“Nothing much. I’m starting to collect some casks for the wine and some other stuff I’m going to need to construct my wine cave, and yeah, I do have insurance. I’m gonna need it to replace the roof and at least one side—unless my deductible is too high.”
“Let me know if it is. My brother’s still doing construction, and he’d be happy to give you a deal on the job.” Cole squinted over Connor’s shoulder. “Is that Savannah Martell over there looking hotter than the sun?”
“She’s back.”
“For you?”
“What else?”
“No telling with that girl.” Cole blinked. “I mean, you know. Sorry, man. I’m glad if you two are back together.”
“We are, and don’t worry about it.”
Cole coughed. “Did the deputy tell you we found some footprints around the perimeter of the shack? Flip-flops.”
“Really? An arsonist wearing flip-flops?” Connor lifted his own foot. “Has to belong to the guy—or girl—who started the fire. I haven’t been out here in flip-flops.”
Another firefighter approached with an ax balanced on his shoulder. “We’re going to start working on the roof now, Mr. Wells.”
“Maybe I’ll talk to the deputy to find out if the guy left any more clues.” He nodded to Cole. “I’ll catch you later.”
Seeing his direction, Savannah, who’d been practically hopping from foot to foot, beat him to the deputy. When Connor reached them, she was asking about evidence.
The deputy answered, “We did find footprints around the shed—flip-flops.”
“One of the firefighters told me that. They’re not mine.”
“Not mine, either.” Savannah pointed to her sandals. “Does that further point to teenagers?”
The deputy shrugged. “San Juan is a beach town. A lot of people wear flip-flops—some all year long.”
“But to set a fire? It’s looking more and more like kids to me.”
Connor interrupted to shut her up. “Did you find anything else?”
“The jar used for the Molotov cocktail was one of those ones that people use to preserve fruit. My grandma used to do that, and I recognized it from a piece of glass.”
The sound of a blade splitting wood cracked through the air and Savannah grabbed his arm.
“They’re taking the roof down. Do you need me for anything else, Officer? I’m going to make some calls to my insurance company and maybe my friend’s brother to find out if he can do the repairs.”
Savannah dug her fingers into his biceps. “We’re not going to stay out here and watch them demolish the roof?”
“You can keep an eye on them if you want, Savannah. I’m going to make those calls, if there’s nothing else.”
“One more thing.” The deputy adjusted his equipment belt. “How come you never applied to the sheriff’s department after the San Juan PD went away? I’d heard you were a good cop.”
“That was six years ago. I’m surprised you remembered.” The familiar knots tightened in Connor’s gut.
“I never forgot that story about how those drug dealers went after your father, the chief, when he killed Manny Edmonds. That was some crazy stuff for this small town.”
Connor’s jaw tightened. “That situation didn’t have to end with my father’s murder. He’d been warning the sheriff’s department about Manny for years, and nobody listened to him.”
The deputy took a step back and a bead of sweat formed on his brow. “Didn’t know that.”
“It’s ancient history.” Connor rolled his shoulders and patted the phone in his pocket. “I’m going to make those calls now. Are you going to watch the demolition, Savannah?”
She nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Connor pulled his phone from his pocket and strode toward his house.
Savannah didn’t like being reminded of that ancient history, either, as Manny had been her mother’s husband, and Connor’s father had killed Manny to protect the Martell women.
His father had admitted to him later, and only because Connor had overheard a conversation between him and Georgie, that the kill hadn’t been in self-defense. He’d killed Manny in a fit of pure rage over what he’d been doing to Dad’s town...and what he’d been doing to Georgie Martell, which seemed the stronger motive. And Georgie and Savannah had lied to protect him, claiming Manny came at him with a weapon. They’d even planted Manny’s gun in his hand.
Connor slammed the front door behind him and perched on the edge of a stool at the granite island. If he were honest with himself, his father’s admission had done as much to sour him on police work as his death had. It had destroyed Connor’s trust in authority in general and his father in particular.
He wiped a trickle of sweat from his face and placed the first call to his insurance company.
About forty minutes later, Connor stepped onto his front porch, and Savannah, standing several feet from the shed and talking to Cole, waved her arms over her head to signal him.
Cole always did have a thing for Savannah.
Connor stepped off the porch and joined them. “All done?”
“Yeah, Chief Murray was just going to get you. Any luck with the insurance company?”
“They’re going to send out an adjuster tomorrow.”
One of the firefighters called out from the rear of a fire engine, and Cole waved back.
“Looks like we’re all done.” Cole touched Savannah’s shoulder. “Welcome back, Savannah, and my condolences on your ex-husband’s...death.”
“Thank you, Cole.” She patted his hand, still resting on her shoulder.
Cole tromped back to his truck, his gear making him look a lot bigger than he really was.
Connor took a step forward to stand beside Savannah, his shoulder bumping hers. “You told him?”
“Wouldn’t I? I talked to Dee today and she told me. He’d think it odd once he found out about Niles...and he will find out. Everyone will.”
