Beth’s father frowned. “Yes, yes, of course I understand. But what is it you think I’m going to say that I shouldn’t? I had nothing to do with Christine’s death. She was my wife.”
“Exactly why the detective has to consider you a suspect. Emotions tend to, er, run hot between husbands and wives.” He cast a look at Beth that pleaded for backup.
“Think about how common domestic violence is, Dad,” she said. “If you’d been furious at Mom—Well, you’re the person who could most easily have hurt her and, um, hidden her body. Because you lived here. And you knew when Emily and Matt and I were busy away from the house. You see?”
“But I wasn’t furious at her,” he protested.
He thought anyone should be able to tell that he wouldn’t do something like that, so how could he possibly be a suspect?
Detective Navarro probably thought she was just as naive. And for good reason, except…she knew her father.
Giving up, she laid her hand over his. “I know, Dad. It would really help if you’d think back to the weeks before she disappeared. Was there something going on at work that had her upset? Or with a friend?”
“Wouldn’t she be more likely to have told you anything like that?” he asked. “You two talked all the time.” His expression brightened. “And Emily, of course. Have you asked her?”
Beth forced a smile. “I will, Dad. But think about it. Something may come to you.”
“I’ll try,” he said, without any hope.
Oddly, she found herself noticing that his hair was thinning as well as receding. More gray laced the brown, too. Had he aged in the past two days? Or had she not paid attention to how stooped his shoulders had become? He’d never been interested in exercise for its own sake. There’d been a time when he had developed a brief interest in native plants, and he’d done some hiking and collecting. The vegetation here on the thin, volcanic soil of eastern Washington was sparse, however, and Beth thought he’d lost interest while she was in elementary school. He lacked the vigor and muscle tone an active man of fifty-nine should still have, that was for sure. Could she persuade him to join a health club or at least start walking for his health?
Bigger issues here.
Phil stirred. “Mr. Marshall, I didn’t think to ask whether you divorced your wife for desertion or remained married to her.”
Beth blinked. She couldn’t imagine, but…
Her father looked astonished. “Of course not! I assumed she’d be back, and then…”
And then, he’d forgotten he’d been married, or that she wasn’t there or…?
A few times when Beth was a teenager, one of her friends had asked if she thought her dad would remarry. The idea had made her feel as if she was looking at the world upside down. Did her father ever notice a woman? Or consider asking one out? Did he sometimes think it would be nice to have companionship, if not sex?
Not something she actually wanted to picture. Nor would she ever have to. Her father was the original egghead. Physical needs were handled absentmindedly, if at all. He often missed meals, too involved in whatever he was thinking or reading about to notice a rumbling stomach. If he’d ever made a romantic gesture, Beth hadn’t seen it. Which didn’t mean her parents didn’t regularly have vigorous sex, but…okay, she couldn’t picture that.
Her brooding was interrupted by the doorbell.
Phil said, “I wonder…” but didn’t finish what he’d started.
Beth jumped up. “I’ll find out who it is.”
She was a little surprised to realize Phil was trailing her to the living room, dim with drawn drapes. Maybe he was using the excuse to leave?
But the minute she opened the door, she knew he’d guessed who had rung the bell. Tony Navarro, darkly handsome and mostly expressionless. If there was a momentary softening in his eyes when they met hers, she was probably deluding herself to call it regret.
The detective said, “Ms. Marshall. Phil.” He handed over some papers. “You’ll want to take a look at this.”
What on earth? But she’d watched enough crime TV shows to guess. He had brought a warrant to search more than the immediate area around the body. The house?