anything unpleasant that might end up attached to his name in the news.” She paused. “Sorry. I’m being unkind. In truth, David has been very thoughtful since the fall. Forgive me if I’m a little too blunt at times.”
“No apology necessary. Do you and your siblings get along?”
“As well as any I suppose.” Her heels clicked on the marble floor as they continued toward the kitchen. “Five years ago, after our father died, I think people expected there to be dissention, but we all felt the terms of the will were remarkably well thought out. Heath inherited the family business, which made perfect sense since he was the only one with any interest in overseeing it. He was Father’s right hand. I inherited the house and April was endowed with the largest portion of the family financial trust. Father was well aware of my younger sister’s love of spending. The trust pays out slowly over her life so there’s no fear of her ever being destitute in the event her marriage to David doesn’t work out.”
They reached the wide arched entrance to the kitchen and Clint paused. “You’re an attorney?”
She stared at the sleek tile floor. “I was. It remains to be seen if I will be again. I feel more like an assistant now. Two years ago I was up for partner at Brenner, Rosen and Taylor. I would have been the youngest partner in the firm’s history. Most of the past two years I’ve been on extended disability leave. I returned to work a few weeks ago. I review other people’s cases to see if we’re doing all we can for each client. I’m certain the partners fear that giving me a case of my own at this point would be premature, perhaps even detrimental to the firm’s reputation. After what happened this morning, who can blame them?”
Her work history was impressive. Brenner, Rosen and Taylor was a small but very prestigious law firm. “Why don’t you walk me through exactly what happened this morning.”
Natalie drew in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I was preparing to go to the office. The security system was apparently unarmed. I could’ve sworn I set it before I went to bed, but evidently I didn’t.” She sighed and rubbed at her temple as if a headache had begun there. “I still forget things sometimes and get things out of order, but those instances rarely happen anymore—at least that’s what I thought.”
“What time did you get up?” Clint moved to the back door. According to the police report, Natalie believed the alleged intruder entered the kitchen through the door leading from the gardens and patio since it had been standing open. All other entry points had been locked when the police arrived, seemingly confirming her allegation. Clint opened the door and crouched down to have a look at the lock and the knob.
“At six,” she said in answer to his question. “I remember because the grandfather clock in the entry hall started to chime the hour. It’s a habit of mine to count the chimes.” She looked away as if the admission embarrassed her. “I’ve done it since I was a child.”
Clint smiled, hoping to help her relax. “I count buttons. Whenever I button my shirt, I count.”
Her strained expression softened a bit at his confession. “I guess we all have our eccentricities.”
Focusing on his examination of the door, he saw no indication of forced entry. Back at the office, he’d sent a text to Lori Wells requesting a copy of the police report. A quick perusal of the report she’d immediately emailed him had showed the same findings. Clint hadn’t really expected to find anything. Still, a second look never hurt. He pushed to his feet. “You were upstairs when you heard an intruder?”
She nodded. “I was dressed and ready to go when I heard a noise down here.”
“Describe the noise for me.”
She considered the question for a moment. “There was a lot of banging as if whoever was down here was searching for something.”
The evidence techs had dusted for prints, but hadn’t found any usable ones except Natalie’s, which meant the intruder wore gloves and that she had a very dedicated and thorough cleaning staff. Most surfaces in any home were littered with prints. “You came down the stairs,” Clint prompted.
“First I came to the landing. I thought maybe Suzanna, my housekeeper, had arrived early.” She hugged her arms around herself as if the memories stole the warmth from her body. “I saw him standing at the bottom of the stairs, but I couldn’t see his entire face. He was wearing a mask. Like a ski mask where all you can see are the eyes and across the bridge of the nose. I ran back to my room and grabbed my cell phone and my father’s handgun from the nightstand. When I came down the stairs I didn’t see him anymore. The back door was open so I assumed he’d fled.” She took a deep breath. “I came into the kitchen to close the door and suddenly I heard him breathing...behind me. It was as if he’d been waiting for me to come.”
“Did he touch you?”
She shook her head. “I spun around and fired the weapon.”
Clint closed and locked the back door. “You’re certain the intruder was male.”
The sound of the door locking or maybe the question snapped her from the silence she’d drifted into. She flinched. “Absolutely. He was tall and strong and he had a scar.” She pointed to the spot between her eyebrows.
“He never spoke?”
She shook her head. “He staggered back and then fell to the floor. There was blood on his shirt.”
“You ran outside to wait for the police?”
She nodded. “I dropped the gun and ran. I was confused. That still happens when I get overexcited or upset and, quite frankly, I was terrified.”
Clint would ask her more about the traumatic brain injury later. According to the police report there was no indication of foul play in the home and no gun was found. Since the detective at the scene had decided the whole event was Drummond’s imagination, no test for gunshot residue had been performed. “Did blood splatter on your clothes or your shoes?”
She frowned. “No.” Her head moved from side to side. “I suppose there should have been.” She closed her eyes for a moment before continuing. “I know what I saw. There was a man here. He wore a black ski mask. I fired the weapon, the sound still echoes inside me whenever I think of that moment.”
“You believe,” he offered, “while you were waiting for the police the intruder fled, taking the gun with him.”
“Yes.”
* * *
CLINT HAYES DID not believe her.
Natalie didn’t have to wonder. She saw the truth in his eyes. There was no evidence to support her story. Nothing. Her brain injury made her an unreliable witness at best. How could she expect anyone to believe her?
Maybe she was losing her mind. Her own brother thought she was imagining things.
“Let’s talk about why someone would want to create a situation like the one that played out in your home this morning.”
Hope dared to bloom in her chest. “Are you saying you believe me?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “I do.”
Startled, Natalie fought to gather her wits. She had hoped to find someone who would believe her. Now that
