Evidence of Murder. Jill Nelson Elizabeth
around his biceps. He was lucky he wasn’t in handcuffs. Yet. “I’m sorry, ah…Miss Reid, isn’t it? I didn’t mean any harm.”
She frowned. “Why are you skulking around my property?”
“I wasn’t skulking exactly. Not even looking for physical clues. I was searching my memory of that night. Did you know I cruised by here right before I went home to find—” His voice cracked. “Anyway, I ended up pacing back and forth in this alley. Kicked the Dumpster in frustration, and I’ve got the throbbing toe to prove it.” He lifted a tennis-shoed foot. “I suppose that’s what woke you.”
“Do you want us to run this guy in for trespassing, Ms. Reid?” asked the officer who’d identified himself as Johnson.
Ryan held his breath. She wouldn’t. Would she?
Her gaze darted away, and the tips of white teeth nibbled at her bottom lip. “I don’t know. I doubt Mr. Davidson poses a danger, but—”
“You know him?”
“You know me?”
Ryan’s words tangled with Johnson’s.
“From a photo.” A flush spread across her cheekbones.
Yes, definitely attractive, but where had she seen a picture of him? “I wasn’t in those photos you turned in. The detective laid out the whole roll for me to see.” What shadowed her eyes? Pity? Ryan’s jaw clenched.
She met his stare. “I assume it was the same detective who showed me a print of you down by the river.”
Ryan snorted. “Sure, updating their file with a sneak shot after they get me all riled up. Bet I looked like a lunatic.”
Static crackled from the nearby police cruiser, followed by a garbled voice. The officers released Ryan and backed away. “If you’re not going to press charges, Miss,” Johnson said, “we need to answer that call.”
“You should go, too, Mr. Davidson.” Samantha Reid narrowed the door opening so he could only see half of her body. “There’s nothing for you to find here. The police haven’t uncovered anything new, and I doubt they will.”
She moved to close the door, but before she could, a small creature darted from the doorway into the alley.
“Bastian, come back here!” the woman called. “Oh, no, I must not have shut the door tight above.”
“I’ll find him. Little animals have certain ways of moving in the dark. Hang tight. I’ll bring him to you.”
“But—”
“It’s the least I can do for getting you up in the middle of the night. Besides, you’re not dressed for a walk.”
Her brows scrunched together. “Bastian won’t come to you.”
“We’ll see.” He headed in the direction the cat had disappeared, a mental Here, kitty, kitty going in his head. Not that he’d ever talk out loud that way to such a dignified animal.
“Of all the arrogant guys!” Samantha fumed as she threw on jeans and a T-shirt. He’d better be gone by the time she got downstairs again, or she’d clobber him with her flashlight. Bastian was particular about who he allowed to touch him. She was the only one who could get close, and who knew how long that would take? Her night’s rest was officially over.
She stormed down the stairs and flung open the outside door.
“Hi.” Ryan Davidson grinned down at her, the purring Abyssinian cradled in his arms. “He was just investigating your alley and didn’t go far.”
She gaped up at him.
“Here.” He handed her the cat.
A mewl mixed with his purr. The cat’s head swiveled toward Davidson.
“Nice Aby. Good ticking in his coat.” He scratched behind Bastian’s ear, and the cat nosed the man’s hand. “Well, g’night, then. Hope you can still catch some z’s.” He gave her a lopsided grin and turned away.
“Th-thank you.” Sam watched his broad-shouldered figure stride into the night. She hugged her cat close. “Traitor,” she murmured into his perked ear. Her heart was a traitor, too. It had done a distinct pitty-pat when Ryan Davidson smiled.
THREE
Muted dock lighting played over Ryan’s bedroom ceiling in rhythm with the slight sway of the water beneath the boat. He lay on his back with his arms under his head. The murmur of the river teased his ears. The soothing sights and sounds usually had him out in seconds, but his carefully constructed world had blown apart again with the discovery of those pictures.
How had the roll of film ended up at Old Man Morris’s dry cleaners?
He’d hoped a walk through the area might jar his recollection of something suspicious he’d seen that night. But then, who was to say he’d encountered a single thing connected to his family’s deaths? Would he even have noticed if he had? Arriving in Apple Valley following the end of his sophomore year at the University of Wisconsin, he’d zigged and zagged aimlessly through the neighborhood, dreading going home, his father’s angry words from their phone call echoing in his head.
His gut soured. He heaved himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed and rubbed his forehead.
Dad, would you ever have understood my decision not to follow in your footsteps as an investment banker? His family’s deaths had robbed him of the opportunity to find out. What if he’d headed straight home? Could he have saved them? Or would he have joined them stone-cold in the grave?
At least his dad hadn’t killed himself or mom and Cassie. A breath trembled in his lungs. How did he feel about that? Relieved. Yeah, beyond belief. But guilty, too. Why had he ever believed the cops’ conclusion about that night?
But if his dad didn’t do it, then someone else murdered them all. Ryan shot to his feet. He paced, fists clenched, bare feet smacking the hardwood floor.
Who would do such a thing? A psycho? Then why hadn’t the nutcase been caught committing similar atrocities? That kind seldom stopped killing voluntarily.
But if the murders were done in cold blood for a reason, then finding the cause would reveal the killer. Sure, the police were back on the case, but why should he trust them? They’d treated the tragedy like a slam-dunk murder/suicide and closed the book. Now, ten years after the fact, the authorities were sniffing up a cold trail with dozens of hotter cases piled on their docket.
No, he was the only one with a strong enough motive to dig and not give up until he found something.
Dad, I promise I’ll find out who killed our ladies and you.
Too bad he couldn’t have a chat with Abel Morris and ask where the guy found the film. Miss Reid sure got stuck with a mess not of her own making, but maybe she knew something from scouring through the building that she didn’t realize was important. It might be in his best interests to be friendly with her. He’d shot himself in the foot tonight with his prowler act, but maybe finding the cat had helped his cause.
Tomorrow, he’d do what he could to cement a better impression. Besides, even if nothing further panned out in the investigation, a guy would be certifiable to pass up the opportunity to get acquainted with a smart, fine-looking woman who showed rare character by turning in those photos. Not many people would step forward these days to get involved in someone else’s troubles. He knew lots of people who would have just shredded the nasty pictures and gone on with their lives without a second thought.
Ryan stretched out on the bed and willed his limbs to relax. What would it take to make Miss Reid smile?
At 9:00 a.m., someone knocked on the front door of the cleaners. Not the police. They were already here. She answered the summons to find a grinning teenage