Still, she was somewhat comforted by Jeffrey’s presence in the house. She liked rolling over in the middle of the night and feeling the warmth of his body. She liked the sound of his voice and the smell of the oatmeal lotion he used on his hands when he thought she wasn’t looking. She especially liked that he cooked breakfast for her.
“Get your ass out of bed and come scramble the eggs,” Jeffrey yelled from the kitchen.
Sara muttered something she would be ashamed for her mother to hear as she dragged herself out from under the covers. The house was freezing cold even though the sun was beating down on the lake, waves sending coppery glints of light through the back windows. She grabbed Jeffrey’s robe and wrapped it around herself before padding down the hallway.
Jeffrey stood at the stove, frying bacon. He was wearing sweatpants and a black T-shirt, which set off his bruised eye nicely in the morning sun.
He said, “I figured you were awake.”
“Third time’s a charm,” she told him, petting Billy as he leaned up against her. Bob was splayed on the couch with his feet in the air. She could see Bubba, her erstwhile cat, stalking something in the backyard.
Jeffrey had already gotten out the eggs and set the carton beside a bowl for her. Sara cracked them open, trying not to drip the whites all over the counter. Jeffrey saw the mess she was making and took over, saying, “Sit down.”
Sara sank into the stool at the kitchen island, watching him clean up her mess.
She asked the obvious. “You couldn’t sleep?”
“No,” he told her, tossing the rag into the sink.
He was worried about the case, but she also knew that he was almost as troubled about Lena. Their entire relationship, Jeffrey had been in some state of concern for Lena Adams. In the beginning it was because she was too hotheaded on the street, too aggressive with her arrests. From there, Jeffrey had been worried about her competitiveness, her yearning to be the best on the squad no matter what shortcuts she felt she had to take. He had trained her carefully as a detective, partnering her with Frank but taking her under his wing, grooming her for something-something Sara thought the other woman would never get. Lena was too single-minded to lead, too selfish to follow. Twelve years ago, Sara could have predicted he would still be worrying over Lena today. That she was mixed up with that Nazi skinhead Ethan Green was really the only thing that had ever surprised her about the other woman.
Sara asked, “Are you going to try to talk to Lena?”
Jeffrey didn’t answer her question. “She’s too smart for this.”
“I don’t think abuse has anything to do with intelligence or lack thereof,” Sara said.
“That’s the reason I don’t think Cole went after Rebecca,” Jeffrey told her. “She’s too willful. He wouldn’t pick someone who would fight back too much.”
“Is Brad still looking over in Catoogah?”
“Yeah,” he said, not sounding hopeful that the search would yield anything. He skipped on to Cole Connolly as if he had been having a different conversation in his head. “Rebecca would’ve told her mother what was going on and Esther… Esther would have ripped out Cole’s throat.” Using his good hand, he broke the eggs one by one into the bowl. “Cole wouldn’t have risked it.”
“Predators have an innate ability to choose their victims,” Sara agreed, thinking again about Lena. Somehow, the circumstances of her damaged life had taken over, making her an easy target for someone like Ethan. Sara completely understood how this happened. It was all logical; yet, knowing Lena, she was still having trouble accepting it.
“I kept seeing him last night, the panic in his eyes when he realized what was happening. Jesus, what a horrible way to die.”
“It’s the same thing that happened to Abby,” she reminded him. “Only she was alone in the dark and had no idea what was happening to her.”
“I think he knew,” Jeffrey said. “At least, I think he figured it out in the end.” There were two mugs in front of the coffeemaker and he filled them, handing Sara one. She saw him hesitate before taking a sip, and wondered if there would ever be a time when he could drink coffee without thinking about Cole Connolly. In the scheme of things, Sara had a much easier job than Jeffrey did. He was out there on the front line. He saw the bodies first, told the parents and loved ones, felt the weight of their desperation to find out who had taken away their child or mother or lover. It was no wonder that cops had one of the highest suicide rates of any profession.
She asked, “What’s your gut feeling?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, mixing the eggs with a fork. “Lev admitted that he was attracted to Abby.”
“But that’s normal,” she said, then backed up. “Well, normal if it happened the way he said it did.”
“Paul says he was in Savannah. I’m going to check that out, but that still doesn’t account for his evenings.”
“That could just as easily point to his innocence,” Sara reminded him. She had learned from Jeffrey a long time ago that someone who had a pat alibi was generally a person to look at closely. Sara herself couldn’t come up with a witness who could swear Sara had been at home alone all night when Abigail Bennett had been murdered.
“No news on the letter you were sent yet,” he said. “I doubt the lab will find anything anyway.” He frowned. “It’s costing a fucking fortune.”
“Why do it?”
“Because I don’t like the idea of somebody contacting you about a case,” he told her, and she could hear resentment in his tone. “You’re not a cop. You’re not involved in this.”
“They could have sent it to me knowing that I would tell you.”
“Why not just send it to the station?”
“My address is in the phone book,” she said. “Whoever sent it might have worried that a letter would get lost at the station.” She asked, “Do you think it was one of the sisters?”
“They don’t even know you.”
“You told them I was your wife.”
“I still don’t like it,” he said, dividing the eggs between two plates and adding a couple of slices of toast to each. He veered back to the original subject. “The cyanide is what’s hard to connect.” He offered her the plate of bacon and she took two pieces. “The more we look into it, the more it seems like Dale is the only possible source.” Jeffrey added, “But Dale swears he keeps the garage locked at all times.”
“Do you believe him?”
“He may beat his wife,” Jeffrey began, “but I think he was telling me the truth. Those tools are his bread and butter. He’s not going to leave that door open, especially with people coming through from the farm.” He took out the jelly and passed it to her.
“Is it possible he’s involved?”
“I don’t see how,” Jeffrey told her. “He’s got no connection to Abby, no reason to poison her or Cole.” He suggested, “I should just run the whole family in, split them up and see who breaks first.”
“I doubt Paul would allow that.”
“Maybe I’ll tag the old man.”
“Oh, Jeffrey,” she said, feeling protective of Thomas Ward for some unknown reason. “Don’t. He’s just a helpless old man.”
“Nobody’s helpless in that family.” He paused. “Not even Rebecca.”
Sara weighed his words. “You think she’s involved?”
“I think she’s hiding. I think she knows something.” He sat beside her at the counter, picking at his eyebrow, obviously mulling over the niggling details that had kept him up all night.
Sara rubbed his back. “Something will break. You just need to start back at square one.”
“You’re right.” He looked up at her. “It keeps going back to the cyanide. That’s the key. I want to talk to Terri Stanley. I need to get her away from Dale and see what she says.”