Chapter Eighteen #2
“What’s that look for? If you keep an open mind, the truth will be easier to spot.”
“What? Now you’re Sherlock Holmes?”
He took another bite of the apple. Not only was her proposition a distant memory, but work had her full attention. She wasn’t in the mood to question their working theory. Sawyer reminded himself to let the investigation do the talking. He polished off the apple while she took notes.
What was there to write down? That was the point of a briefing book. Someone had done that already. Sawyer glanced over her shoulder. “You’re making us an agenda?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Good question. He was neither Sherlock Holmes nor Dr. Watson. At least Watson knew when to ask questions and listen. Sawyer could only twiddle his thumbs. “I’m going to look around.”
He left her to investigate the provisions in the pantry and searched for secretly stashed weapons throughout the house. After a minute, he’d completed his search and returned to the kitchen. “Did you pack a vest?”
She glanced up and stared as though he’d asked permission to dance like a fool. “No one knows where I am.”
He shrugged. “Things change.”
“It doesn’t blend in on the beach.” She smiled as though the discussion had ended. “But I did pack SPF and a sun hat.”
He read over her shoulder. The timeline on the note started in fifteen minutes and wrapped with their return at eleven in the morning. “I think we need to compromise on some things.”
“Like?”
“Fifteen-minute increments of planning? We need to get a lay of the land before we check out the other beach house.”
She pursed her lips. “But…”
“But?” Sawyer knew what was happening. She was filling in every second of the day to control the narrative and ignore what she’d said. That might be possible for her. Not so much for him. “Go get dressed in something beachy. We’re going to wing this one.”
“I don’t want to waste time.”
He sighed and opted to compromise. “We’ll walk up from the beach and cut over.”
“We can look at the other house?”
“Sure. We’ll scope it out.”
Angela tapped her index finger on her pen and then relented.
Fifteen minutes later, she returned to the kitchen table, perfectly on an internal schedule.
Her dark hair was tied back. A large-brimmed hat covered her face.
Angela’s black one-piece curved over her figure and short-circuited his brain.
This choice of clothing wasn’t the athletic bathing suit she wore for laps.
A black knit cover-up dangled over her hips.
He cleared his throat. “Very beachy.”
She eyed his board shorts and flip-flops then busied herself with the paperwork on the table. Angela gathered the reports and photos and put them neatly in her beach bag. She slid her sunglasses on and returned to hiding behind the oversized sunhat; then she and Sawyer were off.
From the deck, they followed the small boardwalk, which deposited them on the beach.
The early June morning hadn’t brought out sunbathers or families yet.
A woman threw a Frisbee for her dogs. They galloped into the waves and fought over the toy before they raced back for another throw.
The occasional lone runner loped by. An older couple walked hand in hand.
Sawyer and Angela carried their shoes while walking on the damp sand. The occasional wave lapped over their feet. Angela was very quiet. Hell, so was he. Mylene had Angela’s focus. Angela had his. He hoped the sun would bake sense into his brain as they strolled through the lapping waves.
Angela grabbed his forearm and stopped. “There it is.”
This beach house was as close to the water as theirs. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Easy, Ange. We don’t need to stare.”
But if anyone glanced their way, they might have a problem. She was stiff as a knife and stuck out like a woman who needed an escape plan. “You okay?” he asked. His hand smoothed over her hip and skimmed up the smooth swimsuit. “I’ll let you go if you need me to, but you can’t stare at the house.”
She licked her bottom lip. “No. It’s fine. You just caught me off guard.”
“Sorry…” He should have repositioned them to get a better look at the house, but he couldn’t.
Her chin dipped. “I’m—” Angela shook her head. “What I said on the plane…” She raised her eyes to his. “I wish I could take it back.”
Sawyer cinched her closer. “Regrets are no fun.”
“That’s me. Life of the party. Throwing caution to the wind.”
That was what she’d done, and he’d shot her down. Now, who was the one with the regrets? His reflection in her glasses showed his frown. Sawyer forced a grin. “Put your arms around my neck.”
That she did was the slightest balm.
“Look like you can stand me,” he said. “I’m going to get a good look at that house.”
Angela laughed, and he repositioned them.
“What do you see? Anyone staying there?”
No car sat in the driveway. “Looks like nobody’s home.” The shades were drawn. The covers for the grill and hot tub were in place. “Probably no renters right now.”
