Scott frowned apologetically and opened the door. “Thank you for your time.”
Kate stepped out into the hot early evening with Scott following after her. As soon as the door was closed, Bob broke out screaming at Nancy on the other side.
“I think he’s good for this,” said Kate, as they walked to his truck.
“Tell me you got something.”
“Tell me my methods of sneaking around work just fine.”
He shot her a sideways glance and playfully shoved her shoulder.
“I’ll take that as confirmation,” she teased.
When they reached the truck, Kate set her tool kit in the truck bed and climbed into the passenger’s seat, as Scott settled behind the steering wheel and turned the engine.
“Look what I got,” said Kate, setting the plastic container on the dashboard. “It’s a mouth guard.”
“Bob’s?”
She nodded, adding, “And it’s chock-full of DNA.”
As they drove, night falling over Rock Ridge, he asked, “It’s not too late to buy those ingredients, is it?”
After picking up Josie from the house and thanking Maxwell, they first drove to the precinct where Scott left the mouth guard with the forensic department, asking that they put a rush on the test. Then they drove to the supermarket where Scott was once again acting like a kid in a candy store. He smiled, grabbing the ingredients he had listed on his note pad, as Kate pushed the shopping cart.
When they got home, Kate breast-fed Josie as Scott got started on cooking dinner. Once their daughter was full and sleepy, Kate put her down in her crib and joined her husband in the kitchen where they chopped vegetables and drank wine. An hour later they ate chicken fettuccine at the dining room table and celebrated the first night of their vacation.
“We make a pretty good team,” said Scott, smiling at her.
She leaned in and gave him a kiss in response.
Chapter Twelve
The cemetery was hot and sunny. The sun beat down from the cloudless sky and though there were small trees scattered throughout the headstones, none offered shade where the funeral procession had gathered.
Kate fanned herself with her hand and waited at the edge of the cemetery, while Scott locked up the truck. They had hired Maxwell to babysit Josie. Neither Kate nor Scott wanted their daughter to suffer in the heat.
Scott stepped onto the grass as Officer Chesterfield pulled up in a police cruiser. His partner, Officer Taite, was in the passenger’s seat. As they climbed out, Kate spied Sandra dressed in black and hunched in the back of the cruiser. She seemed annoyed to still be treated like a criminal, but when Chesterfield let her out, she brushed off her bad mood and locked her gaze on the mourners who had gathered.
Scott shook hands with Chesterfield then Taite, asking them how the security detail was going, as Sandra approached Kate.
“Please tell me this will all be over soon,” said Sandra. “I don’t know how much longer I can live cooped up in a motel with two armed officers outside my door.”
“Soon,” she assured her.
“But not yet,” she surmised, gazing off again at the crowd in the distance. “They aren’t going to be happy I’m here.”
“The Robillards?”
Sandra touched eyes with her long enough to nod and Kate was tempted to ask her if she had ever invited Bob Robillard into her home. After a moment, the urge was too strong to fight, so she did.
Sandra’s response was, “Ages ago—and I mean years. Way before I got involved with Nathan.”
“Why was he in your house?”
“For a period, I wasn’t sure I would have any use for my instruments. I was trying to sell them, and Bob came over to check out a few guitars. Ultimately he didn’t buy either and then I realized I didn’t want to sell anything. Having a musical outlet is a good compliment to being hunched over a computer all day.”
“Sandra,” said Kate. “Why didn’t you mention this?”
“It slipped my mind and honestly, it was years ago, maybe eight. And I had a number of people come in and out.”
“Eight years ago?” Kate thought about the long timeline. “But you’ve played that baby grand piano since then, right?”
“Oh, no, I don’t play piano. I’m not sure why I bought it...well, that’s not true. It was being sold for a few hundred bucks, how could I not? I think I fiddled, hitting a few keys when I first got it in my music room, but I never thought to learn how to play it.”
Scott neared them, asking, “Shall we?”
