Page 145 of Dead Man's List

Kit sighed. “We need to tell her father and her husband. They’re outside.”

Navarro’s sigh echoed her own. “Get to it, then.”

Connor turned for the bathroom door. “I’ll do it this time. It’s my turn.”

“Wait.” Kit lightly grabbed Connor’s hand before he ended the call with Navarro. “Check on Wilhelmina Munro as well. If Neckbeard’s starting to kill family members, he might go after her and Rafferty, her caretaker.”

“Didn’t they go back to Boston?” Navarro asked.

“No. She said that even though she wasn’t going to bury her husband—because Veronica gets to do that, being the legal wife—she’s going to stay until we finish our investigation. I told her it could be a while, but she’s rented a condo in the city. I’ll text you the address.”

“Thank you. Stay safe, both of you.” Navarro ended the call.

Connor exhaled. “Let’s do this.”

They headed down the stairs, able to hear both Shoemaker and Tindall shouting at the cops on the other side of the closed front door. Kit and Connor slipped through, not giving the two men a chance to enter.

Connor exhaled again. He really hated doing notifications, Kit knew, but no one liked them. And it was his turn.

“Your wife is dead, Mr.Shoemaker,” Connor said as compassionately as he could. “You can’t go in until the forensics team and medical examiner are finished and we’ve cleared the scene.”

Shoemaker just…collapsed. Fell on the concrete front porch on his ass and didn’t even react to the pain of the fall. He looked like he’d been unplugged. His body sagged and he leaned back against the front wall of the house.

“This is all my fault,” he whispered.

Tindall had gone an alarming shade of white.“What?”he asked soundlessly, the word forming only on his lips.

Kit took his arm and escorted him to a porch swing that gently swayed in the ocean breeze. “I’m so sorry, sir.”

He slumped onto the swing and stared up at her.“How?”Again the word was soundless.

“She was murdered, sir.”

Closing his eyes, he mouthedmurderedbut said no more.

“Can we call someone for you, sir?” Kit asked. “Your wife?”

He nodded, still silent. Then his eyes opened and Kit saw the glazed look of shock. “Kennedy. I need to tell her.”

“Who is Kennedy?”

“My granddaughter. She’s at college.” He fumbled for his phone, but Kit stayed him with a gentle touch to his wrist. “Let’s make sure someone’s with her when you tell her, okay? Like a friend or a dorm roommate. Maybe her residential advisor.”

Tindall nodded numbly. “The girls. How am I going to tell them?” Tears welled in his eyes. “Why would someone hurt my Aylene? She was good. Kind.”

“I don’t know,” Kit said honestly. “We’re going to find out.”

He nodded again, then went still. Then rigid, sitting up so abruptly that the swing nearly dumped him. “What does this have to do with Pete? Why was he questioned?”

Kit glanced over at Peter Shoemaker, who still sat on the concrete, rocking himself. His mouth continued to move and Kit thought he was saying, over and over, that it was all his fault.

“I can’t give you all the details right now—we’re still figuring things out,” she added when Tindall opened his mouth, undoubtedly to object. “But your son-in-law was questioned because we believe he was being blackmailed.”

Again Tindall looked lost. “Pete? For what?”

Kit was nearly certain that Peter Shoemaker had done far more than cheat on his wife. The message Neckbeard was sending was graphic: pay or else. And, relative to the sums the other blackmailees were paying, Shoemaker’s two thousand a month didn’t seem enough to murder a woman over. “I’m not sure. Like I said, we’re just getting started on our investigation. But we will find out.”

A muscle clenched in Tindall’s jaw. “So this really is Pete’s fault?”