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As a second passes, then another, I realize I haven’t heard the sliding door close or Tom’s footsteps inside the house. What Idohear, drifting on the autumn breeze coming through that still-open door, is water lapping on the shore, the sound of a boat arriving at the Royces’ dock, and a familiar voice calling Tom’s name.
Boone.
I remain by the door, waiting for verification that Tom’s still outside. I get it when I hear Boone, now on the back patio, ask him if he needs any work done on the house.
“I figured I’d check, since I’m pretty much done with the Mitchells’ place.”
“I’m good,” Tom replies. “Everything seems to be in—”
I don’t pay attention to the rest because I’m too busy unlocking the door and yanking it open. As soon as I’m outside, I do the only reasonable thing.
Run.
Thanks to his boat, Boone beats me back to our side of the lake. Even though I’d stopped running as soon as I passed Eli’s house, I’m still out of breath when I see him standing in the road ahead, his arms folded across his chest like an angry parent.
“That was a stupid and dangerous thing you did back there,” Boone says as I approach him. “Tom would have caught you if I hadn’t jumped in my boat and stopped him.”
“How did you know I was there?”
The answer, I realize, is gripped in Boone’s right hand.
The binoculars.
Handing them to me, he says, “I borrowed them after I saw you walking past the house. I knew what you were up to and ran onto your porch to keep watch.”
“Why didn’t you stop me from going?”
“Because I was thinking about doing it myself.”
“But you just told me it was stupid and dangerous.”
“It was,” Boone says. “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t necessary. Did you find anything?”
“Plenty.”
We resume walking, making our way past where Boone is staying on the way to my place. Strolling side by side as leaves the color of a campfireswirl around us, it would be a lovely walk—almost romantic—if not for the grim subject matter at hand. I tell Boone about how Katherine’s rings, phone, and clothes are still in her bedroom before getting into what I found on Tom’s laptop, including Harvey Brewer.
“Tom was slowly poisoning her,” I say. “Just like what this guy did to his wife. I’m certain of it. Katherine told me she hadn’t been feeling well. She kept getting suddenly weak and tired.”
“So you think she’s dead?”
“I think she found out about it. Hopefully, she ran. But there’s a chance...”
Boone gives me a somber nod, no doubt thinking about the tarp, the rope, the hacksaw. “Tom got to her before she could.”
“But we have proof now.” I grab my phone and start swiping through the photos I took. “See? That’s the article about Harvey Brewer, right on Tom’s own laptop.”
“It’s not enough, Casey.”
I stop in the middle of the leaf-strewn road, letting Boone walk several paces ahead before he realizes I’m no longer at his side.
“What do you mean it’s not enough? I have pictures of Katherine’s phone and clothes, not to mention proof her husband was reading about a man who murdered his wife.”
“What I mean,” Boone says, “is that it’s not legal. You got all that stuff by breaking into their house. A crime that’s worse than spying.”
“You know what’s even worse?” I say, unable to keep an impatient edge out of my voice. “Planning to kill your wife.”
I still haven’t budged, forcing Boone to come back and wrap one of his big arms around my shoulders to get me moving again.