Dawn Stewardson - Close Neighbors

He looked out over the pool once more, then said, “But you’re really convinced I should phone them?”

“Give me a minute to think,” she murmured. A whole lot of questions were drifting in the slipstreams of her mind. One of them, though, overshadowed all the others combined.

How likely was it that Rachel actually had killed Graham Lowe?

CHASE SAT WATCHING ANNE and wishing he could read minds. He didn’t want to interrupt her thoughts, but he was awfully curious about exactly what they were. Awfully curious and awfully worried. Her reaction would be probably much like a jury’s, so…

He stopped himself right there. His sister was innocent, which made thinking along those lines absolutely ridiculous. Still, he had the distinct impression that Anne didn’t entirely believe Rachel’s story.

Not that she seemed anywhere near as suspicious as those detectives had been. On the other hand, she didn’t know all the details yet.

Maybe, before he got into the rest of them, he should explain that Rachel could never in a million years kill a mouse, let alone a man. Tell her, for example, about the time he’d bought a wasp trap for the backyard—and how she’d refused to let him put it up, even though eating outside meant either having to share your food with the damned wasps or risk getting stung.

Finally, he decided that, for the moment, he’d be wise to just keep quiet and see what Anne had to say.

Looking away from her, he ordered himself to think about anything other than Rachel’s problem. He’d been dwelling on it, nonstop, since yesterday morning. If he didn’t start taking the occasional mental break he’d be a basket case in no time.

After rejecting a couple of possible subjects for thought, he settled on the question of why a woman like Anne was unattached. She was great looking, obviously smart, and she had both a friendly manner and a smile that made him feel warm inside whenever she flashed it at him. So why wasn’t there a husband on the scene? Or a boyfriend?

Actually, he knew why there was no husband. She was divorced. Rachel had learned that from the real estate woman—via their ex-neighbor. As for lack of a boyfriend, he was only guessing at that.

If there was one, though, surely he’d be here helping her settle in. Or she’d have said she had someone coming later to help her arrange the furniture. When women were unavailable, or not interested, they always let men know.

But why on earth had he started contemplating the status of Anne Barrett’s love life? He certainly had no ideas about…

No, definitely no ideas along those lines. Not with her or any other woman. Julie, Rachel and he might not add up to a standard household, but their living arrangement worked for all three of them. And…

Rachel. Despite his best efforts, his thoughts returned to the problem at hand. The serious, ugly problem.

He looked across the patio table at Anne again, deciding he would have a shot at telling her what kind of person his sister was. But before he could begin, the gate between the yards creaked. When he glanced over, Rachel was standing in the opening.

“Mind if I join the party?” she asked tentatively. “Julie’s gone next door to play with Becky for a while. But before she left, she told me what you were talking about.”

“My sister,” he said to Anne, even though she’d already have figured that out.

She smiled across the yard at Rachel, which, for some reason, made him feel a touch better about this damn situation.

“I’m Anne Barrett,” she was saying. “And you’re exactly what the party needs.”

While Rachel Nicholson started around the end of the pool, Anne tried to size her up without being totally transparent about it.

Six or seven years younger than her brother, somewhere in her mid-twenties, she had deep brown eyes the same rich chocolate shade as Chase’s. At the moment, there were dark shadows beneath them. That, along with her bleak expression, gave her an utterly stressed-out appearance.

At about Anne’s height, five foot five or six, and as slightly built, she certainly didn’t look like a woman who could wrestle control of a gun from a police detective. Of course, Chase’s caller hadn’t said she’d gotten control of it—only that it had gone off while she’d been trying to.

As Rachel neared the patio, Anne said, “I hope you don’t think I’m sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong, but—”

“Oh, no, that’s not what I think at all. Julie explained that she came over because she figured you might be able to help. And if Chase thinks so, too…”

After shooting her brother an anxious glance, Rachel looked at Anne again. “I’ll really appreciate any advice you can give us. Chase and I were even wondering whether we should talk to a lawyer, but I guess he’s mentioned that.”

“I hadn’t quite gotten to it,” he told her.

“We were still trying to decide what you should do about the extortion call,” Anne said.

Not that it was actually a matter of deciding. Rather, it was a matter of convincing them to report it. All taking time to think had done was reassure her that was the only thing to do.

Of course, those detectives would wonder why Chase hadn’t phoned them last night. He was right about that. Still, he had to call them.

“Didn’t Chase tell you we’d already decided?” Rachel was saying uneasily. “We’re going to keep quiet about it.”

“Well…I understand why that seems like a reasonable idea, but—”

“Anne, the guy said he’d know if Chase talked to the police and—”

“Yes, I realize that’s what he said, but it’s awfully unlikely. How would he find out?”

“I think he’s a cop.”

The way Rachel said that, with conviction and not a second’s hesitation, told Anne she hadn’t arrived at the conclusion on the spur of the moment.

“There are all kinds of dirty cops,” she continued. “I probably sound paranoid, but I went with Graham for almost six months and I learned an awful lot about them.”

“I don’t think you sound paranoid,” Anne said honestly. “I was a P.I. for long enough to learn a lot about them, too.”

Rachel nodded, looking relieved. “Then you know the kind of scams they’ve got going. Now and then, Graham would tell me about some of them. And about how, if a cop has the right connections, he can find out pretty much whatever he wants. So when this guy says he’ll learn if Chase tells those detectives about the call, then I have to think that maybe he will.”

“I guess it’s possible.”

Anne hesitated, but she didn’t want Rachel thinking that by “possible” she meant “likely,” so she added, “The thing is, I have a problem with the idea of this guy in the park being a cop. Mugging just isn’t the sort of thing dirty cops are normally into.”

“But that doesn’t mean one of them can’t be. Or there could be more than one person involved. What if the mugger wasn’t a cop, but the guy who phoned Chase was? Maybe the mugger told him what had happened and the cop came up with the extortion plan.”

“No,” Anne said. “A mugging goes wrong and turns into a killing, then the killer admits this to a cop? That just doesn’t add up.”

“But…it might. If we’re talking about a crooked cop and a criminal who’ve worked together before. And maybe it was the mugger who came up with the extortion idea, but he realized he’d have a better chance of pulling it off if he had help. So he told the cop exactly what happened, then they came up with their plan to…” As her words trailed off, Rachel shook her head.

“Look,” she continued a moment later, “I know that doesn’t really add up, either. But when someone says that if Chase talks to the police about the phone call I’ll find myself framed for murder, it scares the hell out of me.”