Deadline

He walked over and sat down in the chair next to hers. “Are you all right?”

She turned her head and gave him a droll look. “I can’t remember a Labor Day I’ve enjoyed more.”

For asking such a stupid question, he figured he deserved the putdown. “Hunter and Grant?”

“They’re with George Metcalf and his wife. I talked to them on the phone a few minutes ago. They’ve had fun, but they’re ready for me to come get them.” She glanced toward the door through which he’d emerged. “I don’t know when I’ll be free to do that. And maybe it would be better if I left them there overnight. I have to be in court early tomorrow morning.”

“I’m sure Lem Jackson would speak to the judge on your behalf.”

“When he heard about Stef on the news, he called and offered to ask for a postponement, but I told him not to.”

“Can you bear up to a cross-examination?”

“I’m tired of dreading it, and want to get it over with as soon as possible.”

He understood her wanting to have the court appearance behind her, but he questioned the wisdom of her decision. She looked completely wrung out. “Have you told Hunter and Grant about Stef?”

“I don’t know how to tell them when I can’t believe it myself.”

He waited for a moment. Then, “You know her death wasn’t caused by flying debris.”

She swallowed hard before murmuring yes.

While being “interviewed” by Deputy Tucker and his partner detective, the ME’s initial finding had been reported to Dawson: Stef was killed by a blow to the back of her head. It had fractured her skull. The depression indicated that brute force had been applied.

“How did you find out?” he asked Amelia.

She folded her arms across her midriff and tucked her hands against her sides. “When I got to the morgue, I was asked to positively identify her. The autopsy won’t be performed until her parents have seen her, but the medical examiner has examined the wound. He told me what killed her.”

“Have her parents arrived?”

“A short while ago. They were brought straight to the morgue. I talked to them. They’re devastated. I left them to grieve.”

“That’s where I would expect you to be,” he said. “Somewhere grieving.”

“Now that homicide has been confirmed, Deputy Tucker called and asked if I would come here and answer some questions. When I arrived, I was told to wait.” She nodded toward a uniformed officer who was manning the reception desk from behind a window. “That was half an hour ago.”

The crime scene on Saint Nelda’s Island was still cordoned off, but it had been determined by someone in charge that, due to the serious nature of the crime, the investigation be conducted from the main sheriff’s office rather than from the precinct that served Saint Nelda’s.

The headquarters shared a campus with the county jail, a sprawling, industrial-looking complex wrapped in concertina wire. Maybe the decision to center the case here was an intimidation tactic.

Dawson had spent the entire day there, being questioned off and on by the pair of detectives. It was getting dark outside, and he had only now been released, with the stipulation that he keep himself available for further questioning.

To bring Amelia up to date, he told her all that. “Tucker and his partner, a guy named Wills—‘Tucker and Wills’ sounds like a magic act, doesn’t it? Anyway, when they weren’t questioning me, singly or together, they left me alone in the interrogation room. I guess I’m a person of interest. They did the whole bad-cop/good-cop routine, which might have been scary if it hadn’t been so obvious. Bad cop, Tucker, told me that they got a search warrant for the beach house.”

She looked at him with concern. “They’re that serious about you?”

“They won’t find a murder weapon. I just hate that the rental company had to notify the home owner that his house was about to be turned inside out. I doubt they’ll provide good references if I ever want to rent again.”

“How can you joke?”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “Because if I don’t, I’ll get really pissed off for even being considered a suspect. You’ve got to know that I had nothing to do with it.”

She searched his eyes, finally saying, “The estimated time of her death coincides with when you were seen talking to her in the village.”

“True. Which sucks. But I’ve explained to the detectives how that came about. Stef and I bumped into each other in the general store. She had bags. They were heavy because she’d bought extra bottled water. It was raining buckets. I offered to carry her purchases to the car for her. Which I did.

“I left her there and drove over to the dock to fill up my car with gas. Then I headed back to the beach. I expected her to be ahead of me and was surprised when I reached your house and saw that your car wasn’t there. I figured she’d ducked into Mickey’s, as she’d said she might, to see if he had any carry-out food. You know the rest.”