Page 89 of Accidental Murder

Megan leveled him with a stare. He winced.

Yeah, stew you leech, she thought. He didn’t belong on this investigation. She refused to reveal a hint of her mindset. She pulled to a stop behind a high-pressure spray truck and yanked the brake. A Honda Civic hatchback, unscathed by fire, was parked near the cabin.

“That’s my car.” Vaughn gripped the door handle, ready to exit.

“Stay!” Megan ordered as if he was a dog. “Do not move. I will not have you messing up a crime scene.” She exited and bent forward through the opened window. “FYI, just so you know, I hate you being here.” Without waiting for a retort, she strode to a pair of Mill Valley police officers on site and introduced herself.

“You made good time,” said Smith, the more senior of the two, the hair at his temples gray, his skin weathered. Favoring his left leg, he limped toward the cabin. Megan was pleased that he didn’t seem bothered by an SFPD person visiting the scene. She’d been in situations where conflicts arose because county agencies couldn’t work together.

“Arson?” Megan asked.

“Yep. Gasoline.” Smith stopped beside three decimated barrels. “Fuel for that behemoth.” He pointed to a contraption with huge blades standing in the middle of what used to have been a garage.

Megan was a city girl and didn’t know her way around any machine other than a car. “What is it?”

“A rototiller. It churns up crops.” Smith jerked a thumb to his right. “Over there is a dormant plot for a vegetable garden.”

“Any corpses?”

“One. Near the rototiller.”

“Male or female?” She steeled herself for the answer.

“Male. We found his ID in his wallet. Burned but not destroyed. Name’s David Macintyre. Owner of the property.”

Megan released the breath she’d been holding. “Dr. Macintyre,” she whispered. Not Kayla. “Could he have set the fire?”

“Don’t think so. He took a bullet to the head.”

“Suicide?”

“A Beretta was near his body, but that wasn’t what killed him. He was shot by a rifle.”

“Murdered?”

“Yep. Figure whoever did the deed moved him here.”

Megan’s head ached with theories. Had Kayla killed her uncle? Why drag his body to the garage? “Did you check out the hatchback, Officer?”

“Yep. Wires are cut. It’s not going anywhere.”

The story was changing by the minute.

First question: who had disabled the vehicle? Second question: why had Kayla taken time out of her investigation to visit her uncle? Because she’d believed he was in danger? Or had she deduced he’d been involved in the deaths of her sister and clients? Had he sabotaged the Honda Civic and trapped her? Had she defended herself?

Megan fisted her hands on her hips and surveyed the scene again. Why set the fire?

Smith cleared his throat. “FYI, we found the charred remains of ropes on the blades of the rototiller. However, there is no evidence of same on Dr. Macintyre’s wrists or ankles.”

“Why didn’t you start with that?” Megan hated getting facts piecemeal.If the ropes hadn’t been used on David Macintyre, then on whom, Kayla? Had whoever assassinated her uncle caught her, bound her, set the blaze, and, expecting her to die in the fire, left the Beretta to frame her for her uncle’s death?

“Also, we came across something inside the hatchback,” Smith said.

“What?” Megan frowned when she saw Vaughn outside the car chatting with an officer.

“A backpack stuffed beneath the driver’s seat. Inside are some sketches and printed material.”

“Printed material.”