Don't Look Back

Cassie pulled back, their gazes reconnecting. “I know. If you ever want to talk about your wife, I’m a good listener.”

Surprise flickered in and out of his eyes. “This isn’t about me.”

If she pushed back her own sorrow and helped Jameson with his, would it fill the void Scott’s death left in her? “This is about losing a loved one, and you lost your wife last year.”

He backed away. “I had plenty of time to prepare myself for her death. She was sick for quite some time.”

“Can you ever really prepare yourself for a loved one’s death?”

He took another step away from her. “How did this conversation suddenly become about me?”

“Have you talked to anyone about your wife dying?” She didn’t really need to ask him that question. She knew the answer.

His gaze narrowed, his face frowned. “I need to leave. Let me know if you want me to go with you to Scott’s when the police give you the okay.”

She understood he was closing the door on any conversation concerning his deceased wife. But still, she saw a flicker of pain in his eyes. “I’ll let you know when they call. Mom won’t want me to go alone, and I don’t think she should go right now.”

“Are you going to say anything to your mother about the possibility of Scott being murdered?”

“I could only bring myself to tell her it was an accident. She’s been through so much with Scott and her own failing health. I don’t want her to know it could have been murder until the police declare that officially. I’ve asked them not to talk to Mom until they absolutely have to. The detective said he would let me know when.”

“I’ll make sure I don’t say anything, but you may want to moderate the news in case some reporter speculates about the investigation.”

She nodded. “I hate to think what this will do to Mom if it is true.”

The grief he saw in Cassie’s eyes mirrored his own grief for his wife. Maybe if he helped Cassie and her mother through their sorrow, it would ease some of his guilt.

“I’d better go. Call me after you talk to the police.” Jameson crossed to the dining room entrance.

Outside in the cool fall air, he paused, trying not to remember the words Liz’s father shouted at him that day long ago in the hospital. But he couldn’t forget them. They burned into his mind as though the man had branded him with them.

You’re responsible for my daughter lying here in this bed.

And he couldn’t argue that point. He was responsible.

Sunday afternoon Jameson pulled into the long driveway that led to Scott’s apartment above the garage. “So the police have made it official. He was murdered.”

“That’s what Detective Harrison told me. He was hit with some kind of blunt object. The amount of alcohol in his system was minimal, likely poured in his mouth postmortem. They are searching the surrounding area to see if anything turns up.”

“But they’re through with the apartment?”

“Yes and his car is in the garage.” On the drive to Savannah, she and Jameson had discussed everything but what had happened to Scott, as though they had mutually decided to avoid the subject for as long as possible. “I called Mrs. Alexander and she told me the key would be under Scott’s doormat. She wasn’t sure she would be home from church when we arrived.”

“Did you tell your mother before you left?”

“No. I will when I get back home. I didn’t want to leave right after I told her.” Cassie opened the passenger door and climbed from the car.

“Does she know you’re coming to Scott’s place?”

Cassie rounded the front of the vehicle and halted, facing the garage. “Yes. A neighbor is staying with her until I return home. And our pastor is stopping in to see her after church.”

Jameson came to her side, his arm brushing against hers. “Now that I see this in broad daylight, his apartment is pretty secluded.”

“Yeah, the way Scott wanted it. I helped him move in. I wish I hadn’t.”

Jameson fit her hand within his. “That wouldn’t have stopped him if he wanted to live here.” He gestured toward the structure at the far end of the driveway.

The three-car garage sat at the back of the property, with the entrance to the apartment above it around the back. Large azalea bushes obscured the path in several places. “I could easily see someone lying in wait for Scott.”

“But I didn’t see any signs of a struggle in his apartment, and I doubt anyone hit him over the head and dragged him up the steps.”

Cassie gasped. “You think it was someone Scott knew?”

“Possibly.”

The implication sent her heart pounding, its roar drowning out all sounds for a few minutes as she thought of her brother being killed by someone he trusted. A cool breeze stirred the leaves on the live oak shading the driveway, causing the Spanish moss to dance as though someone were pulling its strings. Cassie hugged her sweater to her.

“What do we do?” she whispered around the knot in her throat.

“We check out his apartment and let the police know if anything is missing. Then we let them do their job.”

The way he said “we” warmed her. She felt comforted just knowing she wouldn’t have to go through this ordeal alone. “Thank you.”

“I’m just doing what any friend would do.” He guided her toward the stairs.

Slowly Cassie mounted the steps, each one bringing her closer to the murder scene. She withdrew the key from under the mat and tried to unlock the door, but her hands shook.

“Here, I’ll do it.” After taking the key from her grasp, Jameson inserted it into the keyhole and turned it. He eased the door open, then faced her, taking her quivering hands within his. “I’m with you every step of the way. If you want to do this another day, just say the word and we’re out of here.”

She welcomed his presence more than he would ever know. She forced herself to smile, but she couldn’t maintain it. “I need to get this over with. If something is missing, it might help the police find out who killed Scott.”

Wordlessly Jameson entered her brother’s apartment first, scanning the living room before allowing her inside. When she stepped through the entrance, she found it difficult to breathe. Her gaze was riveted to the spot on the carpet where Scott had been lying, the dry, red stain ridiculing her remaining composure. The faint stench of blood accosted her nostrils, and she gagged.

She bit her lower lip and backed up, her fingers pressing into her mouth. Suddenly she wanted to cry, but no tears came. Scott was gone. She no longer had to protect him and look out for him, but she wished she still did.

“I don’t know how I’m going to tell Mom Scott was murdered.”

Jameson drew her past the place on the rug where they had found Scott and down the short hall. “Let’s start in his bedroom.”

The first thing that struck her when she saw the room was how neat and orderly her brother had always been. Even his bed was made, whereas she often left hers a mess. They had been so different. She stood in the entrance and swept her gaze over the pieces of furniture, trying to visualize what Scott had.

“His TV is still here. And his radio.” Cassie walked farther inside, trying to remember what she’d helped him move a few months back. “He really doesn’t have a whole lot besides his TV, radio and—” she spun around “—his computer. Did you see it in the living room?”

“No. Where does he usually keep it?”

Cassie crossed to the closet and opened it. “Wherever he decides to work. It’s a laptop.” After inspecting the contents of the shelf and floor, she turned toward Jameson. “If his murder is connected to his work, then the computer is important as well as his tape recorder.”

“Then let’s search for them.” He made his way back into the living area.