Page 57

REN

Siren Song, Maine

R en sat on the other side of Ellie’s desk, and she examined the knife through the plastic freezer bag. “You found this on Siren Cliff?”

“Half-buried under a rock.”

“What were you doing over there?” she asked.

“My dog ran off. Does that matter?”

“Nope. Just curious.”

Ren pointed to the weapon. “There’s still dried blood near the hilt.”

“Maybe. Could be rust. Could be dirt. You’re hardly an expert.”

“I’m a former Navy medic. I know blood when I see it.”

She held up the bag and squinted at the blade. “So, you think Franklin walked out of his house that night to what? Get some air? Watch the fireworks? And someone stabbed him?”

“No. The reverse. You mentioned you found blood in the kitchen of Franklin’s house.”

“Yeah, but nothing to trigger alarm bells. Like I said, he could have cut a finger chopping onions.”

“Or someone from that party snuck over and stabbed Franklin.”

Ellie processed Ren’s theory. “Possible, I guess. Wouldn’t he have bled more?”

“Not necessarily. The surrounding tissue and subcutaneous fat—” Ren gave up on the medical explanation when he saw Ellie’s blank expression. “He was bleeding internally.”

Ellie nodded. “So, what’s your theory?”

“The killer didn’t have time to make sure they finished the job. They thought they killed him, but they didn’t. Franklin is wounded. Badly. He knows he’s dying, so what does he do?”

Understanding hit her, and Ellie said, “He scattered his wife’s ashes over Siren Cliff.”

Ren stood, walked behind the chair, and braced himself on the back. “Exactly. He wants to be with his wife. So, with his last bit of strength, he staggers over to the cliff—”

“And jumps.” Ellie finished his thought.

“His back would have been to Ginny’s house. Nobody at the party could have seen the knife in his gut.”

“And the recovery unit wouldn’t have thought to look for one.”

A booming voice came from the doorway between the reception area and the bullpen. “There’s one problem with your theory. Well, more than one, but the one that leaps to mind is motive.”

The chief entered the room with Gary Bonapart, the realtor, who delivered a pretentious bow and said, “Greetings, Mr. Jameson.”

Ren ignored the shorter man and addressed the chief. “I think the incident on the deck indicates that someone has a motive for removing people from that house.”

The chief tipped his head from side to side considering it. “What do you think Gary? Does somebody want that house bad enough to kill three people for it?”

Ellie chimed in. “I doubt it. It’s just a house. It’s not like it’s sitting on top of a gold mine or anything.”

The realtor added, “And the property can’t be developed.”

“Why’s that?” Ren asked.

“Cliff swallows,” Gary replied. “The house sits above protected land—endangered birds nest there. Any construction would disrupt the habitat. Fish and Wildlife are out here every few months checking on the little fellows.”

Ren said his goodbyes and walked out of the station, starting a mental list of the relevant facts surrounding Franklin’s murder.

1. The knife

2. The house

3. The Fourth of July party

4. The Cliff Swallows

5. The sabotage

He sat behind the wheel of his Audi and rubbed the scruff on his jaw. Every time a piece of the puzzle fell into place, something else came along to break it apart.