Trooper Bouchier nodded. “And why do you have all these cameras, exactly?”
“For wildlife,” Nate said.
“Wildlife?” the trooper echoed.
Nate nodded. “Deer, coyotes, owls. That kind of thing.”
“I see,” Bouchier said in a tone that suggested he didn’t see at all. Then he turned to Helen and asked, “And you’re sure you didn’t use the stove at all before you went to bed?”
“I’m positive. And I’m sure all the windows were open.”
“And what time was this?”
“Late,” Helen said. “Near one.”
The trooper nodded. “And you’d been out with a friend before this?”
“She and her friend Riley had a girls’ night,” Nate explained. He turned to Helen. “Where’d you go, anyway?”
“Oh, you know,” Helen said, wondering how much trouble you got in for deliberately lying to the police in a situation like this. “Just out for a bite to eat and drinks.”
“So you’d been drinking?” the trooper asked.
“No,” she said. “I mean, yes, I, uh, had one glass of wine.”
He nodded.
“Any drugs?” he asked. She wondered if her eyes were still red and glossy from the pot.
“No,” she said.
The trooper and Nate were both studying her. Now Nate looked like he was doubting her, too. Like maybe she’d gotten good and wasted with Riley and then…closed all the windows and cranked open all four burners on the stove before passing out?
“So what now?” Helen asked, trying to hide her irritation. “Are you going to dust for fingerprints or something?”
“No, ma’am,” Trooper Bouchier said with a small smile. “I’ll write up a report.”
“A report?” Helen said. “That’s it?”
“Mrs. Wetherell, Mr. Wetherell—there’s no sign of a break-in, no sign of a crime,” the trooper said.
“Someone did this!” Helen said, losing all hold on her composure. “Someone came in here and turned on the gas and closed the windows! We could have died!”
“Mrs. Wetherell,” the trooper said. “It’s just as likely that it was an accident. Maybe you…bumped against the stove and didn’t even realize it. It’s a very small kitchen you’ve got here. And the windows—well, you wouldn’t be the first person in the world to do something on autopilot late at night and forget about it later, now would you? One night, after a few beers, I ate all the leftover meatloaf—wasn’t I mad the next morning when I went to make myself a sandwich for lunch? Said to my wife, ‘Where on earth did you—’ ”
Helen broke in. “Sorry, let me get this straight—you’re not going to do anything because you don’t believe us.”
“Helen—” Nate began.
“What?” she snapped. “That’s what he’s doing. Absolutely nothing.”
“I’ll write up a report,” the trooper repeated, smiling that small, amused smile again. “And of course, if there’s another incident, you be sure to let us know.”
“We appreciate it,” Nate said.
“Great,” Helen muttered. “Very helpful.”
CHAPTER 32
