Bree started with the nightstands. Books were piled everywhere. Notepads contained scribbles pertaining to the syllabi of his classes. She opened a journal. Bernard was writing a book on some medieval figure Bree had never heard of. She searched his drawers, lifted the mattress, and checked the cushions of the leather wing chair in the corner. The pockets of his clothes in the closet contained nothing but crumpled dry cleaning receipts, coins, and paper clips.
She examined a row of framed photos on the dresser. Most were snapshots of Bernard with two girls Bree assumed were his daughters. She paused at the oldest picture, taken on the deck of a sailboat. Above their heads, a tall mast wrapped in a bright blue sail framed the shot. A much younger Bernard wrapped his arm around a blonde woman. In front of them, the two girls and a little boy grinned. The whole family was tanned and smiling. In the background, sunlight glittered on a lake. The woman was probably Bernard’s deceased wife. Who was the boy? Robby? She used her phone to snap a picture of the photo.
From the bathroom, Matt whistled. “Bingo.”
Bree carried the photo to the doorway. Matt stood over an open hamper. His gloved finger hooked a pair of worn khaki pants by the belt loop. Dark red spots spattered the hem, and one knee was soaked through, as if he’d knelt in blood. She recalled the smeared blood at the crime scene.
“Blood?” she asked.
“That’s what it looks like to me. What did you find?”
Bree lifted the photograph. “I don’t know yet. Maybe nothing.” But something about the photo nagged at her.
They finished searching the primary bedroom.
“I’ll bag and tag the clothes and the hamper,” Matt said.
Bree went downstairs. She found Todd and Deputy Collins in the study. Collins was on her hands and knees checking volumes in the bookcase. Behind the desk, Todd closed a drawer.
“Progress?” Bree asked them.
“Tagged the laptop.” Todd motioned toward an old, bulky computer on the desk. “Haven’t really found anything interesting. No gun.”
Bree eyed the cluttered bookshelves. “How much longer will you need?”
“A few more hours.” Todd gestured around the room. “The house might not be big, but he’s lived here a long time. The closets and cabinets are stuffed to capacity.”
“Keep me updated. We’re going to ask Bernard to come down to the station for questioning.” Bree went outside.
Bernard paced his front yard. As Bree approached him, a compact SUV roared to the curb, and a woman in her midthirties stepped out and stormed up the walk. A well-fitted charcoal-gray pantsuit subtly enhanced her curvy body. One of the daughters? Must be the lawyer-daughter. A schoolteacher with three kids didn’t have the time to put herself together this well.
She eyed Bree’s badge with anger and suspicion. “What is going on?”
“I’m Sheriff Taggert.” Bree tapped her badge. “This is Investigator Flynn.” She waited for the woman to introduce herself, but she merely stared at them. “What is your name, ma’am?”
“Stephanie Crighton.” She tucked a strand of her sleek ash-blonde bob behind one ear. A tasteful gold stud gleamed in her lobe.
“Bernard Crighton’s daughter?” Bree asked.
“Yes.” Stephanie had the same dramatic cheekbones as her father. She waved a wild hand over the house and sheriff’s department vehicles. “What is the meaning of this?”
“You’ll have to ask your father,” Bree said.
“Dad?” Stephanie called over her shoulder. “Tell the sheriff I’m your attorney and will be representing you in this matter.”
“She’s my lawyer.” Bernard’s chin lifted in defiance.
Bree sighed. “I’m investigating the murders of Camilla Brown and Eugene Oscar.”
“And my father is a suspect?” Stephanie seemed incredulous.
“He’s a person of interest,” Bree clarified.
“That’s ridiculous.” Stephanie practically bit off the words.
Bree glanced around. A few neighbors stood on porches. “We’re attracting an audience. Let’s continue this conversation at the sheriff’s station.” She gestured toward Deputy Juarez. “My deputy will bring your father to the station.”
“Absolutely not,” Stephanie barked. “Is he under arrest?”
“Not yet,” Bree said.
“Then I’ll drive him to the station.” Stephanie jabbed a finger at Bree. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t file a harassment suit.”
“I’m not trying to harass anyone.” Bree shook her head. “I’m trying to solve your aunt’s murder.”
Stephanie narrowed her eyes. “And I’m protecting my family.”
Bree stepped back. “Then I’ll meet you at the station in twenty minutes.” She issued a few last instructions to her deputies, then left Todd in charge of completing the search and asked Matt to return to the station with her to assist with the interview.
A half hour later, she and Matt faced Bernard and Stephanie over the interview table. Bernard held a Styrofoam cup of coffee. Stephanie drank from a water bottle.
Bree read Bernard his Miranda rights, and he signed the acknowledgment without comment.
Bree pulled out her copy of the old family photo taken on the sailboat. “Who is this woman?”
“My wife.” Bernard’s face tightened with grief. “She died when the kids were teenagers.”
Bree felt a pang of pity as she tapped the boy’s image. “And who is this?”
Bernard’s eyes closed for a second. When he answered, his voice was barely audible. “My son.”
“Robby?” Bree kept her tone gentle. She felt bad for ripping open an old wound. But she also had a double murder to solve, and Bernard had lied to her.
He nodded.
“When I asked you how many children you had, you said two daughters.”
His eyes opened. Anger flashed. “You asked how many children I have.” He emphasized the tense. “My son is gone. I no longer have him—”
Stephanie interrupted. “Is it necessary to torment my father like this? Our family has endured tragedy. It’s taken us a long time to heal.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Bree understood grief as well as anyone. “What happened to your son?”
“He died by suicide.” Bernard paused, squeezing his eyes shut for just a second before reopening them. Misery shone from his gaze. “Shortly after we lost his mother to cancer. He was thirteen.”
“I’m sorry.” Bree sat back. She was no stranger to tragedy, and his sorrow resonated down to her soul.
“He went to bed one night, and I found him in the morning. I knew he’d been bullied. He stuttered. He’d had speech therapy, but his mother’s death aggravated it. I should have known he was that desperate.” Bernard’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if he were talking to himself. “I should have known.”
The devastation on his face hit Bree hard. A wave of grief swept over her. She pictured Luke and Kayla at their mother’s funeral. Sorrow strangled her until she couldn’t form words. How could her grief still be this fresh after eight months?
Never in her career had she been rendered speechless during an interview.
Until today.
Stephanie flattened a hand on the table. “Are you done now that you’ve brought up a very painful subject?”
Bree’s brain scrambled to recover its train of thought. She felt Matt’s gaze on her. Sweat broke out under her arms.
With a quick glance at her, Matt leaned forward and picked up the questioning thread. “Not quite. In our first interview, you said you hadn’t seen Camilla or Oscar since you went to the farm for her birthday a month ago. But Oscar was at your house just a few days before the murders occurred.” Matt didn’t explain how they knew.
Bernard didn’t ask. He simply admitted his error with a weak shrug. “I forgot.”
Bree didn’t buy that for one second. “You also stated the farm was worthless. Yet we know a developer recently made a lucrative offer for the property.” Bree was bluffing—she didn’t know if the offer had been good or not.
Bernard blinked away from her gaze. He stared at the wall to his left. “My son-in-law got himself mixed up in a Ponzi scheme. He’s lost everything, and unfortunately, he’s dragged my daughter down with him. My grandchildren are going to lose their home. Leonard will be lucky if he doesn’t go to prison. I ran through everything I had to keep them afloat and hire a decent attorney, but I don’t have anything left.” He swallowed, his eyes returning to Bree’s. “I asked my sister for money. She said no.”