“You’re right. Quick thinking.” In fact, all Savannah’s instincts so far had been right on—as if she’d rehearsed them. He rubbed two fingers against his temple. “Everything go okay out here otherwise?”
As she waved at the departing sheriff’s deputy, a tight smile on her face, she said, “They knocked down the roof, tore out the damaged wall, but didn’t touch anything inside.”
“They didn’t divulge any more clues to you as to who set this fire?”
“Nope. All they have is the piece of jar from the Molotov cocktail and the flip-flop prints. Doesn’t exactly narrow it down.”
“But doesn’t point to anyone following you here and trying to draw attention to the hidden knife. It didn’t work anyway.”
“Speaking of the hidden knife.” She tapped his shoulder. “Shouldn’t we check on it?”
The dust from the last emergency vehicle to drive through the gate settled, and Connor hacked out a breath that seemed to have been trapped in his lungs ever since they drove onto the property.
“Let’s look.” He turned and walked toward the damaged shed, with Savannah hot on his heels. As he ducked inside, his nostrils twitched at the smell of the soggy, burnt wood.
Savannah followed him in and stood in the middle of the space, hands on her hips. “At least with that entire wall down, we don’t need a flashlight, and it’s not unbearably hot. It must get dark in here at night.”
Connor grabbed a large screwdriver from a pile of tools on the floor, covered with ash, and pointed it at the wine cask at the end of a row. “I put it in there.”
He took two steps toward the hiding place and jimmied the spigot off the front of the cask. A flutter of fear whispered across the back of his neck before he thrust his hand inside.
“Well?” Savannah whispered the word in his ear, even though they were the only ones in the shed.
His fingers grasped the knife’s handle, crinkling the plastic bag around it. “Still here.”
“Thank God.” She grabbed a handful of his T-shirt. “Let’s get it out of here before the insurance adjuster and the construction workers descend tomorrow, or before the arsonist decides to come back and toss another homemade bomb at it.”
Connor eased the bag out of the cask. “I think I can find another place for it.”
“We can’t just destroy it? Get rid of it?” Savannah clamped down on her bottom lip with her teeth.
“It has blood on it, evidence. It might have the blood of the killer on it. You’d want to know that, wouldn’t you?” A muscle ticked at the corner of his mouth.
“Of course, unless...”
He cinched his fingers around her deceptively fragile wrist. Savannah had always been one of the strongest women he’d known. “You said you couldn’t have done it, even though you blacked out. No blood on you, no evidence, only those superficial wounds on your hand.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.” She twisted her arm out of his grasp. “Maybe my blood will be on that knife because the killer used it to cut my hands.”
“Either way, I don’t want to destroy this evidence if it is the murder weapon. We don’t even know if it is.” He cocked his head. “Did you hear that?”
“No. I can’t hear a thing over that giant fan the fire department left to dry the water.”
Connor cupped her elbow and steered her out of the shed. As they stepped outside, a dark Crown Vic rolled up and a man in a suit jumped out of the passenger side of the vehicle before it even came to a complete stop.
Savannah murmured out the side of her mouth, “Who the hell is this?”
A cold dread dripped down Connor’s spine, as he clutched the plastic bag with the knife in front of him.
The man in the suit adjusted his dark sunglasses and brushed some dust from the lapel of his jacket. “Savannah Wedgewood?”
“Yes, Savannah Martell, actually.” Her body had stiffened beside Connor’s and her fingers pinched the material of his shirt at the side.
“I’m Detective Krieger from the San Diego Sheriff’s Department, Homicide. This is Detective Paulson. We’re here to ask you some questions about the murder of your ex-husband, Niles Wedgewood.”
Chapter Five
The detective’s words acted like a sledgehammer to her solar plexus. She’d been expecting this visit, had been almost anxious to get it over with. But not while Connor was standing next to her with a bloody knife in his hands, bag or no bag.
She swallowed and opened her mouth, but her tongue and throat were too dry to form words.
Krieger’s bushy eyebrows jumped to his hairline. “I’m sorry. You knew about your husband’s death, didn’t you?”
“I—I did. His assistant, Dee Dee Rodriguez, told me earlier today.” She placed a hand against her stomach. “Just hearing it again punched me in the gut.”
“I’m sorry.”
She slid her arm around Connor’s waist, her fingers touching one edge of the plastic bag in his hands. “This is Connor Wells.”
“Mr. Wells.”
Krieger stuck out his hand, and Connor released the bag and took it.
“We just had a minor catastrophe on my property—a fire.”
The other detective stepped around the sedan, planting his black wingtips in the dirt. “Yeah, we saw the fire engines on our way in. Much damage?”
“Just a storage shed, nothing important and no injuries.” He waved the bag toward the house. “Would you like to come inside to conduct this interview?”
“Thanks.” Krieger gestured for his partner to follow Connor first, twisting his head around to survey the scorched shed.
Savannah swallowed hard and tried to avert her gaze from the plastic bag swinging from Connor’s fingertips.
Krieger’s gaze slid to Savannah’s face. “Quite a day.”
