Page 2 of Alibi for Murder (Colby Agency: The Next Generation #2)

Not exactly the sort of question a woman who actually did live alone liked to answer when asked by a stranger, but the man was FBI.

“Yes.”

“Are there any weapons in the house?” he asked.

“Only my grandfather’s BB rifle.”

“Your grandmother left you this place?” This from Potter.

Allie nodded slowly. “She did.” A frown worked its way across her forehead. “What’s this about?” Why would the FBI want to know how she’d come into possession of her property?

Was someone trying to steal her property? She’d heard of this on one of the podcasts she occasionally tuned into. The house was the one thing of real value she owned. Worry needled her.

Potter pulled out her cell phone and tapped the screen. “You’re thirty-two years old. Born to Alice and Jerry Foster, who died in an automobile accident when you were four.” She glanced up at Allie when she said this as if to gage her reaction.

“That’s correct.”

“Your mother’s parents, Virginia and Gordon Holt, raised you. You graduated high school right here in Woodstock and went on to the nursing program at McHenry.”

Now Allie was just annoyed. She leaned forward and held up her hands in a stop-sign fashion. “I’m not answering any more questions until you tell me what this is about.”

Technically, they weren’t even questions, just recitations of the facts about her life to which she automatically agreed.

People did that far too often. Gave away too much information about themselves without even realizing they were confirming details that might haunt them later.

Like for someone who might be trying to steal her home.

Stop, Al.

“You’re employed by GenCorp,” Fraser went on, taking the lead now that Allie had shown her irritation at Potter. “You started with them from their inception, ten years ago.”

“Again,” Allie said, “I will know what this is about before we continue the conversation.”

“Ms. Foster,” Potter resumed, “there was an incident at the hospital where you worked which precipitated your leaving the hands-on side of the nursing field and moving to what you do now.”

The memory of a patient dying in her arms caused Allie to flinch. She was not going back there. She stood. “I think we’re done here.”

There was absolutely no reason to talk about that tragedy.

Allie had been investigated by the hospital, the nursing board and the local police.

She had been cleared of wrongdoing. It was the doctor in charge of the case who’d made the mistake; Allie had only tried to save the poor woman, and sadly, all her efforts had failed.

“Please—” Fraser eased forward a bit but didn’t trouble himself to stand “—bear with us, Ms. Foster.”

With visible reluctance, Allie settled into her chair once more. Barely resisted the urge to gulp down the rest of the wine in her glass. Not exactly the sort of move to make with two federal agents staring her down and going over her life history.

“One week ago,” Fraser explained, “there was an incident at the hospital where you once worked. A patient was murdered in his room.”

Allie drew back, sank deeper into her chair. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She allowed a beat to pass. “But what does that have to do with me?”

“Did you see anything about it on the news?” Potter asked.

Finally, a question to actually answer. “I’m afraid not.

I never watch the news.” She shrugged. “I see the occasional headline pop up when I’m at the computer checking my email, but I rarely follow the link or read whatever commentary accompanies it.

I have a weather radio that keeps me informed of the weather, but that’s about it really. ”

The two agents exchanged a glance.

“Can you tell us where you were on Friday, one week ago, from about five in the evening until midnight?”

Allie felt taken aback at the question. “Seriously?”

The way the two looked at her confirmed they were indeed serious.

She shrugged. “Okay. Let me confirm with my phone.” She pulled up her calendar app.

“I never do anything unless my phone tells me to.” She laughed, or attempted to laugh, but the sound came out a little brittle.

The agents watching her said nothing. “Okay, here we go. That would have been May 30, and I worked from eight until five, then I had dinner and a shower and started a new book.”

When the agents continued staring at her without uttering a word, she looked from one to the other. “ The Great Gatsby. I’ve read it like five times, but I sometimes read it again when I haven’t decided on anything new.”

“We’ve looked into your lifestyle,” Fraser said.

A painful laugh burst out of her before Allie could stop it. Were they joking? “My lifestyle?”

“You don’t leave the house often,” he explained. “You order most everything online and have it shipped or delivered.”

This time, Allie’s laugh was more sarcastic.