They made their way over to the grave where dozens of people were gathered. Mr. and Mrs. Robillard were standing with Charles, who was dressed sharply in a dark suit. Kate spotted Hunter Cole, Marcus Wheaton and Kiernan Kirkland in the mix. Though the Robillards’ extended family seemed to be a large one, most of the attendees looked about Nathan’s age, so Kate figured they were his high school or maybe college friends.
The priest said a few words to Bob Robillard that Kate couldn’t make out, and then he began with a prayer.
Kate glanced at the casket, unsure of where else to look, as Scott took her hand and Sandra began whimpering.
Bob’s eyes snapped up to the writer, and Kate noticed that Mr. Robillard didn’t look irate or annoyed as he had yesterday. He seemed regretful, and the longer she stared at him, the clearer his mood became to her.
Had Bob been in love with her?
Was that what all this was about?
Had he harbored an eight-year infatuation and not been able to handle knowing that his very own son had won the heart of the woman he most wanted?
Had he gone so far as to murder his own flesh and blood just so that he wouldn’t have to watch a love affair blossom right in front of his eyes?
Kate thought about it and considered how Bob had treated Nancy and his younger son. He had acted as though he wanted nothing to do with them, as if they inconvenienced him—as if they didn’t matter to him.
Was Sandra the only one who did?
As the priest indicated to the groundskeeper that he could lower the casket into the ground, Kate tapped Sandra on the arm and pulled her aside.
She couldn’t wait for the forensic department to get back to her. She couldn’t risk the legal loopholes that Bob’s defense attorney might use if he were arrested and this thing went to trial. She wanted a confession and she had an idea of how to get one.
“Sandra, I need your help,” she said softly.
The writer furrowed her brow, confused.
“It’s looking like Bob Robillard did it.”
“What? That’s crazy.”
“It is, but that doesn’t change the strong likelihood. We’re waiting on a test that could confirm it, but I think he’ll admit it to you.”
“Why on earth would he admit it to me?”
“I think he’s obsessed with you.”
“No…no way,” she whispered. “He’s not obsessed with me. He hates me. He couldn’t stand that Nathan and I were seeing each other.”
“There’s a very fine line between love and hate,” she pointed out. She glanced over her shoulder and the group was taking turns tossing roses onto the casket that was now deep in its grave. “Here, take my cell,” she said, quickly cuing up the recorder app and handing it over. “Get him talking. Imply that Nathan’s death wasn’t the end of the world and that you’ve been thinking about him. He’ll do the rest.”
“This is nuts.”
“Just do it. If it goes well, Scott can arrest him. If it doesn’t, then you’ll have one more interesting experience to write about. Look,” she said, when it seemed she was losing Sandra. “He used the string from your piano. It was partially an homage, but he also wanted you to go down for this crime. He wanted to punish you. But he’s not going to want that if he thinks he can finally have you.”
Sandra looked ill but nodded, and Kate wished her good luck as the writer made her slow way over to Bob Robillard.
Kate watched them from the sid
elines as Sandra managed to pull Bob away from his family. They wandered toward a tree, talking.
Scott joined Kate and nodded at Sandra and Bob. “What the hell is that all about?”
“I’m going for a recorded confession.”
“Damn it, Kate,” he blurted out. “You need to keep me informed of these things.”
“I’m informing you now.”
“No, you don’t get it. Even if she does get him to confess—”
“Which is being recorded.”
“Even worse, Kate. The D.A. can’t use it, because he isn’t being recorded legally.”
“Oh, technicalities, technicalities,” she said. “Sandra can testify that Bob told her he did it.”
“Our best shot at this,” he shot back, “is the mouth guard and we’re just going to have to be patient until those test results come back. What is it with you and having no patience?”
“I’m not sure. When I see something that’s broken, I fix it. Why wait?”
Scott lowered his gaze, fishing in his slack’s pocket for his cellphone as it buzzed softly. “It’s the lab,” he stated, swiping the LCD screen and answering the call. “York.”
