Page 51

If. If. If.

He was usually good at analysis. In fact, there had been many times over the past year he had sincerely wished he had become an intelligence analyst rather than a field agent. It wasn’t that he’d lost his nerve. But there was a price, it took something out of you, to work deep undercover the way he had for so many months. Befriending people with an eye to betraying them—he still did not question or regret that necessity—but it did cost you something.

Anyway, if he could just get his hands on all the pieces to this puzzle—because, however it seemed on the surface, it couldn’t be a very complicated crime. It came back to victimology. John’s character, his life, his relationships, his habits…all these things automatically limited the potential scope of the investigation. John was not involved in domestic terrorism; he was not involved in organized crime—or even disorganized crime. He did not gamble, he did not live beyond his means, he did not run insurance scams or commit medical malpractice. He did not have a messy personal life, although perhaps, through no fault of his own, it was a little messier than Archie had realized.

There was certainly a personal aspect to this crime.

Whoever had killed John was likely known to him. It was hard to imagine John going to meet a stranger at twilight in the back of the garden.

Granted, it was hard to understand why John had gone to meet anyone at twilight in the back of the garden.

When Archie was finally allowed to return to McCabe House, he would turn the place upside down looking for anything that could give him insight into who might have wished John out of the way. Starting with John’s safe, where he would hopefully find that mysterious letter that was supposed to explain why John had deliberately cut his sister and niece from his will in favor of Archie. He was counting on that document revealing—maybe not the actual motive for someone wanting John out of the way—but at the very least, insight into John’s state of mind.

Had John been afraid of someone?

No.

He had not, in Archie’s opinion, seemed fearful. Surely, he would not have gone out to the gazebo if he’d been fearful.

But then, did Archie know John as well as he thought?

Did he know any of these people, including Beau, as well as he’d thought?

No. Of course not. No one ever knew anyone as well as they thought.

Archie brushed his teeth, showered, shaved. It was a relief to have a plan of action again, even if the plan was so far too dependent on Beau’s goodwill.

He was surprised he hadn’t heard from Beau yet, but when he double-checked his cell, Beau had not phoned or texted.

Hopefully, Beau had not changed his mind about arresting him. Archie’s heart sank a little at the thought. Beau had sounded definite the night before, but he was almost certainly under pressure to solve the murder of a prominent citizen quickly.

So, coffee and food and then he would touch base with Beau.

In the midst of these thoughts, someone knocked firmly on his room door.

Scarlett making sure he hadn’t absconded in the night?

Or someone even less friendly?

Archie moved quietly to the door, gazed out through the peephole, and had a fish-eyed glimpse of a miniature Beau raising his hand to knock again.

Archie opened the door. “Speak of the devil.”

Beau considered Archie, towel wrapped around his waist, his hair in damp tufts from the shower. He held up a manila folder. “Room service.”

Archie felt a rush of relief—Beau had followed through on his promise—and stepped back.

Beau stepped inside the room. “Sleep well?” His gaze returned automatically to Archie’s bare chest.

Archie grimaced. “Yeah. Too well. How about you?”

“Nothing to report. I guess our perp will wait for the maid to make her discovery. I asked Scarlett to pull the security footage of the grounds for the past forty-eight hours. Maybe something will turn up.”

Maybe. Archie wasn’t pinning his hopes on it. Too often nighttime security footage was unusable.

“Let me get dressed.” Archie grabbed his briefs, jeans, and T-shirt and returned to the steamy bathroom. When he exited fully dressed a couple of minutes later, Beau was at the window staring down at the street below. His profile was grim.

“Everything okay?” Archie asked.