“Oh, that.” She flicked her fingers toward the shed. “Nothing compared to Niles’s death.”
Krieger bowed his head, and she moved in close behind him as if to block the shed from his view and his mind. The way Connor was waving that bag around had her heart skipping beats. He couldn’t excuse himself to hide it, but he’d better watch it or that knife would come flying out of the bag and land at the detectives’ feet—and then they’d be in real trouble.
She stumbled on the first step and bumped into Detective Krieger’s suited back. “Sorry.”
“Are you okay?”
“Rattled. Like you said, this has been quite a day.”
The detectives’ hard-soled shoes clattered on the wood floor as they maneuvered around the living room to take their seats.
“Something to drink?” Connor pulled out the trash drawer and placed the bag with the knife inside.
Krieger declined and Paulson requested a water.
Savannah didn’t dare look at the detectives and check if they’d noticed Connor throwing away the bag. Why wouldn’t he pick up some damaged items from the shed and dispose of them in the trash?
She smoothed her sticky palms against her skirt as she sat on the edge of the couch. The detectives had claimed the two chairs facing the couch—like an inquisition. They just needed the bright light.
Connor returned to the room with a glass of water for Detective Paulson and one for her. “Here, babe. Your throat’s probably scratchy from the air outside.”
Connor was jumping right in with their little deception. He used to call her babe when they were together. She tapped her fingers at the base of her throat. “You’re right. It is.”
She took a sip of water and then folded her hands around the glass, balancing it on her knee. “What can you tell me about my ex-husband’s murder, Detective Krieger? Dee Dee, Niles’s assistant, didn’t have much information and I read only a small blurb online.”
“He was stabbed to death, Mrs... Ms...?”
“You can call me Savannah, but I did return to my maiden name, Martell.” The cuts on her palm tingled. “Stabbed. How horrible.”
“I gather you were the last person to see him. You two had a drink last night at the Marina Sports Bar?”
“We did, yes.”
“Purpose of the meeting?” Krieger’s gaze shifted to Connor and back.
“Business.”
“You still own Snap App together. Is that right?”
“We do.” She wasn’t going to point out the obvious fact that the company belonged to her now—lock, stock and barrel.
“Your meeting was about Snap App?”
“It was.”
“Cordial?”
The corner of her lip twitched. “Not really, but no different from any other discussion Niles and I had—married, separated or divorced.”
“What was the reason for the divorce?” Again, that subtle shift of attention from her to Connor.
“Infidelity—his.”
Paulson cleared his throat. “What happened when you left Niles, Savannah? Where did you go? What did you do? When did you last see Niles?”
So, Paulson was the one to get to the nitty-gritty. Would he be the one to slap on the cuffs?
“We left the bar together. I got into Niles’s car with him to finish our discussion, he drove me to the corner and then I walked home. That’s the last time I saw him.” The ice in her glass tinkled as her hands trembled.
Paulson’s gaze dropped to her glass. “You walked home from the bar?”
“I walked to the bar, also. It’s less than a mile to my house, and I wanted to clear my head. That’s when I decided to come down here to see Connor—and that’s what I did.”
“You didn’t see your ex or hear from him after that?” Paulson hunched forward, so far that Savannah could see the freckle on his earlobe.
“I didn’t,
but there’s something I don’t understand.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Was Niles murdered in his home?”
“In his bedroom.”
She placed the glass on the coffee table and pinned her hands between her knees. “We had security cameras at that house. I know because I hired the company and oversaw their work. Wouldn’t Niles’s murderer be caught on tape?”
Krieger shook his head. “The security cameras were disabled.”
“Oh.” Savannah covered her mouth with her hand.
“We’re not even sure the killer is responsible for disabling the security system, because Ms. Rodriguez thought Niles was having problems with the system. Did you ever have problems with that system?”
“Not when I lived there.”
Paulson drained his water and tapped the glass with one finger. “Mr. Wells, what time did Savannah arrive at your house last night?”
Savannah’s heart pounded so hard the buttons on her blouse trembled. Surely, Paulson and Krieger could hear it beating.
“She came in around eleven o’clock.”
Paulson asked, “Were you surprised to see her, and at that time of night?”
“No.” Connor reached over and stroked Savannah’s wrist with the pad of his thumb. “We’d been talking about getting back together. Her meeting with her ex last night was the final straw, I think. The thing that finally convinced her we belong together.”
She grabbed Connor’s hand and kissed the back of it. How would she ever repay him for this?
Paulson scratched his chin. “So, you two were together from about eleven o’clock last night until now?”
“Except for the few hours I went to the beach this morning,” Connor said.
Paulson scooted forward in his seat. “What time?”
“Around eight to ten. Left Savannah sleeping. Wait.” Connor ran a hand through his longish hair and the ends flipped up. “You’re not looking at Savannah for this, are you?”
“What? Are you?” Savannah knotted her fingers together. “Wh-why?”
Krieger raised his shoulders to his ears. “Exes, acrimonious divorce and business deals. It’s natural we’d look at you.”
Her Alibi Page 5
