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I nod. “Noah told me that part.”
“A bullet to the heart sounds very personal to me—not like a random burglar, but more like someone who was angry at your mother, specifically.”
“Oh my god,” I mutter. It feels like things are clicking into place. “I found letters locked in a desk drawer in a study Mom used to use sometimes. They were addressed to her but not signed or dated. The sheriff hasn’t released details yet because they’re still testing them for fingerprints and stuff. But they were kind of creepy.”
“Creepy how?”
“Stalkerish. Like an unrequited lover. Someone pining after Mom. They were aggressive, saying things like she needed to accept they were destined to be together and how could Mom deny their love.”
Isla’s mouth forms a round O. “Caden,” she breathes. “That goes along with the autopsy findings. I mean, shooting someone directly through the heart? That sounds like something a jilted person would do.”
My own heart kicks into high gear. “Exactly,” I say. How did the police miss all of this? How did they not see the autopsy the way Isla did? Why did they have to be so goddamn certain it was a random attack?
“I had another thought,” Isla adds. I could kiss her. She’s so good at this. “It’s really precise shooting too. So I was wondering if this was someone who had firearms training. Not just some petty criminal but a person who knew how to hit a target.”
“This is incredible,” I say. I want to pick her up and spin her around. “I can’t believe the police didn’t think of that!”
“It seems like they were laser-focused on the burglar theory,” she says. “Like they didn’t want to consider the evidence in any way that didn’t fit with their assumption. They never even thought of your mom being targeted.” She cocks her head. “What made you think to look in that drawer?”
I give her a sheepish grin. “Grace.”
“Grace?” Isla says surprised.
“Victimology,” I say with a shrug.
Isla half smiles.
“Feels like the town is doing a better job solving this case than the police,” I say. “Hey, maybe I should ask Mrs. Greerson if she saw Mom doing anything suspicious at the party. I didn’t even think to ask about Mom’s behavior when I was talking to her before.”
Suddenly, Isla gasps. “Caden. I just remembered something.”
“What?”
“The night of the party, when they were bringing out the desserts, I was…” She flushes, her cheeks turning seashell pink. “I was looking for you and I ended up getting lost in the house a bit.”
“Understandable,” I say, as a pang of longing hits me once again, to go back, to do everything differently.
“I walked by a room and heard your mom talking to someone. She sounded mad. She said something like, I told you that’s not appropriate. Then when she came out, she looked upset. The room was empty but there was a door on the other side that was open. Like whoever she was talking to had just left.”
My pulse is pounding as Isla looks up at me, her gaze intense.
“I thought it was Alistair,” she says. “You know, he’s always?—”
“Doing something inappropriate,” I agree.
“But what if…”
“What if it was the stalker,” I finish. “What if he was at the fucking party.”
We both stare at each other.
“I’ve got to tell the sheriff,” Isla says.
“I’ll come with you,” I say.
“No.” She puts a hand on my arm and shivers erupt over my skin. “You’ve got to get to your presentation. Your ideas are important, Caden.”
“I’m surprised you remember them,” I say.