found Sawyer seated at his desk, the faint scent of good Scotch lingering in the air. He held up a glass. “Would you like one?”
She shook her head. “No, thanks, I’m not much of a drinker.”
He stared at the amber liquid. “I wasn’t until Erica’s death.” He drained the glass, then stood. “I realize I’m asking you to do something that has nothing to do with the duties I hired you for.”
She preceded him out of the office and headed for the stairs. “I don’t mind. I understand how important this is.”
“It’s not just my life we’re talking about, but it’s Melanie’s, as well.” His voice radiated suppressed emotion, and Amanda was grateful he was behind her and she couldn’t see the pain she knew darkened his eyes.
She had absolutely no reason to trust this man, no concrete reason to believe in his innocence, except the fact that she believed, in her heart, in her soul, that he had not committed the crime. Maybe she was crazy to be so sure. She certainly felt no fear of him, nothing to make her wary.
Still, the situation was heartbreaking. A man facing murder charges and a little girl at risk of losing the only parent she had left. Somehow the fact that Amanda would be without a job if Sawyer went to jail paled in comparison to the price Melanie would pay.
When she reached the top of the stairs, she stopped and let Sawyer take the lead. He didn’t take her to the end of the hall where she knew the master suite was, but rather opened the bedroom door that had been closed since Amanda had arrived at the house.
“Erica didn’t share my bedroom,” he said, and ushered her into a room that was a pink riot of ruffles and lace. Clothes were strewn everywhere and makeup and jewelry cluttered the top of a vanity dresser. “As you can see, she wasn’t into housekeeping, and the sheriff and his men weren’t exactly neat when they searched. I haven’t had anything done in here since…” His voice trailed off.
Erica wasn’t “into” housekeeping. She wasn’t into mothering and obviously she wasn’t into being faithful. Erica couldn’t be more alien to Amanda. She looked at Sawyer, wondering what was going through his mind as he looked at the bed where his wife had slept and the clothes she’d worn before her death.
His features were a stoic mask, giving nothing away of his internal thoughts. “The authorities searched here immediately after Erica was found, but they found nothing they thought might be important to the case.” The mask slipped slightly, and a fire of anger shone from his eyes. “I think most of the investigators had already come to the mistaken conclusion that I was their man.”
“Then let’s find something that proves them wrong,” she replied.
The anger in his eyes faded and a hint of gratitude took its place. “Why don’t I start in the closet and you can go through the drawers.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed.
As he disappeared into the walk-in closet, she went to the dresser and pulled out the top drawer. It contained panties and bras, little wisps of colorful material that Amanda couldn’t imagine fitting a grown woman. It somehow felt obscene, digging into items that had belonged to another woman, a woman who was no longer among the living.
If Amanda died and anyone went through her underwear drawer, all they would find would be white cotton underpants and sturdy, no-nonsense bras.
For about a half an hour, she and Sawyer worked in silence. The sound of him pulling things off shelves and opening boxes drifted from the closet, but other than that he didn’t make a sound.
The dresser yielded nothing but clothes. She took each drawer out and checked beneath to make sure there was nothing hidden on the bottom or inside the dresser.
When she was finished with the dresser, she moved to the vanity. Makeup, hand and body lotions and perfumes filled the two drawers. A jewelry box spilled its contents over the top of the vanity. Sparkling bracelets and necklaces competed with cocktail rings and shiny earrings. But there was nothing there to point a finger at a killer.
By the time she’d gone through those drawers, Sawyer stepped out of the closet, an expression of defeat on his handsome features.
“Nothing. I didn’t find anything that might be helpful.” He sat on the edge of the bed.
Amanda remained seated on the vanity stool. “I didn’t find anything, either. Is there anyplace else we could look? Anyplace else in the house where she might have kept private things?”
He leaned forward and covered his face with his hands, his shoulders slumped in obvious defeat. “I don’t know.” He straightened up and dropped his hands to his side. “It seems I knew less about the woman I was married to than I thought I did.” He looked around the room, then gazed back at Amanda.
“I was going to divorce her. I’d finally made up my mind. I’d stayed for Melanie’s sake but had come to the conclusion that Melanie would be better off coming from a broken home, rather than living in one. Then Erica was murdered.”
“You didn’t love her anymore?” Amanda asked. There was something contemplative in his expression, something that made her think he needed to talk.
He smiled wryly. “I’m not sure I ever truly loved Erica. It was definitely lust at first sight, and she fascinated me. She was unlike any woman I’d ever known before. She was unpredictable and passionate about life. She got pregnant with Melanie almost immediately and we got married.”
He looked around the room, then back at her. “Deep inside, I knew we’d made a mistake, that we had different ideas about marriage, about love. But then Melanie came and I hoped Erica would finally settle down.” He sighed. “I was wrong. What about you? Left some broken hearts in your path?”
She smiled and shook her head. “I’m certainly not the kind of woman to leave broken hearts behind.”
He tilted his head, his gaze intent as it lingered on her. “Now, why would you say something like that about yourself?”
She laughed self-consciously. “I’m not particularly fascinating. I don’t stir great passion in anyone.” She averted her gaze and tried not to think about the one person she’d apparently stirred something in, a young boy who had wound up dead.
“On the contrary,” Sawyer said, and she looked back at him. “I find several things about you quite fascinating.”
The air in the room seemed to thin, making it more difficult for her to catch her breath. “Like what?” she managed to ask.
He stood, walked over to her and held out his hand. “Let’s get out of here. This room reeks of unhappiness.”
She placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her out into the hallway. He dropped her hand when they reached the stairs, and she followed him down and into the living room.
He opened the French doors that led out to the patio. “How about we step outside and get a breath of fresh air?”
She followed him outside where the sultry night air closed in around them and the scent of flowers mingled with the underlying odor of thick vegetation.
Insects buzzed and clicked from the swamp and occasionally a ripple sounded
