“Have you called Ned?”
“Of course. First thing.”
“Well, considering the way you two feel about each other, I had to ask.”
Cain had gone to school with Ned, but they’d never been friends. After Jason’s murder, Cain had been so busy self-destructing he hadn’t had time for friends—real friends, anyway. He’d partied harder than ever, risked life and limb with crazy stunts, fought anyone and everyone who’d venture to take him on and messed around with a different girl almost every weekend. Then there was his brief marriage to Ned’s sister. That alone made it a damn shame the Smith twins had become fifty-percent of Whiterock’s police force. “I called, but I haven’t been able to reach him,” Cain said.
“Why not?”
“How the hell should I know?” An old woman entered the lobby and slumped into one of the plastic chairs. Cain moved the handset closer to his mouth and lowered his voice. “If you want the official answer, he’s temporarily ‘unavailable.’”
“He’s probably with his new secretary.”
“Mona?” As far as Cain was concerned, a guy would have to be drunk and blind to get naked with Ned’s secretary. She didn’t even keep herself clean.
“That’s my guess. She doesn’t look like much, but from what I hear she’s willing to do anything. I saw him feel her up as she was getting into her car at the Roadhouse last week.” Owen clicked his tongue. “Poor Brian. He needs to leave her.”
“I think he should thank Ned and hand her over.” The woman in the lobby looked up, and Cain faced the wall.
Owen cleared his throat. “You know what people will think when they hear about this, don’t you?”
Scowling, Cain shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t care what they think.”
“No, you never have. So let me spell it out for you. It was only three weeks ago that the two Wallup boys found that rifle in the cellar of your old cabin.”
The rifle that subsequent ballistics tests proved to be the one that had killed Jason. How could Cain forget? “I’m aware of that. But it’s ridiculous. I didn’t touch her. I didn’t even know she was back until I found her lying in a heap, covered with blood and dirt and leaves.”
Owen released an audible sigh. “No one’ll believe that. Word that she was planning to return has been circulating for the past week.”
Cain wished he’d taken the time to change. His hair, which was getting a bit long around the ears and neck, had dried, but his jeans were still damp enough to be uncomfortable. “I’m telling you, I didn’t hear about it. Besides, she hasn’t been back in twelve years. Why would she come now?”
“Why do you think? Someone told her about the rifle.”
Cain assumed it was Ned. He and Ned had been rivals ever since Cain had broken Amy’s heart. “Why would that bring her back?”
“Because she wants to solve the case.”
“You mean she wants to see it solved.”
“No. When Ned told me she was coming, I looked her up on the Internet. She’s part of a victims’ help charity in California.”
“So she’s a social worker?”
“More like a caseworker. About five years ago, she started The Last Stand with two other women, also victims of violent crime. They each have different specialties. Sheridan’s bio said she handles the bookkeeping but also works with private investigators, police, psychologists, self-defense experts, what have you, to find missing persons, protect the innocent, put violent offenders behind bars, do anything that’s needed, really. I got the impression she knows a lot about the criminal-justice world, that she’s sort of a jack-of-all-trades. I mentioned her victims’ work to Dad. I can’t believe he didn’t tell you.”
The fact that his stepfather hadn’t mentioned Sheridan’s background or her impending visit made Cain a little apprehensive. It was something they might’ve discussed—before the discovery of that rifle. “Realistically, what’s she going to be able to do?” he asked. “Nothing’s changed. That rifle went missing before Jason was shot. Bailey Watts reported it stolen five days prior. And it’s been wiped clean of prints. We don’t know any more than we did the day we buried him.”
“Ned thinks he’s found a previously overlooked suspect, and he’s gathering evidence.” He paused. “And that suspect—quite conveniently—is you.”
Cain fidgeted with the change in his pocket. “Anyone could’ve put that rifle in the cellar. The cabin’s been empty since I finished the new house six years ago. I’ve only used it to store a few things or spend an occasional night.”
“I’m not going to lie to you, Cain. There’s been a lot of discussion lately, ever since that rifle was found, about your state of mind after your mom died. About how you behaved.”
Cain had behaved badly. He knew it, and so did everyone else. But since his real father had skipped out before Cain was ever born and hadn’t left a forwarding address, Cain had had nowhere to turn after his mother was gone. He’d been reduced to asking his stepfather if he could go on living in the house until he finished his senior year. John had agreed, but Cain had been tolerated about as well as a noxious odor. “I was angry.”
“You cut classes, you started drag racing, you slugged a male teacher who tried to send you to the office. Those aren’t things people tend to forget.”
Cain glowered at the woman who’d been watching him since she entered the lobby and she finally glanced away.
“Do you think I shot Jason?” he asked Owen.
“Of course not. I know you better than that. Point is other people are beginning to wonder.”
Ned had put him forward as a suspect years ago, but no one had taken the accusation seriously. Was that changing?
“These days when I say, ‘Cain would never go so far,’ I don’t get agreement, I get doubt,” Owen was saying. “‘People do terrible things when they’re confused.’”
Cain’s grip on the phone tightened. “Who’s saying that?”
“Why bother naming names? I’m just warning you to be careful.”
“And how am I supposed to be careful, Owen?” Cain felt his eyebrows knit. “I didn’t know that rifle was in my cabin. And with Sheridan, what else could I have done? Let her die in the woods?”