Kate watched him intently, as he listened to the results. His brow furrowed.
“There has to be a mistake,” he said.
She blurted out, “What’s a mistake?” but Scott waved her quiet and kept listening.
After a long moment, he lowered his cell and in a bewildered voice said, “It wasn’t Bob.”
“It has to be.”
“It wasn’t. The mouth guard DNA didn’t match the ski mask or the piano string.”
Kate glanced at Sandra and Bob, and then scanned the dispersing crowd until she saw Nancy Robillard.
The woman was glaring at Bob and Sandra, and Kate thought she might charge over and confront her abusive husband for flirting.
“Not possible,” she said under her breath.
“That we’re back at square one?” Scott groaned. “That’s how it goes sometimes.”
But she wasn’t listening to him. Instead she studied Nancy and got a very bad feeling.
Quickly, she crossed the grass toward Sandra and Bob, virtually out of breath when she reached them. She asked Sandra, “Has Nancy been in your house recently?”
“What?”
Bob looked annoyed at the interruption.
“Just answer the question.”
“Uh...” Sandra began stammering. “Like maybe a few weeks ago. She confronted me about Nathan.”
Bob barked, “Would you excuse us? We were speaking privately.”
“Bob,” she said abruptly, “did you ask Nathan to meet you on your roof to help fix a leak?”
“A leak? Our roof doesn’t leak, it’s fine.”
But Nancy had told Kate that they had done just that. And she had been in Sandra’s house recently. Why would Nancy kill her own son?
Before she could ask as much, Nancy whipped her black scarf around her husband’s neck from behind and began strangling him. Sandra screamed with shock, as Bob jerked and bucked, trying to free himself.
But Nancy was unrelenting, as she tightened the scarf, hissing words through her teeth, “You ruined him. You ruined our son. You turned him into you.”
Scott was rushing over, drawing his gun and yelling for the others to stay back.
“Do you know what it was like for me to see my precious son turn into a monster? You pushed him to drag race. You pushed him to be distant and treat me badly just like you do. And when he went for the same woman you had fallen in love with, I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Nancy, let go of him,” Scott yelled, aiming his weapon at her, but unable to get a clear shot with Bob twisting and thrashing.
“You should’ve let me take Charlie,” she went on. “You should’ve let us go. I would’ve walked away. I could’ve forgotten about you horrible people, but you just couldn’t let me, could you?”
Finally, Bob pitched forward, taking Nancy with him. She careened over him, hitting the ground hard, as he gasped for air and stumbled off, soon dropping to the grass.
Scott swooped in and apprehended Nancy, as Sandra looked on it utter confusion, mumbling, “It was Nancy? Nancy did it?”
Off to the wayside, everyone was staring as Scott yanked Nancy off the ground and passed her off to Officer Chesterfield, who cuffed her hands behind her back and hauled her across the grass toward his police cruiser.
Kate glanced over at Charlie. He looked scared, cowering.
Not all endings are happy, she thought to herself.
Not for the Robillards at least. What would become of Charlie if left in his father’s care? Would Bob harden the sweet boy into something awful, as he had Nathan? Or would the young boy weather his upbringing with strength and turn out just fine?
There was just no telling.
That afternoon, when Scott and Kate finally returned to their house, having thrown Nancy Robillard into a jail cell and called to check on Bob and Charlie, Kate took Josephine from Maxwell’s arms and held her tight.
Maxwell stayed and helped Scott cook a big lunch, which they ate outside, sitting on a picnic table in the sun. Kate drank wine, but kept a close eye on Scott—she didn’t want him overdoing it again.
As she laughed and played with her daughter, as she kissed Scott and joshed around with Maxwell, she wondered how much longer she would be able to stand not having moments like this every second and for the rest of her life.
She was finally considering—seriously considering—hanging up her tool belt forever.
