Page 22 of Beyond Her Reach (Bree Taggert #10)

Morgan studied Kelly Gibson’s street through the windshield of her minivan. The neighborhood was quiet. At eight thirty in the morning, kids would be in school.

“What’s the plan?” Lance asked from the driver’s seat.

Morgan reached for her tote bag. “Knock on doors. See who will talk to us and might have noticed activity at Kelly’s house Monday afternoon.”

Lance opened his car door. Morgan fished two clipboards out of her bag, then zipped it and shoved it under the passenger seat.

Not that anyone would want to break into her vehicle.

Empty reusable bottles, animal crackers, and pretzel crumbs littered the carpets, like a convenience store had exploded inside.

Every square inch of faux leather was covered with scratches, dog fur, kid safety seats, and shiny blotches one instinctively knew were sticky without touching them.

She joined Lance on the sidewalk. Normally, she dressed as a high-powered attorney.

Today, she’d chosen a suburban-mom vibe: jeans, ankle boots, and a powder-blue parka.

She wanted to look approachable. She glanced at Lance, who couldn’t help but look intimidating.

But his Hollywood looks would open more doors than one might think.

She handed him a clipboard. “I’ll take this side of the block.”

Lance nodded and walked south.

Morgan headed for the houses across from Kelly’s. No one answered at the first three homes, though she could feel someone inside at house number three. Four doors down the street, a man of about thirty answered her knock. Disheveled and dressed in sweatpants, he held a tiny infant on one shoulder.

She introduced herself. “My name is Morgan Dane. I’m an attorney working on a case.”

“I’m Steve Dixon.” His eyes opened wide. “It’s about my neighbor Kelly, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Morgan admitted. “Do you know her?”

“Not well. I mean, I wave when I see her.”

“Did you notice anything unusual Monday afternoon?”

“There was a car parked outside her house.” He lifted a hand off the baby’s back and pointed to its head. “She cries nonstop, and my wife just started back to work last week. The days have been long.”

“How old?” Morgan asked.

“Three months. Heidi took the first twelve weeks off, and now I’m taking my family leave.”

“That’s good planning.”

He laughed. “Well, it seemed like a good idea when we arranged it. Now it’s week two, and I’m going to lose my mind.”

“It’ll get better. I promise. Is this your first?”

“Yes. She might be an only child.” Despite his exhaustion, humor filled his words.

The chill penetrated Morgan’s jeans. “Do you want to close the door?”

“No. This is the first time she’s stopped screaming all day. I’m just going to stand right here while it lasts.”

“Tell me about the car you saw in Kelly’s driveway?”

“It was a sports car. A two-seater. Black. I’m not a car guy, so I can’t help you with specifics.”

“Did you see anyone go in or out of the house?”

“No, but I was looking out the window. I didn’t go outside.”

“What time was this?”

He shook his head. “I really can’t say. After lunch, before dinner is the best I can do.”

“I might need you to sign a statement or talk to the sheriff. Is that Ok ?”

“Sure,” he said.

Morgan wrote his contact information on her clipboard. “Thank you so much.”

She retreated to the sidewalk. She could see Lance at the other end of the block, striding up a walkway toward a blue Colonial. Morgan walked in the other direction, energy livening her steps. Someone had been at Kelly’s house Monday afternoon. Does the sheriff know?

She heard voices and turned. Three women were walking toward her down the center of the street.

They wore athletic tights, bright sneakers, puffy jackets, and knit hats.

Smiling, Morgan stepped into the street.

“Hi. May I ask you a couple of questions?” She introduced herself.

“I’m working on Kelly Gibson’s case.” She left it up to the women to decide which side of the case she was on.

The women stopped and started chatting nervously.

“What an awful thing to happen.”

“I hope they catch her killer.”

The first woman said, “We usually walk together, but sometimes I go alone. Not anymore.”

“It’s frightening.” Morgan nodded. “Did you know Kelly?”

“Oh, yes,” Woman Number Two said. “I used to see her all the time. Our kids went to school together. I haven’t seen her lately, though. Once my youngest left for college, I went back to work part-time.”

“I haven’t seen her recently either,” Woman Number One added. “She withdrew from everyone when her husband left her.”

Woman Number Three said, “I saw her at the grocery store a month ago. She said hello but didn’t have time to talk.”

Morgan nodded. “Did any of you notice any activity on Monday afternoon? Did you see anyone at Kelly’s house?”

“Monday afternoon?” Woman Number One asked. “I thought she died Tuesday. That’s when the police cars were here.”

“She was killed on Monday,” Morgan explained. “She was found on Tuesday.”

