Even with the van’s windows only slightly cracked for Hero’s sake, you could smell the salty air, a sure indication that the bay was close by. A charming cottage, a good location-clearly, Paul Everett had been faring well.
“I can see why you and Paul spent most of your time here,” Casey said tactfully.
Amanda nodded. “The inside is lovely, too. And the place is well maintained, even though it’s fifty years old. Paul got lucky. The owner is a wealthy East Hampton guy who bought the cottage as an investment. He liked Paul. He rented it to him at a great price, especially because Paul wanted it year-round and not just as a summer vacation house. I think Paul would have eventually bought it if…” Amanda’s voice trailed off.
“Let’s go inside,” Marc suggested.
Amanda hesitated.
Casey glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Do you have cell reception?” she asked in a casual tone, as if she didn’t already know the answer.
Amanda glanced down at the phone that was perpetually on her lap or in her hand. “Yes.”
“Then why don’t you stay out here for a minute and check in with the hospital? The owner of the cottage told me he’d leave the door unlocked. Claire, Marc, Hero and I will get started while you get an update on Justin. Then, when you’re ready, you can join us.”
“I appreciate your compassion.” Amanda wasn’t just referring to Casey’s concern for Justin. She wasn’t stupid. She understood that the team was trying to give her the space she needed to prep herself for a painful walk down memory lane.
“No problem.” Casey’s gaze slid to Claire in the rearview mirror and she gave a quick nod.
All three team members climbed out. Marc went around back of the van and opened the double doors so that Hero could jump down and join them.
With a quick lap of his water, Hero scrambled to the gravel drive, waiting obediently while Marc leashed him up.
“All set?” Casey asked.
“Ready and raring to go.”
“Then let’s do it.”
Amanda watched the FI team head into the house-Paul’s house-and her throat tightened. How many times had she and Paul stepped through that door, sometimes toting grocery bags, sometimes laughing and talking, sometimes pulling off each other’s parkas in their haste to make love?
Being back here was surreal, like being plunged into a vivid, bittersweet memory and being forced, by one’s own mind, to relive it.
This was hitting her much harder than she’d expected. After all, she and Paul had been together less than half a year, no matter how intense their relationship had been. Amanda was far from a weak and clingy woman. She’d been on her own since college, and had loved the freedom of her own independence. Meeting Paul had been the last thing she’d expected. Yet it had happened, and, from the moment it did, she’d sensed that her life was about to be changed in a major way.
Losing him had been unbearable, especially after she realized she was carrying his child.
But she’d gotten through it and survived. Her life had gone on.
Except now there was Justin, a precious gift-but one who’d come with a reality she’d never imagined in her worst nightmares. And the unfathomable possibilities were staring her in the face.
So maybe it was the combination of Justin’s precarious health and her postpartum hormones that were making this walk down memory lane so painful.
Or maybe it was because she’d so successfully blocked out the happy times and allowed them to be replaced by grief, anger, hurt and resentment.
Today was going to be one long confrontation with the past. More unnerving than that was the question of what their investigations would uncover. If Paul was alive, what kind of man had he really been? What had he been involved in that he’d kept so well hidden?
Squeezing her eyes shut for one long, aching minute, Amanda picked up her cell phone and snapped back into the real world-the one she’d been battling for almost a month now.
Justin.
She pressed the speed dial number for Sloane Kettering.
Please, God, she prayed, as she did every time she picked up the phone or walked back into the Pediatric BMT unit. Please let him hold on. Please let us find a miracle.
And, for good or for ill, that miracle had to be Paul.
Casey headed up the stone path that led to the cottage. She turned the knob, and, as promised, the door was unlocked.
The place was cozy and charming-one large and one small bedroom, a full bath, a galley kitchen, a little eating area and a family room with a brick fireplace. The back door opened to a wooden deck and a dense cluster of trees. Not exactly woods, but certainly the foliage offered privacy from probing eyes.
Hero immediately went to work, snout to the floor, dragging Marc every which way as he took in all the new and interesting scents. He zigzagged through the house, investigating every inch of his surroundings. Marc let him take the lead. The more comprehensive Hero’s olfactory experience was, the better it would be when Marc made scent pads of anything they found that belonged to Paul. Paul’s scent would be that much more recognizable to Hero, which could be a key factor down the road.
It wouldn’t be the first time Hero had lived up to his name.
“It’s a pretty secluded half acre,” Marc commented a short time later, standing on the deck beside Casey and gazing around. “No houses in back. Set back far enough from the road. And with lines of trees on either side that block the neighbors’ view. Interesting.”
“Very,” Casey agreed. “If someone wanted to stay as inconspicuous as possible, this is a good place to do it.”
Marc nodded, glancing down at Hero, who was sniffing the length of the deck. “It also tilts the scales slightly in favor of Paul Everett being alive. If someone killed him, why do it out in the open, on a road in his car where a passerby could witness it? Why not kill him here, where it’s private, then clean up the mess, toss the body in the trunk of your car and drive it to the ocean to dump it? There’d be no evidence of a murder at all.”
“Unless the murder wasn’t premeditated,” Casey pointed out. “If Paul met someone for an illegal dealing of some kind, it would explain the seclusion of his car’s location. And if that meeting ended violently, the rest of the police’s suggested scenario plays out.”
“True.” Marc frowned. “It just doesn’t feel right. I’m not sure why.”
Casey’s lips curved slightly. “Maybe because it sounds like a low-budget B movie. Besides, I don’t think Paul Everett was an idiot. And only idiots drive out to deserted, sinister places in the middle of the night to meet someone, even for illegal purposes. Paul wasn’t some random drug dealer who hid in alleys to make a drop.”
“That would be the low-budget B movie part,” Marc said, chuckling. “I agree. From all the info Ryan’s given us, Paul Everett was a smart, white-collar businessman.”
“Whose murder is starting to feel more staged by the minute.”
“Casey?” Claire’s voice echoed from inside the empty house.
“Coming.” Casey glanced at Marc. “Keep looking around. Let Hero keep sniffing out all the smells. If you find anything, make a couple of scent pads. I’ll see what’s up with Claire.”
Marc nodded.
Casey went back inside, going straight to where she knew Claire would be-in the master bedroom.
“What are you picking up on?” she asked.
Claire had been standing by the window, staring into the room, her brows knit in puzzlement, her expression shaken. She looked uncharacteristically off balance.