Dean glared at her. “If you’re not all weepy and sentimental about Jake, then what?”
“About everything. The past, the reunion, Haylie and Aurora…and if you want to know the truth, I’m uneasy about the threat this person made and concerned about the safety of my old friends and even myself.”
The tension in Dean eased. He loosened his clenched fists and relaxed his stiff shoulders. “I’m sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion.”
She nodded.
“Look, I dropped by with the latte hoping we could talk, and for more than two minutes,” Dean said. “I’ve been looking into something and I wanted to run it by you, get your take on it.”
She eyed him inquisitively. “Sure. What is it?”
“Call it my cop instincts or just a gut reaction, but ever since I talked to Patrick Dewey’s widow, I’ve had this niggling feeling that something was off with her.”
“Did she say something that-”
“No, it wasn’t what she said. It was more what she didn’t say and the way she answered the few questions I asked her.”
“Maybe it was nothing. After all, her husband wasn’t involved in Jake’s case, except in a roundabout way. His bow was used in the murder, but he had reported it stolen a week earlier.”
“That’s what’s been bothering me ever since I talked to Marilyn Dewey. I asked her to confirm what your dad’s old report stated, that the bow that was used to kill Jake was the only item stolen from their home.”
“It was,” Rachel said. “I distinctly remember reading that report. Nothing else was missing from their home or garage, only Mr. Dewey’s bow.”
“Why that specific bow?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean why just that one crossbow? Dewey owned several bows, one newer and more expensive. Why steal none of the other bows or his rifle or shotgun or none of his wife’s jewelry?”
The wheels in Rachel’s mind spun at lightning speed. “You don’t think the bow was stolen, do you?”
Dean shrugged. “It might have been, but let’s say it wasn’t stolen.”
“Then why report it stolen?”
“Why indeed.”
“If it wasn’t stolen, then Dewey had to have a reason to report it. Insurance money? No, that wouldn’t make any sense. The bow was used to kill Jake, and whoever used it left it at the scene of the crime, as if they wanted it to be found.”
“Let’s say that, for whatever reason, a bow hunter wanted to kill someone and intended to use his bow to do it. What better way to cover his butt than report the bow stolen?”
“A logical scenario,” Rachel said. “Except for two things: Patrick Dewey didn’t know Jake and therefore had no motive to kill him, and he had an alibi for the night Jake was killed.”
“Do you recall who gave him his alibi?”
“Uh…yes, I remember now. His wife said he was at home with her.” Rachel gasped. “His wife could have lied for him. But why?”
“Before we take this supposition any further, we should talk to Mrs. Dewey. After all these years and with her husband now dead, if she knows something, we might be able to persuade her to tell us.”
“Did the Deweys have a son? If so, maybe he knew Jake, maybe they-”
“The Deweys’ two sons were five and seven at the time of Jake’s murder.”
Rachel frowned. “So much for that thought.”
“I say we drive down to Salem tomorrow and talk to Mrs. Dewey, face-to-face.”
She hesitated momentarily, not sure that she wanted to spend an entire day with Dean, especially not trapped in a car with him for several hours making the trip to and from Salem. “Can you take tomorrow off?”
“I think I can arrange it.” He grinned. “I have an in with the chief.”
“So you do. Okay then, I’ll meet you here at-”
“I’ll pick you up at the chief’s house around eight-thirty, if that’s not too early.”
“It’s not too early. I’ve never been one to sleep until noon.”
“Eight-thirty it is.”
“You realize that this could turn out to be nothing, that your gut instincts could be wrong,” she told him. “I mean, what are the odds that the owner of the bow that shot the fatal arrow was actually involved in the crime?”
“I’m not saying he was involved, just that I got odd vibes from his widow.”
“Well, it’s better than anything I’ve come up with. And if there’s even a one in a hundred chance that Mrs. Dewey knows-Oh my God! What if she knew Jake? What if he was fooling around with an older, married woman and her husband found out?”
Dean grinned. “Honey, I like the way you think.”
After Rachel’s call telling her about the threatening message she had received from someone who claimed to have killed Jake, Mandy thought twice before taking Emily out for her afternoon stroll. But she couldn’t stay cooped up in the house, scared to go anywhere without Jeff. Doing that would be handing over control of her life to some lunatic. Besides, what could happen to her in broad daylight, in their neighborhood and in a park filled with other women and children?
As with so many days here in Portland, the sky was overcast and gray, a hint of rain in the air. But being late June, the breeze was warm and balmy.
Enjoy this daily ritual with your daughter, she told herself. Don’t allow fear to control your actions. She had heard other mothers say that their children picked up on their moods and always acted up whenever they sensed something was wrong with Mom. Emily had been cranky all afternoon. Mandy had taken her temperature, which had been normal, and had asked her if she felt bad or hurt anywhere.
Emily had frowned at her and shook her head, then proceeded to knock down a house constructed of colorful building blocks, a project they had worked on for over an hour after lunch. And then Emily had refused to go down for her nap, screaming her head off when Mandy placed her in her crib and left the room.
But now, outside in her stroller, rolling along the sidewalk, Little Miss Spoiled Rotten was smiling and waving at everyone they passed. For Emily’s sake if not for her own, Mandy couldn’t allow the fact that someone might be stalking her to bring her life to a standstill. But try as she might, she couldn’t quite get Rachel’s warning phone call off her mind. Was the person who had spoken to Rachel really Jake Marcott’s killer? Had this person killed Haylie and Aurora? Would they kill again? Or had the call been some terrible hoax?
“Afternoon, Mandy,” elderly Mrs. Johnson said as they met her at her mailbox. The white-haired woman glanced up at the sky. “Looks a bit like rain. You brought along an umbrella, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I always do.” Mandy patted the pouch attached to the back of her daughter’s portable stroller. “We’re just going over to the park, so if it starts raining, we can be back home in no time.”
Clasping her mail in one hand, Mrs. Johnson stared down at Emily. “She’s growing like a weed and getting cuter every day.”
“Thank you. We certainly think she’s a little beauty.” Mandy waved at her neighbor but kept pushing Emily along. As much as she loved Mrs. Johnson, once in a conversation with her, you might be trapped for a good twenty or thirty minutes.
Moving at a steady pace, Mandy reached the neighborhood park in five minutes. As she strolled along the brick sidewalk shaded by towering trees and lined with colorful summer flowers, she remembered how often she had jogged through here in the past and spotted mothers with their young children. Oh, how she had envied those women. But now, with the blessing of Emily, she was one of them. A mother.
When they reached the kiddie swings, Mandy removed Emily from the stroller and set her in one of the swings, double-checking the safety harness. Only one other parent and toddler were using the swings. Mandy recognized the divorced dad who had gotten custody of his two-year-old.
“Hi, Tim.” Mandy waved at her neighbor, who lived in a two-story Colonial only three houses down from her.