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Coulter didn’t seem to notice that I was trying to rile him. He was utterly dejected. “Kylie wasn’t planning our wedding after I proposed. Looking back, I guess she was planning her escape.” He dropped his head, sucking in a breath through his teeth .

Escape? That was an odd choice of words. The sincerity of his sadness wasn’t in question in my mind. Their young love had fizzled out for her, but not for him. And he’d never gotten over it. But was that enough to make him want her dead? I didn’t think so.

“So why did she end up on the dock?” I asked, more to myself than to Coulter, as I pushed the bedroom door open.

The bed was made. The room was clean. Not even a shoe out of place–they were all neatly filed on the rack on the back of the closet door.

What shoes was she wearing when she was found?

I didn’t remember any mention of it and made a mental note to check the coroner’s report when I got back to the station.

“I actually came here to collect more evidence at the dock,” I told him as I made my way back toward the front door. “You should go now, so as not to further contaminate things.”

Coulter’s chin dipped and he admitted, “I’ve already been down to the dock, just before you came.”

“Of course you have,” I said, shaking my head. “Just to make things more complicated.”

“Not the first time I’ve been accused of that,” he chuckled. “But that’s not why I did it. I was looking for evidence too. None of this makes sense.”

“Again, that’s my job, not yours. Please just go home and let me do my job.” I started out the door.

Coulter followed after me, pleading. “But maybe I can help. I promise I won't get in the way.”

I had to give it to the guy. He was persistent, albeit annoying. Since I hadn’t found anything when I returned yesterday, another set of eyes might prove useful. “Follow me.” I sighed. “Stay close, step only where I step.”

We hopped from one paver stone to the next in a zig-zag line to the dock. Once we reached the concrete slab of the dock, I stared at the boat on the dock. “Maybe Kylie came down to check the boat, needed to adjust the lines or do something, and fell in?”

Coulter didn’t hesitate. “Kylie had better boat legs than any woman I ever knew. Impossible.”

“Improbable, perhaps,” I said, “but not impossible.”

His gaze fixed on mine. “Then where did she hit her head in that scenario? On the dock? Where?” He looked along the length of the concrete. “Can’t you take DNA samples or something?”

“We can if we find any evidence to test. Do you see any?” Because I sure as hell didn’t.

“You mind if I get down for a closer look?” Coulter asked.

I pulled another pair of gloves out of my pocket and handed them to him. “Put these on first.”

We both got down onto hands and knees and crawled along the dock, scrutinizing the concrete edge, inch by inch.

Nothing. We climbed onto the boat and went over the entire length of the rub rail and the stainless steel railing around the boat.

I made a mental note to get forensics out to do a luminol test to see if any evidence had been washed away, if there was foul play.

But there was no real evidence at this point to suggest that there was.

If Kylie fell in and hit her head, there should be something left behind. But there wasn’t .

“I’ll have forensics come back and do a luminol test after dark to see if there’s any trace of blood that we can’t see. But for now, we’re done here.”

I started back up the paver-stone path, but Coulter lingered on the dock, still looking at the boat. “I taught Kylie to dock this boat when they got it. She was fourteen. She picked it up much quicker than driving a car.” He chuckled, his lip quivering.

I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Not only had Kylie broken his heart, he’d lost a lifelong friend. “I’m sorry.”

Like he’d remembered something, Coulter perked up. “Speaking of cars, though. Where is Kylie’s Jeep?”

I’d been so focused on the water that I hadn’t even thought of it. Sheriff Bennett hadn’t said anything about it that night either. Second mental note: FIND KYLIE’S CAR. “It wasn’t here the night she was found. I’ll look into it.”

“Maybe they took her car? Whoever did this to her…” He had a desperate look in his eyes. I’d seen it a hundred times–he was grasping at straws. “You can check her Sunpass account and see if they took it on the turnpike or any of the other toll roads.”

“All the evidence suggests she was in her apartment shortly before she drowned. It seems unlikely someone would have stolen her car. But, as I said, I’ll look into it.” I waved my hand for him to follow me. “Come on, let’s go.”

Coulter looked back at the boat one last time before he reluctantly followed me back up the driveway.

As sorry as I was feeling for him, I forced myself to snap back into professional mode. “I’m letting today slide, but stay out of this investigation, Coulter. Go home and grieve with your family and leave this to us.”

“I will,” he said, rolling his lower lip between his teeth. “But promise me you won’t call this an accident. It wasn’t an accident.”

Those were not words a murderer would speak. I felt sick to my stomach for the grief in his eyes. “I promise I will investigate every possibility.”

Coulter’s hand was shaking when he extended it. “Thank you. I spent years wondering what really happened between me and Kylie. I can’t handle years more wondering how she died.”

If this man had any part in Kylie's death, he was a damn good liar.