as that was. The cynic in him kept searching for motive in everything she relayed, but the side of him that wasn’t a cop kept wanting to take what she said at face value.
When Megan fell silent, he said, “But you didn’t like her grandson.”
“I didn’t,” she agreed without any defensiveness in her voice. “Helen raised him, you know. So, I think it hurt her that he didn’t visit very often. When he showed up a couple of weeks ago needing a place to stay, she was surprised.”
Megan paused while she continued to study the detective. Common sense urged her not to volunteer anything. And the promise that she’d made to herself to live an open life after her father died last year was right there at the surface, too. Was it better, she wondered, to tell everything she suspected about Robby? Or was it better to operate the way she knew a lawyer would advise—keep her mouth shut. And if she did, would that make finding Robby’s killer harder? And if she spoke up, would Detective Prescott assume he could—and should—build a case against her?
And then she remembered a verse from her Bible-study group a couple of weeks ago. You will come to know the truth, and the truth shall set you free. It had been true for her all those years ago when the finger of suspicion had been pointed at her. It had to apply now.
“I need to tell you about two different things that happened.”
“Either of these come under the heading of your needing a lawyer?”
The question surprised her since her impression was that cops wanted information any way they could get it. Once more reminding herself that the truth couldn’t hurt her, she said, “I’ll take my chances. The first has to do with a strange thing that started about a month ago after a visit to the bank.”
“Was that before or after Russell came to town?”
“Before, by a week or so,” she replied. “Helen has this huge collection of old coins that she decided to have appraised. They were in a safety-deposit box at the bank, and she wanted help carrying them home.”
“They were that heavy?” His soft question was interested, the kind friends asked when they were getting acquainted.
Ignoring the warning in her head that this man wasn’t a friend, couldn’t be a friend, she said, “You have no idea. She kept them in a washtub.” Visualizing the plastic container, she motioned with her hands. “You know, like you’d set in the bottom of a sink. Anyway, we got them home, and she asked me to put them away on a shelf in the closet of her spare bedroom. A couple of days ago, she told me that the appraiser was finally coming to see her and asked me to get them down. At least a quarter of them were gone.” She paused, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach from that day back now.
“These coins…just how old are we talking?” Wade asked.
“Pre-civil war for a lot of the collection.”
“And Mrs. Russell showed them to you.”
“She did,” Megan said. “Her father had begun the collection, and she had a story to go with many of the coins.”
“And you think this has something to do with Robby’s death?”
She met his gaze. “I don’t know. It just seems strange, you know?” She sighed. “The second part of this…Robby accused me of stealing from her.”
“Were you?” The question so calm, so much still like two friends talking. Even so, her heart pounded.
“No. I wouldn’t do that.” She clasped her hands on top of the table, mentally repeating, the truth will set you free.
“So, you’re telling me you’re not a gold digger.”
“Good grief, what do you take me for?” She stared at him, seeing an attractive man with penetrating brown eyes and a half smile. His posture was relaxed, an ankle drawn over the opposite knee, everything in his demeanor open. Friendly. Not at all like his stern-faced boss.
And yet, there was the accusation. The motive they thought she had, she realized. Swallowing, she looked away from the eyes that she had taken for kind.
“What’s the second thing?” he asked. She must have given him a blank look because he tacked on, “You said you had two things to tell me. Missing coins and…”
“When Robby showed up a couple of weeks ago, he complained about being broke. Then, a few days after he got here, he wasn’t, and he flaunted it.”
“And?”
“I think he was stealing from Helen.” She paused and looked away for a second, too aware of Wade’s focused energy directed at her. “Helen mentioned that she had misplaced a bracelet she often wore—a gold bangle. I’m talking real gold, not some piece of costume jewelry.”
“And that’s when you confronted Robby?”
Megan shook her head. “Not then. I didn’t even make the connection until a few days later. Lou Gessner, the woman who owns the pawnshop, is in my Bible-study group. I asked her if she ever had any bangle bracelets, and she said one had just come into her shop a few days earlier. Then, the following Saturday morning, I saw him coming out of the pawnshop holding his money.”
“Are you accusing this woman of accepting stolen goods?”
“Of course not,” she said in defense of her friend, who was one of the most honest, forthright people she knew. “How is she supposed to know until she hears back from the police after she submits her reports?”
“Sounds like you know a lot about it.”
“That’s because I asked her,” Megan said evenly, despite the accusation that once more laced Detective Prescott’s voice.
“And that morning—what day was that?”
“Last Saturday.”
“And you confronted him?”
“I did.” Megan felt her throat close as she remembered those moments, now wishing they had never happened. “We got into it, and to be honest, I don’t remember exactly what I said to him, but I do remember telling him that he was a thief and he didn’t deserve to be Helen’s grandson…and that she would be better off without him. Mr. Johansen saw us, and I’m sure he’ll tell you pretty much the same thing if you ask him.”
“You do realize what you’re telling me, don’t you?”
Megan opened her mouth to speak, then stopped when the detective held up his hand.
“If Johansen corroborates your story and says that you threatened Robby Russell…” His eyes bore into hers, and something there softened imperceptibly. “You need a lawyer.”
She nodded her head. “Is this the part where you tell me that I’m a suspect?”
“Yeah.” His voice turned gravelly. “At the moment, you’re my only suspect.”
FOUR
You’re my only suspect. The statement was at odds with Wade Prescott’s
