Page 23 of Beyond Her Reach (Bree Taggert #10)

Lance shook his head. “Not that I know of.” He pulled out his phone. “Let me double-check.” He tapped and scrolled. “There doesn’t seem to be any park areas here at all. The closest is the public boat ramp for Scarlet Lake.” He lowered the phone. “Maybe she’s visiting someone.”

“Maybe,” Morgan agreed.

Lance circled a forefinger in the air. “Troy said the trail around the lake was three miles. If it’s flat, I’ll be back soon.” He turned and set off on the trail at a brisk jog.

She stared out over the lake. The chances that the blond woman was running again right now were slim, especially if she had just been visiting someone on the lake.

If she did live here, and Troy said he knew most of his neighbors’ faces, how could he not know her?

She could live a bit farther away and simply be trying a new route. Or she could have just moved here.

Morgan pulled out her phone and called Lance’s mom, who was the computer expert used by Sharp Investigations. “Could you check recent real estate transactions for a property near Blackbird Lake that might have changed ownership?”

“Sure,” Lance’s mom said.

Morgan heard the clacking of her keyboard over the line.

A few minutes later, Lance’s mom said, “Seventeen Gulph Run sold in November to Gerald Lindo. Two weeks ago, 120 Sagemore Court sold to Susan Duffy. Number twelve Loon Lane was purchased by A. A. Kulmann on October fifteenth.”

“Can you text me that info?” Morgan asked.

“I’ll do it right now,” Lance’s mom said.

Morgan’s phone beeped almost immediately. “Thanks so much.”

“You’re very welcome. I’m always glad when I can help.”

Morgan said goodbye and ended the call. She walked to Troy’s back deck and sat on the steps.

The house blocked some of the wind. She started with an internet search for Gerald Lindo and found him quickly.

He was an engineer who worked out of a firm in Albany.

Morgan switched to his social media site and viewed photos of him currently working on a job in Puerto Rico.

She scrolled through his photos. No blond women. No runners.

She moved on to the next name: Susan Duffy.

With a more common name, the local Susan took a few more minutes to locate.

She was a physician’s assistant with a local practice.

About sixty years old, Susan had short gray hair.

A current photo on social media showed her on crutches with one foot in a boot.

There were no younger blond women or runners in any of her recent photos.

One left.

Mentally crossing her fingers, Morgan google-searched the name A. A. Kulmann, but the search results didn’t appear relevant. This was her only lead. Morgan needed to find this blond runner.

She opened a social media app and typed the name into the search bar.

Thirty-six A. Kulmanns appeared. Morgan began checking their profiles one by one, beginning with Aaron Kulmann.

The blond woman could be AA Kulmann, or she could live with A.

A. Kulmann. She spent the next twenty minutes scrolling through profiles.

Well down the list, she clicked on Annette Kulmann.

The photo was of a blond woman in her midthirties.

Morgan scrolled to the About section. Annette didn’t give much personal information.

Morgan clicked on P hotos . Yes! She found photos of Annette with two other women.

All three of them were dressed in running tights.

The caption read: the Disney half marathon with Paula and Jeanine .

Hopeful, Morgan continued to scroll and found a check-in for Annette at a bakery in Scarlet Falls. This must be her.

Footfalls pulled her away from her phone screen. Lance jogged toward her. He wasn’t breathing hard and had barely broken a sweat on his three-mile run. He stopped next to her and stretched a calf. “No luck.”

“I found her.” Morgan shook her phone, then explained how she’d tracked down Annette Kulmann digitally.

“And you did it without running three miles.” He laughed, then kissed her. “You’re brilliant. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Even if I’m more brawn than brain?” he joked.

“That’s hardly true, but my answer would be the same regardless.”

“Why don’t I text her photo to Troy? He can tell us if it’s her or not.”

“Good idea.” Morgan forwarded the social media page. “In case it isn’t her, don’t send her personal information. Just the photo.”

“ Ok .” Lance tapped on his phone. It vibrated in a few seconds. “Troy says yes. That’s her.”

“Great.”

He opened the door to the minivan. “Let’s go see her.”

Twelve Loon Lane was on the other side of the lake.

Though only a short distance as the crow flew, the drive took nearly thirty minutes of bouncing along winding dirt roads.

