Dawn Stewardson - Close Neighbors

A month or so ago, when Rachel had learned who’d bought the Kitchner house—and that she’d be moving in alone—she’d shown him Anne’s photo on the back of one of Julie’s books. To say it didn’t do her justice was an understatement.

Her dark hair, longer and shaggier than in the picture, framed a face with high cheekbones, big brown eyes, a cute little nose and the sort of lush lips some women acquired through collagen injections.

She didn’t seem the sort who’d do that, though. She was more the casual, natural type. The type he liked.

He mentally shook his head, surprised that thought had even crossed his mind. In the past twenty-four hours, he’d discovered that when you had a sister at risk of being arrested for murder, and an extortionist breathing down your neck, you didn’t think about much else.

“WE’LL HAVE TO BE QUIET,” Chase told Julie as they started up the backstairs. “Rachel’s lying down.”

“Has she got one of her migraines?”

“The beginnings of one. She didn’t sleep well last night.”

“’Cuz she was too worried, right?”

He nodded. His daughter was no dummy, and now that she’d realized Rachel might be in serious trouble there was little point in trying to convince her otherwise.

They headed into his office, where the half-put-together model sat waiting for them. Initially, he’d only begun asking for Julie’s help as a way of spending more time with her, but her little fingers actually did make the jobs easier. And she generally concentrated so hard that she didn’t talk much, which was exactly what he needed today.

As long as he had silence, working with his hands helped him think—and he sure had to do some more thinking about that phone call.

When he’d hung up, he’d simply intended to tell Rachel about it, then call those detectives. But he hadn’t gone beyond step one, because she’d had a fit at the idea of telling the police. And while she’d made a convincing case against it, he wasn’t sure they’d come to the right decision.

Of course, if he called now, the cops would figure it was strange that he’d waited until today to phone them. But if he didn’t do that, what the hell should he do?

“Aren’t we gonna get started?” Julie asked.

“Uh-huh, I was just thinking about which section we’d work on first.” He reached for a tube of glue.

“Dad?” she said as he opened it.

“What?”

“Do the police really think Rachel killed Graham? Like all those reporters are saying?”

He slowly screwed the cap back onto the tube, searching for the right words.

“First off,” he finally said, “that isn’t exactly what the reporters are saying. They’re only suggesting it’s what the police might be thinking. And as I told you yesterday, they speculate about a lot of things when they shouldn’t.”

“But if the police don’t think it, then how come those detectives were here for so long yesterday?”

“Because they had to go over every detail of what happened the other night. Maybe something Graham said or something Rachel noticed will help them with the case.”

“But they were here forever.”

“Well, I think they’re probably even more thorough than usual when someone on the police force has been killed.”

Julie nodded slowly. That was something else scary. Graham knew all about bad people ’cuz he’d been a police detective. So if he could get killed, then anybody could.

She looked at her dad again, thinking he hadn’t exactly answered her question. “But they might be thinking Rachel killed him?”

“Darling…they didn’t tell her that she was under suspicion. And they didn’t say so when they talked to me, either.”

“But—”

“Baby, everything’s going to be just fine. Because she had nothing to do with it.”

“I know, but…” Julie paused, still not sure whether to tell Daddy she’d heard him on the phone. Or what she’d been talking to Anne Barrett about.

When she’d seen Anne sitting in her yard, she’d right away thought that going over and asking her for advice was a great idea. That Anne would know how they could make the police see Rachel hadn’t had anything to do with Graham getting killed.

But now she was thinking how Daddy always said not to talk about family stuff outside the house. So maybe she shouldn’t say she was going next door again until after she’d already been. ’Cuz once Anne told her what they should do to help Rachel, Daddy wouldn’t be mad.

Or maybe he would. She’d still have been talking about family stuff to a stranger.

Rats. She just didn’t know what to do.

“Julie? Why don’t you tell me exactly what you’re afraid is going to happen, okay?”

She swallowed hard. Sometimes her dad could read her mind, and she was pretty sure he was doing it right now.

“I’m…I’m mostly afraid they’ll put Rachel in jail.”

“I see. Baby, do you understand what circumstantial evidence is?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Well, it’s not like someone saying he saw who shot Graham. If anyone had, the police would know Rachel didn’t do it.

“But there wasn’t an eyewitness. And the fact she was with him before he was killed is one of the circumstances in the case. So it’s called circumstantial evidence. And because she was with him, the police have to consider the possibility she might have done it. You follow?”

“I guess. But…Daddy…” She took a deep breath, then let the words tumble out. “I heard you on the phone last night. What you said about fingerprints? And about calling the cops?”

Chase swore to himself.

“I didn’t listen on purpose. I was only coming to tell you dinner was ready.”

“Julie, don’t worry about what you heard, okay? After dinner, Rachel and I talked about it and decided the man who phoned was just some crazy person.”

“Honest?”

“Yes. So you do your best to forget about it. It didn’t mean anything.” He waited, certain his daughter wasn’t done quite yet.

Sure enough, she said, “When you came looking for me? When I was next door?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Anne was just gonna tell me how we could stop the police from thinking Rachel killed Graham.”

Chase simply stared at Julie. If she’d told Anne Barrett that she’d moved in next door to a murder suspect…It was hardly the sort of news flash that would make the woman’s day—to say the least.

“You told Anne that Rachel is the girlfriend the reporters are referring to?” he said at last.

“No, I didn’t get that far. I only got to saying I knew somebody with a problem. And Anne said she’d help me figure out what to do about it. But then you said I had to help you.”

Thank heavens for good timing.

“She said I could come back later, though.”

“Julie…I’m not clear on why you thought you should talk to Anne about this.”

“Because she knows all about what the police do. And about mysteries and stuff. When Penelope Snow figures things out in the books, that’s only make-believe. Really, it’s Anne.”

“I know, baby. But she doesn’t exactly figure things out. When she makes up a story, she puts in details that all fit together—so it seems as if Penelope Snow solves a mystery. That doesn’t mean Anne could figure out a real-life one.”

“Yes, she could. ’Cuz she used to be a private detective.”

Chase shook his head.

“She did! It says on her books. Right under her picture. I can show you.”

“No, it’s okay. Now that you’re saying so, I remember it does. But you can’t believe everything you read. No more than you can believe everything those TV reporters say.”

“But she was one,” Julie insisted. “She told me.”