at Chase again, she said, “Was Graham robbed? Was his wallet missing when his body was discovered?”
“I don’t know. The detectives didn’t say anything about that, and we’ve heard nothing on the news. But if it was, then the rest falls neatly into place, doesn’t it? We’ve got some creep lurking in the park, with robbery on his mind, who kills Graham. Then he has the idea of going after serious money with a little extortion.
“And now, assuming he actually can make Rachel appear guilty, that’s exactly what he’ll do if I cross him up. Because if the cops charged her they sure wouldn’t be looking for him. So…well, we just didn’t want to call them and come to regret it.”
Pushing her hair back from her face, Anne tried to consider a hundred different things at once.
“So? What do you think?” Chase asked again.
She hesitated, then said, “You might hate me for this, but I still think you should have talked to the police last night.”
“I just didn’t feel I could,” he said, shaking his head. “Aside from anything else, I wasn’t sure they’d believe me.”
“Why not?”
“Well, we got to thinking they might figure I’d only made up the extortionist story—as a way of throwing suspicion off Rachel.
“Don’t look so skeptical,” he added before Anne even realized she was. “When the detectives interviewed her, they asked if she’d seen anyone near the clearing. And she said she hadn’t. So for me to tell them there was someone there, and that he’d phoned me with his threat…”
“Chase, Rachel and Graham were having a heated argument. It’s hardly going to surprise the cops if she didn’t notice someone hiding in the trees.”
“Even so…well, at this point it doesn’t matter. It turns out I’ve got a witness to the guy’s call. Julie overheard me talking to him. But she didn’t tell me she had until after she came over here this morning.
“And, last night, Rachel…I guess what really had her so terrified was not knowing exactly how much this guy might be capable of, or what he had in mind when he talked about having a whole bag of tricks up his sleeve.”
“That’s what intimidation’s all about,” Anne said gently.
“I know. I just hadn’t realized how effective it can be.”
She let the silence grow for a few moments, then said, “You could still call the police now.”
Chase didn’t reply, just stared silently across the pool. Finally, he turned and caught her gaze.
He was clearly both exhausted and troubled, the picture of a man who’d lain awake all night, wrestling with a problem far greater than his coping ability.
She felt badly for him and wished she could do a lot more to help than merely pressing him to call the police.
“What if I phone them and it makes things worse for Rachel?” he said at last. “Even after I explain everything, won’t they suspect I had some other reason for waiting so long? Wonder if she actually does have something to hide? Figure we might have spent last night and this morning trying to decide if we’d be better off keeping quiet?”
Anne didn’t reply, but he was raising a valid concern. It lessened her certainty that calling the cops was the right way to go.
“Hell, maybe they’d even wonder if Julie really did overhear that call,” he was saying. “They might suspect we just told her we needed her help, and coached her about what to say.”
He looked out over the pool once more, then said, “But you’re really convinced I should phone them?”
“Give me a minute to think,” she murmured. A whole lot of questions were drifting in the slipstreams of her mind. One of them, though, overshadowed all the others combined.
How likely was it that Rachel actually had killed Graham Lowe?
CHASE SAT WATCHING ANNE and wishing he could read minds. He didn’t want to interrupt her thoughts, but he was awfully curious about exactly what they were. Awfully curious and awfully worried. Her reaction would be probably much like a jury’s, so…
He stopped himself right there. His sister was innocent, which made thinking along those lines absolutely ridiculous. Still, he had the distinct impression that Anne didn’t entirely believe Rachel’s story.
Not that she seemed anywhere near as suspicious as those detectives had been. On the other hand, she didn’t know all the details yet.
Maybe, before he got into the rest of them, he should explain that Rachel could never in a million years kill a mouse, let alone a man. Tell her, for example, about the time he’d bought a wasp trap for the backyard—and how she’d refused to let him put it up, even though eating outside meant either having to share your food with the damned wasps or risk getting stung.
Finally, he decided that, for the moment, he’d be wise to just keep quiet and see what Anne had to say.
Looking away from her, he ordered himself to think about anything other than Rachel’s problem. He’d been dwelling on it, nonstop, since yesterday morning. If he didn’t start taking the occasional mental break he’d be a basket case in no time.
After rejecting a couple of possible subjects for thought, he settled on the question of why a woman like Anne was unattached. She was great looking, obviously smart, and she had both a friendly manner and a smile that made him feel warm inside whenever she flashed it at him. So why wasn’t there a husband on the scene? Or a boyfriend?
Actually, he knew why there was no husband. She was divorced. Rachel had learned that from the real estate woman—via their ex-neighbor. As for lack of a boyfriend, he was only guessing at that.
If there was one, though, surely he’d be here helping her settle in. Or she’d have said she had someone coming later to help her arrange the furniture. When women were unavailable, or not interested, they always let men know.
But why on earth had he started contemplating the status of Anne Barrett’s love life? He certainly had no ideas about…
No, definitely no ideas along those lines. Not with her or any other woman. Julie, Rachel and he might not add up to a standard household, but their living arrangement worked for all three of them. And…
Rachel. Despite his best efforts, his thoughts returned to the problem at hand. The serious, ugly problem.
He looked across the patio table at Anne again, deciding he would have a shot at telling her what kind of person his sister was. But before he could begin, the gate between the yards creaked. When he glanced over, Rachel was standing in the opening.
“Mind if I join the party?” she asked tentatively. “Julie’s gone next door to play with Becky for a while. But before she left, she told me what you were talking about.”
“My sister,” he said to Anne, even though she’d already have figured that out.
She smiled across the yard at Rachel, which, for some reason, made him feel a touch better about this