The three women went silent, as if processing the information.

“Oh.” The third woman pressed a gloved hand to the base of her throat. “I saw her ex at her door on Monday.”

“Her ex?” Morgan asked.

“I’m sorry. Harrison,” the woman clarified. “I don’t know if they’re divorced yet or not.”

“Do you know what time this was?” Morgan asked.

She looked at the sky. “Late afternoon. Wait. I can check my fitness app. It logs all my exercise.” She pulled a phone from her pocket, tugged off a glove, and scrolled.

“Here. On Monday afternoon, I walked from 4:06 to 4:55. I lapped the neighborhood several times, so I can’t say which lap I was on. ”

Morgan wrote down the time. “You’re sure it was Harrison?”

“Yes. I’ve known the Gibsons for years.”

“Did you see a vehicle?” Morgan asked.

“I did.” The woman closed her eyes. “That little black two-seater he bought after he dumped Kelly. It was late Monday afternoon, he was banging on the door and shouting, ‘Come on, Kelly. Don’t be such a bitch. Let me in.’”

Morgan poised her pen over her paper. “Would you be willing to sign a statement or speak with the sheriff? I know Sheriff Taggert is looking for witnesses.”

“I guess.” The woman looked unsure. She glanced at her friends. “You don’t think it would be dangerous, do you? He won’t come after me? He knows where I live.”

Her two friends didn’t respond, but they both shifted their weight as if uncomfortable.

Morgan reasoned, “We don’t know that he’s responsible, but the safest way to protect everyone in the neighborhood is to help the sheriff solve the crime. Otherwise, there’s a killer at large.”

All three women paled.

“When you put it that way, of course I’ll help.” The witness recited her name, address, and phone number.

“Thank you.” Morgan tucked the notepad under her arm and handed the woman her business card. “You’ll be hearing from me or the sheriff.”

The woman nodded. Her friends patted her shoulders and huddled close as they walked away. Morgan returned to her minivan and waved for Lance. He jogged back, and she filled him in.

“Did you show her any pictures?”

Morgan settled in the passenger seat. “No. I didn’t want to taint her statement, but she knew him by name. No doubt the sheriff will have her look at a photo array.” Morgan was always thinking about how evidence would be presented in a potential trial.

“What now?”

“Now we find out what vehicle Harrison Gibson drives and call the sheriff.” Morgan couldn’t wait to present Bree with her new witness statements.

She pulled out her cell and punched in the sheriff’s number.

The call went to voicemail. Morgan tried the main number for the sheriff’s office. Marge answered the phone.

“This is Morgan Dane. I need to speak with the sheriff.”

“She’s in a meeting,” Marge said. “I expect she’ll be tied up for at least another hour or so.”

“I’ll try back.” Morgan ended the call. She drummed her fingers on the armrest. “Let’s go to Troy’s cabin.”

“Let me guess. You want to find the blond jogger.”

“We have some time. The sheriff doesn’t have the resources to wander around the lake for days in hopes of seeing this mysterious woman. We do.”

“Let’s do it.” Lance drove toward Blackbird Lake. A short time later, the minivan bounced down a narrow road riddled with potholes. “We should have brought my Jeep.”

“That’s it.” Morgan pointed toward a gap in the woods.

Lance turned onto a dirt driveway, which ended in a tiny clearing. “This is rustic.”

Morgan traded her heels for a pair of flats, then changed her mind and reached for the gym bag on the floor behind the driver’s seat. She pulled it into the front seat and took out a pair of barely worn gym shoes.

“Good thing I always intend to go to the gym, even if I never actually go there.” To Morgan, the gym was more of a goal than a reality. “Glad I wore pants today.”

They got out of the car.

“We don’t have a key,” Lance said.

Morgan zipped her jacket to her chin and pulled out her gloves. “We don’t need to go inside.”

Lance led the way behind the cabin. “He said he saw her on the trail that goes around the lake, right?”

Morgan picked her way across the grass. A cold wind whipped off the lake, and she shivered.

“Do you want to walk the path?” Lance asked.

Not really. “Yes.”

“If you want, I could run it. You could wait in the car,” Lance offered. “No offense, but it would be much faster without you.”

“No offense taken. We both know I’m a slow and reluctant runner.” But Morgan thought running the whole trail seemed like a waste of time. “What are the chances the same woman would be running right now?”

“Not very good.”

Morgan watched tiny whitecaps churn on the surface. “Troy said he knew most of his other neighbors on sight, but he’d never seen this one before. Is there any public parking on Blackbird Lake?”