“Since the pandemic, lots of people use online ordering and home delivery. And when you work from home, you don’t go out as often.

” What was the big deal with her shopping habits?

Many, after being shut in all that time, just kept living that way. So what?

“Can you tell me the last time you left the house?” Potter inquired.

Allie drew in a deep breath and worked hard to tamp down the irritation that continued to rise. “I don’t know. Maybe last month? I think my semiannual dental cleaning was last month. Maybe the fifth. I could check my calendar if you need an exact date.”

“With Dr. Rice right here in Woodstock,” Potter said.

Okay. Allie braced herself. It was one thing for these two to know her background, but to have been looking into her schedule and her comings and goings? Something was very wrong here.

Before she could say as much, Fraser spoke again. “Ms. Foster, we’re here because the victim was part of an ongoing case the Bureau is deeply involved in.”

Allie shook her head. “I don’t see how my having worked an entire decade ago at the hospital involved has anything to do with your current case.”

Again, the two exchanged one of those suspicious glances.

“Just get to the point please.” Her frustration refused to stay hidden any longer. She’d had more than enough of this game.

Potter tapped the screen of her cell again, then stood and moved to where Allie sat. “This might give you some clarification.”

The screen was open to a video. A woman with brown hair dressed in scrubs paused at room 251. Allie frowned. The woman started into the room but paused long enough to glance first one way and then the other along the corridor, giving the camera a full-on shot of her face.

Allie’s attention zoomed in on the image. She studied the face.

Hers.

The woman going into the room was her .

Shock funneled inside her. She stared up at Potter. “Why would you have this video? It has to be from at least ten years ago.” Allie stared at the frozen image. Her dark brown hair was in a ponytail, the way she’d always worn it—still did. In the video, she wore the required blue scrubs.

“This video,” Potter explained, “is from one week ago. That room is where the patient was murdered.”

“No. No. No.” Allie heart started to pound.

She snatched the phone from the agent’s hand and watched the video again.

“That’s me rightly enough. But that could not have been a week ago.

” She paused the video and tried to zoom in much closer on her face, but it was too blurry to determine if the couple of crow’s feet she had developed recently were absent—which, to her way of thinking, would be proof of when this video was actually taken.

She shook her head, passed the phone back to its owner. “I have no idea why you or anyone else would believe that video is only one week old. I haven’t been in that hospital since—”

“Your grandmother died at the beginning of the pandemic,” Fraser offered.

Allie blinked, a new level of uncertainty settling in. “That’s correct.” She watched as Potter resumed her seat next to her colleague. “If you know this, then why are you suggesting that video is only a week old?”

“Because it is,” Potter stated with complete certainty.

“Every second of security footage from that hospital has been scrutinized repeatedly. The clip you watched is the one that occurred outside the victim’s room just before he was murdered last Friday.

There’s another that shows you coming into the hospital that day, but nothing showing you leave. ”

This was wrong. Allie shook her head, her nerves jangling. “What you’re suggesting is impossible.”

Fraser moved his head slowly side to side. “I wish it were.”

No. Absolutely this had to be some sort of mistake. “But you know I haven’t been in that hospital for years. You said so yourself.” Worry started to climb up Allie’s spine. They were serious. This was serious.

“The victim was Thomas Madison.”

Allie rolled the name around in her head. “I don’t know any Thomas Madison.”

This was completely insane. She focused on slowing her breathing. The way her heart thundered she was headed for a panic attack. She did not want to go there in front of these two.

“You may have seen him before.” Fraser turned his cell screen toward her. The image displayed there was of a man who appeared to be in his late sixties to early seventies. Gray thinning hair. Light colored eyes. Saggy jowls.

“He doesn’t look familiar.”

“He worked with your father…before his untimely death.”

Allie hesitated. “My father was a research technician at Ledwell…”

At the time—nearly thirty years ago—Ledwell had been the leading-edge AI research facility.

Still was. Her father hadn’t been a doctor or a scientist, just a tech, but he had been very good at his work.

Her grandparents had told Allie stories about how good he was.

Most of those in charge at Ledwell had believed him to be far better than any of their academically trained scientists.

“Did you know,” Fraser said, “there was an investigation into your parents’ accident?”