“People are rather immersed in their own lives these days.”
“Maybe they weren’t hanging around outside long either. Does Logan keep a spare key outside?”
“It’s possible. How would Claire and/or the killer know where it was, though?”
“Not usually too hard to figure that out.” Trent went down the front stairs, turned to look back at the house. A few seconds later, he was beelining toward a rock in the garden bed. “I’m going to bet this one here.” He lifted the rock. “Fiberglass.” He examined the bottom, then brought it over to her and showed her the small compartment on the underside. “We have a hide-a-key.”
“Well, look at you.”
He flipped it open. No key. “We’ll have to ask Logan if he kept one in there.”
“For the moment, let’s assume it’s how Claire and the killer got inside.”
“Or, just thought of something… If keeping a spare key outside was a long-time habit of Logan’s, Claire might have known that. She could have let herself in, and the killer followed her in.”
“Then we need to answer what brought her here. Also how she even knew where Logan lived. Why trespass?”
“You’d have to consult a spirit medium.” He smiled at her.
“Yeah, yeah. Well, let’s look inside, shall we, see if we can figure anything out.” She led the way in, Friday night washing over her again, this time with less intensity. She did her best to put herself in Claire’s mind. She hadn’t seen Logan in years. Friday would have likely been her first time in his home, but it left the questions of how she knew where Logan’s place was and what drew her there. “I think Claire still had feelings for Logan.”
“Nah, you don’t know that.”
“Why else would she have entered his home? It had to be she was living in some nostalgic bubble.”
“Or,” he dragged out the word, “she could have been looking for something she left with him—what ended up getting her killed?”
“Could be. She’s certainly shrouded in a hell of a lot of mystery. But what would Logan have that she wanted?”
“You might be the best person to answer that.” He laughed.
She nudged his shoulder. “Mind out of the gutter.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He started walking through the house, bending over here and there, angling his head like he was searching for a specific thing. Then he stopped and hunched down, picked up something from under the front edge of the couch.
“What is it?” She stepped up next to him. He held a white, pearl button in his fingers. She could feel her cheeks heat. She snatched it. “Nothing to do with Claire.”
He looked from her to his now bare hands, a small, amused smile resting on his lips.
She brushed past him to the hallway, headed for the bedroom. They could spend all night combing every inch of the place, but would it get them any closer to the answers they desperately needed? She stood in the bedroom doorway, letting her gaze take in the room. The investigators had taken a lot with them. The furniture remained, but the bedding had been stripped. Claire’s blood had seeped through to the mattress.Logan’swife’sblood.
Her head swooned, and she gripped the doorway. Trent had come up behind her at the same time and helped steady her. One of his hands was on her upper arm, the other on her hip. She looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m fine now. Thanks.”
“What was it?” He had yet to remove his hands from her.
“Just thinking about how horrible this must have been for Logan. Seeing her there like that.” She turned, and Trent lowered his arms. They were face to face with about eight inches between them. “When I lost Kevin and Lindsey, it was the most horrible time of my life. The crash happened so fast, but it also felt like every second moved in slow motion. I saw their blood before I passed out myself. They were breathing, though. I had determined that much.” She stopped speaking, an ache drilling into her chest. The thought of them suffering even for a second was too much to handle. And just when she thought that level of grief had left her, she realized it could be conjured at a moment’s notice. It was lurking, ready to pounce. “Guess it just all came back.”
Trent let a few seconds pass, then said, “Logan’s lucky to have you as his friend, Amanda.”
“Thanks.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s look around.” She entered the room, her eye drawn first to the nightstand and the lamp that they’d discussed at the station. It felt like that conversation had been weeks ago, but it was only that morning. There was some light coming in from the south-facing window, which for nearing seven at night was still casting enough illumination that turning on the ceiling light wasn’t necessary. She took out her phone, though, and enabled the flashlight. She went over to the lamp and traced the beam over it.
“Claire very well could have grabbed the lamp and swung it at her attacker.”
“And with the shade missing, I think our killer might have been concerned about leaving trace as we theorized before.” She took a few seconds to peck a note into her phone to remind her to ask Logan if there had been a shade.
“Blood. Spit possibly? If she hit them, unexpected, I can imagine some drool flying through the air.”
Amanda nodded. She turned back to the table and lamp. She leaned down and took a closer look, wishing for microscopic sight. Then stood, disappointed. “Nothing that’s standing out to the naked eye, but this lamp needs to be thoroughly examined. The lab techs might even lift prints to advance the case.”
