“Probably not. I’ll leave early to drive into Baton Rouge for a day at the office. I’ll be home for dinner. If you need anything or have questions, Helen, our cook, will be able to help you.”
“Then I guess I’ll just say good-night,” she replied.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched her ascend. Something about her looked fragile, a shadow in her eyes, a touch of sadness to her features.
He hoped she was stronger than she looked, because he needed somebody strong and determined to stand by Melanie. He needed somebody who wouldn’t be chased away by rumors and a murder case that seemed to point a finger at nobody but him.
When she’d disappeared from his sight, he returned to his office and pulled a bottle of Scotch and a glass from his bottom drawer. He poured a liberal amount, then sat back in his chair and took a sip, enjoying the smooth warmth that slid down his throat.
This was what he’d done on the night of Erica’s murder. He’d sat in here and had drunk Scotch and seethed and stewed. He’d imagined his life without her, and the vision had been pleasing.
He’d been sick of her lies, the cheating and the knowledge that, not only was she tired of playing wife, she’d been tired of playing mommy. It had been that night that he’d made the decision to get her out of his life.
He now downed the Scotch and got up from the chair. He shut off the light in the office, then walked to the living room and stepped out of the French doors that led to the stone patio.
The moon had been full that night, and it was full again tonight. From this vantage point he could see the dock extending out over the glittering swamp. The hanging moss from the cypress trees appeared like gigantic silvery webs spun by gargantuan spiders.
The swamp was never silent. Insects buzzed and clicked a nighttime melody that had become as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.
His thoughts went back to the woman he’d invited into his home, into his daughter’s life. Amanda Rockport wasn’t what he’d been expecting. She was prettier than he’d imagined, not that he had any interest in pursuing anything romantic with her. She was his daughter’s nanny and nothing else.
He smiled with a touch of bitterness. Now wouldn’t that just set the local tongues wagging. He could just hear them speculating that he’d gotten rid of one woman to make room for another.
His smile faded. The way things were looking, he wouldn’t have time to stir up more rumors or start a relationship. The way things were looking, it was very possible he was going to spend the rest of his life in prison for Erica’s murder.
DESPITE THE LONG DRIVE the day before and the equally long evening, Amanda awakened early the next morning. The stress of a new place and a new bed to get used to hadn’t stopped her from sleeping well. She got out of bed and padded over to the window where the sun had yet to climb completely above the tops of the trees.
Vapor rose from the water, shrouding the swamp in a haunting mist. Kansas City, Missouri, didn’t have these kinds of views. It was a sober reminder to her that she was far away from home and dependent on a man who may or may not have murdered his wife.
She shook her head as if to dislodge this thought and instead left the window and crept through the bathroom and paused at Melanie’s bedroom doorway.
The little girl was asleep, burrowed beneath the pink ruffled bedspread with only the top of her head showing. Amanda softly closed the door of the bathroom, then took a quick shower.
When she was finished and dressed in a pair of jeans and a light blue T-shirt, it was just after seven. She checked in on Melanie once again. Seeing that she was still asleep, Amanda crept down the stairs.
There were two things she wanted…coffee and information and not necessarily in that order. Assuming that Sawyer had already left, she went into his office. Even though he’d given her permission to use the computer, she felt like an intruder as she sat in his chair and punched the power button.
As she waited for the computer to boot up she was aware of the scent of him lingering in the room. A combination of earthy cologne, of shaving cream and the underlying wisp of some kind of alcohol.
Last night she’d wanted to ask him more questions about the murder, but there had been something slightly forbidding in his eyes.
When the computer was up and running she went to a search engine and punched in the words Erica Bennett and murder. The search yielded half a dozen results, all from the Conja Creek Gazette.
The first article she pulled up was the initial report of the murder. It was brief, telling only that the body of Erica Bennett had been pulled out of the swamp and foul play was suspected.
The second article detailed the crime more completely. Erica Bennett had been stabbed six times before being shoved or falling into the swamp. She had been pregnant at the time of her murder. Sawyer Bennett was being questioned about the death of his wife. The rest of the articles indicated the investigation was ongoing and no arrests had been made.
Amanda leaned back in the chair, stunned by the knowledge that Erica had been stabbed, and equally surprised that she’d been pregnant. So Sawyer hadn’t only lost his wife, but he’d lost an unborn child, as well.
She shut down the computer, her mind whirling as she headed for the kitchen to find a cup of coffee. Helen stood at the stove. Her eyes narrowed slightly as Amanda entered the room.
“If you’ll take a seat in the dining room, I’ll serve you breakfast,” she said, no trace of friendliness in her voice.
“I’m not much of a breakfast eater and I’m not a guest. I work here, so I’ll just have my coffee in here.” She pointed to the round oak kitchen table.
“Suit yourself,” Helen replied, pulling a cup from the cabinet. She filled it with coffee, then set it in front of Amanda at the table.
Amanda slid into one of the chairs and watched the old woman as she began to peel carrots at the sink. “Have you worked here a long time, Helen?” she asked.
“Long enough,” Helen replied, offering no more information. Amanda took a sip of the coffee and stared out the window, where again she could see the place where Erica Bennett had lost her life.
“So, you knew Erica?” she finally asked.
“If you want gossip you’ve come to the wrong place.” Helen turned to look at her. “I don’t carry tales, and even if I did, I don’t know you well enough to talk about personal things. For all I know you’ll be gone tomorrow.”
“I have no intention of going anywhere,” Amanda countered.
Helen’s gray eyes studied her coldly. “Time will tell. Death came calling at this house and I got a feeling in my bones that bad things are still to come. I figure you’ll be out of here within a week.” She turned back to the sink.
Amanda took another drink of her coffee. She’d hoped to make an ally of Helen, but it appeared that wasn’t going to happen. She was truly on her own.
At that moment Melanie came into the kitchen. Still clad in her pajamas, her dark hair sleep tousled, she offered
