Deadly Exposure. Cara Putman
the latest on last night’s murder at the Lied Center. Dani.”
Dani smiled at Rochelle. Taking a deep breath, she turned to camera two. She imagined Aunt Jayne on the other side of the lens. “Last night, a university graduate student was murdered during act 1 of Cats.” She filled in the few details that she could, before turning back to the anchor. “Rochelle, police ask that anyone having any information about this crime call the CrimeWatchers’ hotline.”
“Thanks, Dani. When we return, Mike will fill us in on the weekend weather.”
A commercial filled the air, and Dani slipped off the microphone. She left the studio and ran headlong into Kate Johannson.
“Miss Richards. Please come to my office for a moment.” Underneath her calm demeanor, a bright red climbed Kate’s neck.
Dani braced herself for a torrent of words. Kate liked to pull staff into her office and berate them.
“I expected more in your report. Didn’t you forget something?”
“No. I reported everything I could without outside confirmation. We raced to confirm the victim’s name but couldn’t. Logan and I will find that tape.”
“The police haven’t denied her name, right?”
Dani nodded.
“You blew an opportunity—one delivered on a platter. Get your confirmation, or I’ll run her name and this will no longer be your story.”
SIX
Caleb pulled up to the victim’s house and parked behind the crime scene van. His contacts scratched his dry eyes, but his glasses sat at his cabin. He and Dani had spent a summer racing around the lake on his Jet Ski. The innocent sparkle and joy that had filled her eyes had disappeared. How much of that came from her job that forced her to see too much darkness? That aspect paralleled his career. Could they build something from the ruins of the past? He wanted the answer to be yes, but ten years ago Dani refused to see him after the night he’d pushed things too far. Based on her reaction during the last twenty-four hours that hadn’t changed.
The deep rattle of a vehicle that could only be Westmont’s caught his attention and pulled him from the past. The engine quieted down with a last hiccup.
“Sounds even worse than last week.” Caleb walked toward the car with a grin. He tapped the hood and watched Westmont leap from the car.
“Careful.” Westmont’s expression flashed pain. “The mechanics only made her worse.”
“That’s possible?”
A screen door slammed, and Caleb looked up to see the techs exit the house. Now he could walk through the rooms, and if lucky, learn something about Renee Thomas’s killer.
Caleb deposited his empty cup inside his car and started up the sidewalk. Westmont caught up as they flashed their badges to the officer posted at the door.
Renee’s bungalow was built in the 1930s. The tiny porch contained a single plastic chair which one stiff Nebraska wind would blow across the yard like a tumbleweed. From the front door, Caleb could see through to the back door. No photos or prints hung on the bland beige walls. She’d expended no effort to make the house a home. Either she rented or lacked the interest to decorate.
The office filled with bookshelves, file cabinets and an overflowing desk beckoned him from the right of the entry way. A bonanza of personal information waited. “I’ll start here.”
“Glad to leave you the paper. Can’t stand the paper cuts. I’ll check her bedroom.” Westmont disappeared down the hallway.
Caleb pulled on a pair of gloves and opened drawers and rifled papers. The drawers contained a haphazard assortment of bills and advertisements shoved on top of pens, notepads and stamps. How had she located anything in that jumble?
He pulled open the file cabinet. Cleanly labeled folders lined the first drawer in contrast to the messy desk. Satellite. Phone. Credit Cards. He pulled those files out.
Next, he grabbed a file labeled House and opened it.
The file contained a copy of the recorded deed, purchase agreement and her real estate taxes. He didn’t know many graduate students who owned houses, even small ones. Maybe a wealthy uncle or grandpa had helped her.
The doorbell rang. The officer standing guard should intercept the visitor. When the doorbell rang again, Caleb craned his neck to see who stood on the porch. The angle was all wrong and none of the vehicles on the street looked familiar.
The doorbell rang a third time, and Westmont strode down the hallway.
Caleb waved him into position behind the door. “Coming.”
“Five bucks says media’s on the other side.”
Caleb raised his eye to the peephole. With a flourish he opened the door. “Dani Richards.”
“Hello, Caleb.” She smiled up at him with a lovely sparkle in her eyes and stepped closer. “I wondered if I could look around since the crime scene guys are gone. Hmm. She didn’t decorate much.”
Caleb stifled a grin at the cute way she tried to slip past him. He had to hand it to her. The woman had gumption. “You know I can’t do that, Dani.”
“I found the victim. Doesn’t that earn me one look?” She flashed a flirtatious smile that he soaked in for a moment. She must really want to see what was inside to try to blind him with the charm that had been absent the day before.
“I wish I could, but I’d violate all kinds of procedure. Can’t let you disturb evidence.”
“I only want to look around. I didn’t even bring a camera.”
“Nope. Can’t do it. I’d be happy to walk you to your car though.” Caleb eased out the door and closed it behind him.
Dani’s smile turned into an expression that could freeze a lake in an instant. “You won’t help.”
“Not today.”
“Thanks a lot.” Her eyes sparked at him as she spit the words out. “Don’t bother walking me to my car.”
Caleb watched until Dani’s car pulled onto the street. He shook his head at her antics. Dani reminded him a lot of his sister, and he couldn’t give that compliment to many women. Too bad she’d hate him for the rest of her life. Where had the officer gone? If disappearing on the job was a regular practice, he’d stay a junior officer for the rest of his career.
“Westmont, any idea where our guard went?”
“Nope. I’ll check out back. I bet he’s stretching his legs.”
“Thanks.” Caleb returned to the House file. He scanned the deed and stopped cold. He reread the document. Phil Baker. Evening anchor at Channel 17. Dani Richards’s station. Did she know the connection?
He set the deed aside for Westmont.
The purchase agreement came next. Caleb’s jaw dropped when he saw the price. Renee brought the house from Phil Baker two months earlier for twenty-five thousand dollars. He wasn’t a real estate agent, but the house could sell for a hundred and twenty-five thousand more. Caleb jotted down questions he wanted to ask Mr. Baker, like why he sold the house for a song.
Binders labeled Research stood on their sides in the bottom drawer. The well-organized volumes looked to contain notes about her university projects. He’d assign those beasts to someone else.
He closed the file drawer. Bookshelves sagged under the weight of textbooks, an eclectic mix of science and psychology. She’d won a fellowship to the University of Nebraska. Maybe the fellowship had conditions attached to it.
The floor squeaked, and Caleb turned from the bookshelves.
“Johnson’s back out front.” Westmont pulled a small porcelain picture frame