Close Neighbors. Dawn Stewardson
Rachel said. “Aside from what the police would figure, if the guy really has some way of finding out if Chase calls them—”
“We don’t know he does.”
“But we don’t know he doesn’t! What if he does? Then he follows through on his threat, and it turns out there were signs of a struggle? Those detectives would be certain I’m guilty.”
“But—”
“Look, as I said before, I learned a lot about cops from Graham. And maybe your father used to warn you about tunnel vision, but I doubt either Westin or Providence has the slightest concern about it.”
“Those are the detectives who came to the house,” Chase explained.
“All they’re thinking,” Rachel continued, “is that I was with Graham the evening he was killed and that I was furious with him. Plus, they’re convinced he was carrying his gun. A gun I knew how to use. To their minds, that gives me motive, means and opportunity.
“Then we’ve got those damned clothes I threw out. All I need is one more strike against me, whether it’s real or trumped up, and I’ll find myself sitting in a jail cell facing murder charges.”
Taking a long, slow breath, Anne told herself to remain cool and logical. “Rachel,” she said at last, “there’s no way in the world anyone would charge you with murder. Even if those detectives do think you killed Graham—”
“What?” she interrupted, her eyes luminous with tears. “Are you going to say they’d only charge me with manslaughter? Because I killed him in the heat of passion? Or maybe even involuntary manslaughter? Because I was only trying to take the gun away from him when it went off?
“Anne, I didn’t have a thing to do with Graham’s death! And I don’t want to go through the rest of my life with people thinking that I must have because I was charged with…with anything!
“And what if it got to trial and I was headline news? Then I’d always be a killer in people’s eyes, even if I wasn’t convicted. My life would be ruined when I’ve done nothing at all.
“So maybe this guy who phoned would know if Chase told the cops about his call and maybe he wouldn’t. But I’m not taking the chance he would.”
Anne looked at Chase again. “Is that the way you feel, too?”
He shook his head. “How I feel doesn’t matter. I promised Rachel the final decision was hers. After all, she’s the one at risk, the one who could end up sitting in that jail cell. Not me.”
“I see,” she murmured.
“Anne?” Rachel said.
“Yes?”
“I’ve told you about all I can, and…as much as I care about whatever else you’ve got to say, I’m getting a migraine. I thought I’d headed it off this morning, but it’s coming back. So unless there’s anything more you desperately still need to ask me, maybe you and Chase can…”
“We know where to find you if we can’t,” he told her.
She pushed back her chair. “I realize how pig-headed you figure I’m being about that call,” she added to Anne. “But…”
“I understand.” She might not think they were handling this the right way, but she did understand.
“Good. Well…it doesn’t seem like nearly enough to just say thanks. But I’m really, really grateful that you’re trying to help. And whatever—”
“Rachel?” Julie called from the pool. “Are you going home to put on your bathing suit?”
“No, hon, I’m getting migraine flashes, so I’m going to take something and lie down. Maybe I’ll come back over later,” she added, starting for the gate.
Anne watched Rachel skirt the end of the pool, mentally replaying her explanation of why she didn’t want Chase to tell the cops about that call.
Everything she’d said had referred to her—how the police might charge her, how her life could be affected. She hadn’t uttered a single word about the possibility that they suspected Chase, as well.
And he’d said nothing to that effect, either. Rachel’s the one at risk, he’d said. Not me.
So, regardless of how much time those detectives spent questioning him yesterday, and despite knowing he’d gone after his sister, they’d left both Nicholsons with the same message: Rachel was a suspect; Chase wasn’t.
Anne considered that, wondering whether some neighbor had seen him arriving home from the park.
Since people had heard the gunshot, the cops would have an accurate fix on the time. And, quite possibly, they’d ruled out Chase because he’d been back before Graham was killed.
Whatever the reason, though, it seemed obvious they didn’t suspect him.
She was glad of that, but she couldn’t stop wishing they didn’t suspect his sister, either. Or, more accurately, she wished there wasn’t so much evidence pointing toward Rachel’s guilt. Because the way things stood, she might well end up being charged. And now that they’d spent some time together, Anne had a gut feeling Rachel was innocent.
Of course, her instincts about people weren’t always right. And what if she was wrong this time? Lord, she didn’t even want to think about that. By saying she’d try to help before she knew the facts, she’d gotten herself into something worse than she’d expected and in far deeper than she wanted to be.
But while common sense was telling her it was time to back off, what sort of relationship would she have with her new neighbors if she said, “Well, this is as far as I go. See you around”? Not a good one, that was for sure.
Glancing at Chase, she silently admitted there was another reason she didn’t want to back off.
She rarely met a man who interested her. Yet the very first moment she’d seen this man she’d felt a tug of attraction. And getting to know him a little had told her he might be someone she could really come to like.
Actually, to be deep-down honest, she already really liked him. So she hardly wanted to say she’d decided that trying to help his sister was a bad idea.
But what would happen if her “helping” turned up even more evidence of Rachel’s guilt?
The answer was obvious. Rachel would be in jail. And how would Chase feel about someone who’d had a hand in putting her behind bars?
Ordering herself not to go there, Anne forced her mind off the personal aspect of this and back to the broader picture.
“Let me ask you something,” she said to Chase. “If you aren’t going to report your extortionist to the police, what do you intend to do about him?”
CHASE SAT STARING at his daughter, willing her to pick this instant to climb out of the pool and come over to the patio. If he could just manage that minor bit of mental telepathy he wouldn’t have to answer Anne’s question—which he definitely didn’t want to do.
He had no idea how he was going to deal with the extortionist. Hell, he hadn’t even given much thought to what his alternatives were. And if he had to admit that to Anne she’d figure he was an utter moron.
But ever since he’d turned on the news yesterday morning, there’d been so much to worry about that he’d simply penciled the extortion threat in toward the bottom of his list.
After all, the guy had said he’d get back to him in “a couple of days.” And with this being Friday, a couple of days probably meant Monday. Whereas those detectives breathing down Rachel’s neck seemed like a much more immediate threat.
“Can I assume you aren’t going to give him the two hundred thousand?” Anne said.
Damn. His attempt at telepathy