“Then can we go over and check it out?”
“Give me another minute to be sure.” Sawyer surveyed the area and moved them closer. No people were watching. No security cameras were in sight. “I think so. Let’s go.”
Angela all but yipped. Despite her control and agendas, she didn’t approach anything involving Mylene with an ounce of hesitation, and it would give him heartburn.
“Are you going to try the front door?” She grabbed his hand and pulled for him to move faster. “Break a window?”
“Option C. Scope the deck and see what our opportunities are.” He needed fewer chances for neighbors or nearby security cameras to catch them.
They walked onto a deck that could have used a handyman’s attention. Rickety and in need of bracing, the deck mirrored the beach house, which had good bones but was desperate for upkeep.
Two lockboxes hung on the deck railing. Rental guests and cleaning staff, he guessed. Both were well used. The beach house wasn’t abandoned. The duo’s timing had been lucky.
Sawyer tried the back door. Its lock was simple and standard. He pulled a lockpicking kit from his wallet.
“Option D,” Angela said. “You had a plan to get inside all along.”
He winked and got them through the doorway. The place smelled of musty beach house and lemon air freshener. Sunlight crept around blinds and the sides of drapes. He didn’t know what they were looking for. “What do you want to see?”
Angela twirled as though inspiration would magically hit her but then pulled the crime scene photos from her beach bag. She lined them on the kitchen counter. Law enforcement had done a good job at documenting the entire house. Windows. Doors. Dirty dishes.
“The interior’s the same.” He opened a cabinet. “Same dishes.”
“I don’t know why that would change unless someone sold the place.”
True. The house had the same couches. Probably the same bed where the husband and sister had spent the night before they were shot.
Sawyer and Angela walked into the living room.
The only difference from the crime scene photos was a new area rug under the coffee table.
The original rug had probably been taken into evidence, given the proximity of the bodies.
Angela held up a photograph in which luminol lit up a blood-splattered wall. “That’s there.” She shuffled another picture. “And that’s right here.”
Sawyer wondered if the walls had been repainted or scrubbed with bleach. A little luminol and a black light would likely light them up like the Fourth of July. “Want to go upstairs?”
Her frown deepened. “Yes.”
The layout was not dissimilar from their beach house’s. The same builder likely constructed every house in the neighborhood. Angela stared at one bedroom and then the next.
He didn’t see anything interesting. Did she? “What do you think?”
Angela shrugged.
That look had more to it—or maybe not. Studying crime scene photos and walking around a house that hid a dark secret could weigh heavy. “You okay?”
“Yes, it’s just…” They stood between the two bedrooms. “Why did you give me the room with the balcony?”
“It was the nice thing to do?” He raised a shoulder. “Nicer room for the fairer sex.”
“Imagine if you were married, having an affair, and renting a beach house with your secret girlfriend.”
He frowned. “That’d make me a piece of shit.”
“Yeah, I know.” Angela gave him the side-eye. “But just imagine. Okay?”
“Fine. For investigative purposes, I’m a cheating asshole.”
“And you’re staying at a beach house for an affair. Which bedroom would you choose?”
“The one with the balcony.”
“Right,” she agreed, directing them into the bathroom. “What about your toiletries? Where would you put your stuff?”
“Is this a trick question?” he joked. “I have no clue.”
“Have you ever lived with someone before?”
“Uh—”
“Yeah, me neither.” She stared at the bathroom counter and then shuffled through the photographs. Then she held up the corresponding picture. “I think this is weird.”
He glanced at the crime scene photo and didn’t see whatever she wanted him to. “What am I missing?”
“Look at how everything has been arranged.”
He stared at the toiletries on the counter in the picture and then at the blank counter in front of him. “What?”
“Look at the toothbrushes and toothpaste.”
Again, Sawyer stared at the counter and then the photo. “I don’t see anything noteworthy.”
She pointed at the counter. “The two toothbrushes are right beside each other, a half inch apart, hanging off the edge into the sink. Who does that?”
“What?”
“No one lines their toothbrushes side by side, a half inch apart. Not even if they have been married for years. It’s too precise and unnatural.”
Sawyer scowled at the photo. “Really?” He used an electric toothbrush that had a charger. But before that, he couldn’t remember thinking about the placement of his toothbrush on a counter, much less whether he put it next to or opposite someone else’s.