Dawn Stewardson - Close Neighbors

“And none of them investigated?”

“No. According to the news, they all assumed it was a car backfiring. Maybe, if there’d been more than one…”

“Maybe,” she agreed, still wondering exactly what the truth was. “How long did it take to walk back to your car?” she asked Rachel.

“Only three or four minutes.”

That added up. Someone lurking in the trees wouldn’t have stepped out the moment she left the clearing. He’d have held off for a bit, in case she decided to come back, before confronting Graham.

Then the encounter between the two men would have taken a little time. So Rachel could easily have been gone before…The question was, had she been?

“After you finished telling the detectives what happened in the park,” she said, “where did the interview go from there?”

Rachel’s eyes filled with tears. “They touched on a couple of other things, then they came right out and asked if I’d killed Graham.”

The air turned deathly still. Even the aspens ceased their rustling, as if breathlessly waiting for the tale to continue.

Anne waited, as well. Then, when the silence grew uncomfortable, she said, “You know, asking if you killed him and actually believing you did are two different things. People almost never answer yes to a question like that, even if they’re guilty. But the police always ask. To see what reaction they get. Sometimes, it tells them a lot.”

“My reaction was that I started to cry,” Rachel murmured. “I knew there was no way Graham and I should get back together, but I was still a little in love with him. And even though I was awfully angry the other night…” She paused to wipe away a few tears that were making good their escape, then shook her head as more began to flow.

Her distress reminded Anne what she’d liked least about being a private investigator—having to press people who were so emotionally fragile they shouldn’t be forced to answer questions.

And when it came to Rachel, not only was she upset about Graham’s murder, she knew she was a suspect. That would be more than enough to induce emotional fragility. Regardless of whether she was innocent or guilty.

PEERING THROUGH A CRACK in the gate, Julie watched Rachel cry and tried to keep from crying herself. It was hard to do, now that she knew things were even worse than she’d realized.

When she’d asked Daddy if the police thought Rachel had killed Graham, he’d tried to make it sound as if they didn’t. Not really, at least. But they must. ’Cuz a minute ago, just as she was reaching for the latch, she’d heard Rachel say the detectives came right out and asked her if she’d done it.

After hearing that, Julie just hadn’t been able to open the gate until she’d heard a little more. Then Anne had started saying that maybe the police asking wasn’t as bad as it seemed. And that hadn’t been a good time to interrupt, ’cuz she’d wanted to hear why Anne thought it wasn’t so bad.

But after Anne was finished, Rachel had started crying, and she never liked anyone to see her cry, ‘specially Julie, so—

Her thoughts stopped dead as a wasp zoomed past her nose and began to hover midair, directly above the plate she was carrying. Rats! She should have put plastic wrap on it.

Slowly, she took a step backward. The wasp stayed right with her, only an inch above the sandwiches.

Okay, what should she do? If she stepped forward again and reached for the latch, she might get stung. But if she didn’t, the wasp was going to land. And she could never, ever, not in a zillion years, eat food a wasp had walked on.

Deciding, she called, “Dad? Dad, come open the gate. Fast! But be careful ’cuz there’s a wasp.”

A chair scraped across Anne’s patio; a second later she could see her father heading for the fence.

“Careful,” she said again, as he neared it.

He cautiously opened the gate, then slowly brushed at the air in front of the wasp. It was a trick she’d never dare try, but it sometimes made them back off. When it did this time, she stopped holding her breath.

“I came home from Becky’s ’cuz it was getting near lunchtime,” she explained as he took the plate from her. “But when I looked out from the kitchen you were all sitting there talking. So I made sandwiches and was gonna call you. Then I thought that maybe Anne didn’t have any food in her house, so I made an extra one. That was okay, huh?”

“Of course,” he said as they started toward the patio. “It was very thoughtful. Hope you like peanut butter and jelly,” he added to Anne.

“One of my favorites.”

“It’s grape jelly,” Julie told her, pretending not to notice the way Rachel was wiping her eyes. “And crunchy peanut butter.”

“Mmm. That’s the best combination going.” Anne gave her a friendly smile, then pushed back her chair and said, “I’ll go get us something to drink.”

“Can I help?”

“Sure. You’ll know what everyone would like. Not that I have much to choose from yet, but…” She shrugged and smiled again, then turned toward the house.

Julie followed along inside, not letting herself look back at Rachel.

“A mess, isn’t it.” Anne gestured toward a stack of cartons.

“Kind of. But that’s okay when you just moved in.”

“I guess. Orange juice, iced tea or water,” she added, checking the fridge.

“Ah…juice for me. And iced tea for Dad and Rachel. Please,” she added, remembering her manners.

“Coming right up.” Anne took the two pitchers from the fridge and set them on the counter. “Now, if I can just find some glasses…”

“Anne?”

“Yes?” She looked up from the carton she’d stooped to open.

“You’re gonna be able to help Rachel, aren’t you?”

“Well, I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Promise?”

Anne sat back on her haunches and met Julie’s gaze. “Didn’t I promise earlier?”

“I thought you might have forgotten.”

“No, I take promises very seriously. Rachel hasn’t finished telling me the whole story, though, so I’m still not sure she really needs my help. But whether she does or not, I’ll bet everything’s going to be just fine.”

Julie nodded, thinking “everything’s going to be just fine” were the exact same words her father had used this morning. But what if both he and Anne were wrong?

That possibility made her eyes sting and her throat hurt. She didn’t know what she’d do if the police put Rachel in jail.

Looking at Anne again, she reminded herself that Penelope Snow didn’t really solve all the mysteries in her books. Anne did. So maybe everything would be fine.

“You know what?” she said.

“No, what?”

“Rachel always says that if something’s scary to think about, you should just not let yourself think about it.”

“You mean like noises in the night?”

Even though it wasn’t exactly what she meant, she nodded.

Anne smiled. “Well, that sounds like pretty good advice to me. But here, I haven’t got a clue where to find a tray, so you take a couple of these glasses, okay?”

“Sure.”

She followed Anne back outside, feeling way better. For the whole rest of the day, if even one single thought about anything awful happening to Rachel snuck into her head, she was just going to chase it straight back out.

CHASE DRAINED THE LAST of his iced tea and glanced at his daughter. The sooner Rachel told Anne the rest of the details, the sooner they’d find out just how bad she thought things were. But they certainly couldn’t pick up where they’d left off in front of Julie.

She popped the final bite of sandwich into her mouth, gazed longingly at the pool for a moment, then focused on Anne. “Are we still going swimming?”