MURDER AT THE MANSION
Chapter One
A cool, autumn breeze rushed through the open French doors where Kate was sweeping the marble floor clean. The air felt crisp and smelled fresh, and when she lifted her gaze to glance at the natural landscape, she couldn’t believe how much Rock Ridge had changed in only a few months.
This mansion.
Kate had been contracted to build the four-story home with the help of Wentworth Contractors. Set on twelve acres on the east side of town, the mansion was a French design and boasted six bedrooms, five bathrooms, a ballroom, a library, and a massive kitchen fit for a chef. Also included were separate quarters for the housekeeper and an additional guesthouse out back for the grounds-keeper to live in.
It wasn’t simply that one new house—as grand as it was—had the power to change her beloved town, but rather it was the person who had bought the land, paid an architect to design the home, and hired Wentworth Contractors to build it over the course of sixty days.
Hans Geoffrey.
A Swedish billionaire, Hans had set his sights on Rock Ridge, Pennsylvania, for reasons that Kate couldn’t even begin to wrap her head around. But she feared that if a person like Hans could discover this rural town, then so would others. She wondered if by this time next year, she would be able to recognize the areas she had called home for well over forty years.
Hans was due to arrive in the early evening. Kate had never met the guy but had heard stories about his entitled personality through Justina Augustine, the top realtor of Carnegie Real Estate, since the billionaire had hired her to oversee the project in tandem with the manager of Wentworth Contractors.
Dean had finagled a deal with Hans. As the owner of Wentworth Contractors, as well as being the mayor of Rock Ridge, Dean had made arrangements with the stanch billionaire to hold his election fundraiser here at the mansion. It was because of this that an event coordinator was now leading her team into the ballroom.
“We have three hours to turn this mansion into an extravagant party,” she explained, shouting so that she wouldn’t be misunderstood. A polished woman in her early thirties, Marcy Clapton had apparently worked for Hans Geoffrey for years and wasn’t entirely thrilled to have been yanked out of Sweden and dumped in a small town she’d never heard of. Her hair was light blonde and though she had no accent, her tone was deep and booming and a perfect match to her hefty figure. “Cat
erers and waiters, I’ll show you to the kitchen. Bartenders, the bar is at the back of the ballroom,” she went on, directing all of them to their designated areas.
Kate closed the French doors and picked up the dustpan she’d used to collect the dregs of the leftover debris after having finished sanding the archway where the French doors now sat.
Marcy approached Kate and demanded, “Where is Justina?”
“In transit, I assume,” said Kate, hoping not to ruffle the brash coordinator’s feathers. She hadn’t exactly been getting along with Marcy since the woman had been breathing down Kate’s neck for the past two months. “She should be here soon with the furniture from Corey’s Cabinets.”
“To stage the bedrooms, et cetera,” she supplied, in a sense reminding herself. She seemed annoyed that filling the various rooms with furniture and flowers hadn’t happened yet.
“Justina will have seven guys with her,” said Kate to set Marcy’s mind at ease. She could tell what she was thinking, what she was worried about, that guests would soon arrive and the movers would still be getting things squared away. “I’m sure it won’t take them long.”
Marcy grumbled something under her breath that Kate couldn’t hear because the coordinator had buried her face in her clipboard, making notes. When she lifted her head, she said, “Make sure three rose bouquets are placed in the master bedroom. If Hans doesn’t smell flowers in his room when he arrives...” she trailed off as though the result would not be good.
“I was planning on heading out,” said Kate, and the coordinator locked eyes with her.
“Were you?” she challenged, glancing around the ballroom. “Because your work doesn’t look done to me.”
“What haven’t I done?” she countered.
Marcy stared at her for a long moment then said, “I’ll think of something.”
Kate did not like this woman. She wasn’t a schoolgirl. Marcy wasn’t her principal and didn’t have the right to hold or excuse Kate based on her whims.
“I’ll be going now,” she asserted. “Union orders. Plus, I have to get ready for the fundraiser.”
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