while the sun beat down on them and minutes ticked by.
“You call the medical examiner?” Oscar choked out.
“You think I don’t know my job?” Riley queried.
It was the kind of sarcastic response Oscar needed to snap out of his stupor. “I’ve known the victim all my life. She’s from my hometown of Runyan, New Mexico.”
“I didn’t know that. And the state police who are already on their way will be interested, too.”
“You know who else has a home in Runyan?”
“Who?”
“Jack Little, who owns the chain of Little’s Supermarkets.”
“And that concerns us because...”
“Candace is his daughter.”
Riley said a bunch of words Oscar knew he would not want put in the report, ending with “No kidding. Why didn’t I know that?”
“She didn’t want people to know. She wanted to make friends, get established, before everyone started seeing her for her family’s name and power instead of who she was.”
“It’s time to make some phone calls,” Riley said. “Give me a few minutes.”
Oscar figured it would take more than a few minutes before he was ready to go inside. Carefully he stepped over the cordon tape and stood at the front of the driveway, looking at a pair of sandals by the side gate. They, too, were Candace’s. She always preferred going barefoot.
Riley returned, but he didn’t share who he’d called. “See anything?” he asked.
“Nothing out of place in the yard that I can see, except the hose has dripped all night. Candace never would have left it on.”
Riley nodded, waiting.
“You need to find Shelley Wagner. She lives in—”
“Shelley Wagner,” Riley interrupted. “What does she have to do with this?”
“She lives in the garage apartment across the street. I encountered her yesterday morning walking her little boy. He ran to this window and she followed. Maybe she saw something.”
“I know Shelley Wagner,” Riley said. “And I know where she lives. You say she’s involved in this?”
“I didn’t say she was involved.” If she was, no way would she have been so calm—
But she hadn’t been calm. Not exactly, not when she was hurrying away. Maybe it hadn’t been the encounter with him.
“I don’t think she is involved,” Oscar started again. “She just happened to be out here, taking a walk.” What he couldn’t tell Riley was that she walked every morning and he knew what time she returned. Oscar couldn’t share that she was paying four hundred dollars a month for her one-room apartment and that she had two thousand, three hundred dollars in her bank account.
Oscar knew because Townley via the FBI had provided the information.
“You sure it was Shelley?” Riley asked. “I wasn’t aware you were acquainted with her.”
“Just under six foot, very pregnant, not much older than Candace. Ran into her yesterday morning during my walk with Peeve.”
She’d worn sensible shoes, Oscar remembered. They’d landed silent on the sidewalk when she’d stopped to talk to him. Peeve, his German shepherd, had sniffed at them and then been distracted by a bird fluttering in a nearby bush.
“That’s our Shelley,” Riley agreed.
Oscar remembered her chasing the toddler, who’d taken off across the sidewalk and tottered into Candace’s yard and then to the picture window. He hadn’t watched what happened next. There’d been a noise, and Peeve had barked until finally a cat scurried from its hiding place. When he’d turned back to the street, Shelley had been carrying Ryan up the apartment stairs, and Ryan had been crying. Just another day. That was what he’d figured.
He’d been wrong.
He wished more than anything he hadn’t been distracted by Peeve and the cat.
“Anything else you remember about the encounter?” Riley asked. “It might be important.”
“No, except something was bothering her.”
“You could tell that by how she looked?” Riley smirked.
“I’ve a sister. She had the same look Anna gets when something is bothering her.”
Speaking of Anna, Oscar needed to call her, break the news about her best friend, let her know he would do all he could to bring the killer to justice.
Riley raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got Bailey canvassing the neighborhood, asking if anyone noticed anything out of the ordinary yesterday. I’ll have her go to Shelley’s apartment. They know each other.” Immediately Riley pulled out his phone, called Bailey and gave the order.
Riley managed only a few words before he stopped talking to listen. It was all Oscar could do not to snatch the phone from his chief so he could hear, too.
“You’re sure?” Ending the call, Riley shook his head in disbelief. “Bailey’s talking with Shelley’s landlord right now. Apparently she’s packed most of her stuff and fled. Shelley Wagner’s gone.”
Not what Oscar had expected. He glanced up at Shelley Wagner’s apartment. Bailey and Shelley’s landlord, Robert Tellmaster, were just coming out the door.
Oscar turned to Riley. “I need to see the...the crime scene.”
Riley raised an eyebrow. “The State boys wouldn’t like that. It’s best—”
Oscar took a breath, opened and closed his hands a few times before balling them into fists. “Candace didn’t deserve this. She’s—was—a kindergarten teacher, great sense of humor, could play second base like...” Oscar was rambling, which was out of character. But he knew the victim, knew her well. Loved her like a sister.
The two men stood, sizing each other up. Oscar didn’t so much as blink. He had two inches on Riley, but that didn’t seem to matter. Maybe Oscar needed to check—Riley sure looked ex-military.
“One minute is all I ask,” Oscar finally said. “I won’t go in. I won’t touch anything.”
Riley’s eyes narrowed.
“I’ve been in this house several times. You asked me about what I noticed outside. I can tell you about the inside.”
Riley didn’t like it, Oscar could tell, but he marched to the front door and opened it, backing out of the way. Oscar didn’t hesitate.
He saw Candace first, lying belly-down on the floor. She wore a pink nylon shirt and jeans. One foot still had a sandal. The other was bare. Her brown hair was matted and her head was next to a leg of the coffee table. The table was scooted a few feet from its regular position near the middle of the room. Blood smeared a corner. The couch was bare, except for two pillows and an upended book. The television was off and a few movies were stacked next to it. Across from the