Lance parked in front of a cedar-and-glass A-frame.

A silver Prius sat in the driveway. Behind the house, a lush lawn led to a dock that extended over the lake.

“Hope she’s home.” Morgan climbed out of the minivan.

They walked to the front door and knocked, but no one answered.

“Damn.” Morgan stepped back, scanning the front of the house.

“We know where she lives now. We can come back.”

But Morgan wanted her statement now. The clock was ticking on Troy.

Bree would have that DNA from the box cutter expedited.

If the results came back positive for Kelly’s blood, she could arrest him.

Morgan could make a jury doubt that Troy had been driving the Porsche.

Verifying at least part of his story would help.

But it appeared that Annette wasn’t here.

“We’ll get her phone number and call her to explain,” Lance said.

“Explain what?” a woman’s voice called out.

Morgan spun. A woman walked up the lawn from the lake. She wore black running tights, a base-layer long-sleeve shirt, and a puffy vest. Her blond ponytail popped out above a blue fleece ear warmer. Thin black gloves covered her hands. “Ms. Kulmann?”

“Who are you?” the woman asked warily.

Morgan introduced herself and Lance, then produced a business card.

Annette read the card. “You’re an attorney? Who are you representing?”

“Troy Ryder,” Morgan said.

Annette didn’t show any recognition. “I don’t know him.” She extended the card back toward Morgan, as if handing it back.

“I know.” Ignoring the card, Morgan pointed to the lake. “He lives on the other side of the lake.”

“And?”

“And he says he saw you on Monday afternoon while he was out running.” Morgan turned to Lance. “Do you have a photo of Troy?”

“Probably.” Lance pulled out his phone. “I do.” He extended the phone toward Annette. Morgan peered at the screen. Troy was dressed in hockey gear but the picture had been taken off the ice, and his helmet was off.

Recognition lit Annette’s eyes. “I remember him. Yeah.” She snorted. “We passed each other on the lake trail a few days ago. He was staring back at me so hard, he ran right into a tree branch.” She sobered. “He didn’t die of a weird head injury or something, did he?”

“No,” Lance said. “Nothing like that.”

“Whew. I didn’t stop to help him or anything, but a woman alone on an empty trail just doesn’t do that. You know?”

“Yes,” Morgan agreed. “I wouldn’t have stopped either.”

“But you definitely remember him,” Lance said.

“Yes.” She blushed. “I saw him hit the tree because I turned back to get a second look at him too. He’s fit.”

“He is.” Morgan smiled. “Do you remember what time you saw him?”

Annette pulled her phone out of a flat pocket on the side of her leggings. “Let’s see. I ran seven miles on Monday between 11:30 and 12:19. I would have seen him around the halfway point, so close to noon. I can’t be exact, though.”

“That’s good enough,” Morgan said.

“Seven miles is impressive,” Lance said.

“Meh. It was an easy day for me.” Annette adjusted her ponytail.

“Would you be willing to tell the sheriff this story?” Morgan asked.

Annette pulled back. “Why would I need to do that?”

“Because Troy is being accused of a crime.”

“So, I’m like, his alibi?” She didn’t sound happy about that. “I really don’t want to be involved with a crime.”

“What about keeping an innocent man out of prison?” Lance asked.

Annette’s eyes opened wider. “Prison? What did he do?”

Morgan steered the conversation away from crimes and prisons. “All you need to do is say you saw him on the day and time you did. That’s all. Just tell the truth.”

Annette bit her lower lip. “I don’t know.”

Morgan could subpoena her, but she’d rather Annette be cooperative. Hostile witnesses weren’t the best. “Troy deserves for the truth to come out. So does the victim.”

Annette scraped the toe of a sneaker in the dirt. “What is the crime?”

Morgan couldn’t avoid the truth either. “Murder.”

“What?”

Morgan held up a hand. “Evidence will solve the crime, and your statement will be part of that evidence.”

Annette pressed a palm to her forehead. “This is about that woman who was killed over in Grey’s Hollow, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Morgan said. “The most important thing is for the sheriff to catch the real killer. Don’t you agree?”

Annette hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. You’re right. I’ll do it.”

The interaction between Annette and Troy didn’t cover the entire period that comprised her time of death, but it would allow Morgan to poke the first holes in the sheriff’s case.