“A client just texted with an emergency,” I lie.
“All right. But let’s plan to talk again soon.”
“You bet.”
I let out a groan of frustration as soon as the call ends. On the one hand, I know that Megan is simply looking out for me. She was therewhen I got fired—when it practically took the Jaws of Life to uncurl me from the fetal position on my couch—and she’s clearly worried I’m sinking into another state of despair. But when I needed her to see this from my perspective, she couldn’t.
Should I call Jamie’s uncle, I wonder, and tell him what I learned? Though it would be traumatic for Drew to think Jamie was murdered, it would also be a hell of a lot better than what he’s wrestling with now. But as far as I know, he and Heather don’t want to hear from me, and they might not even take my call.
Thereisone person I may be able to count on: Sam. As much as I dread speaking to him, he was Jamie’s best friend and will surely see it the same way I do.
He doesn’t answer, so I leave a voicemail saying that I need to speak to him urgently. It’s not until two hours later, when I’m wondering what to do about dinner, that he calls back.
“What’s up?” he says bluntly, like I’m someone he’s eager to chase off the phone.
“Are you somewhere you can talk privately?”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t volunteer his location, but a second later I hear birds chirping in the background and realize he must be at his cottage outside Salisbury.
“There’s something I need to share. I’m almost positive now that Jamie didn’t kill himself.”
The silence on the other end seems to last forever.
“Are you still—”
“Yeah, I’m here. What makes you say that?”
I fill him in briefly about the dog—without giving away that I found out because I’m at the house Jamie rented.
“And the adoption—it was a done deal?” Sam asks after I’ve finished.
“Completely.”
Another silence. I picture his forehead creased, his dark eyes narrowed.
“So, what you’re saying is that Jamie was murdered.”
“Yes. Because that’s the only alternative.”
“Butwhy? Who would have any reason to kill him?”
I can’t believe Sam is sounding dubious. I have to make him understand.
“Could it have been an accidental shooting during a robbery?” I ask. “Right from the start I wondered if someone had been waiting in the field, planning to mug a guest who was getting into their car, and then—”
“I don’t think Litchfield County is a hot spot for muggings,” he says. “And Drew said Jamie’s wallet and phone were still on him.”
I keep thinking. “Maybe once the robbery went wrong, the killer bolted before stealing anything.”
“But there was gunshot residue on Jamie’s hand. Are we supposed to believe the killer took the time to stage a suicide?”
God, he’s right, I think, biting my lip. This theory doesn’t add up.
“Then he was murdered for some other reason,” I say. “And the person did his best to send the police in the wrong direction. Sam, please, I need your help.”
He lets out a ragged sigh. “I hear you about the dog, I do. Even if things had become too much for Jamie, it’s hard to believe he wouldn’t have at least let the shelter know he was backing out. But I need time to think this through. Where are you—in New York?”
“Um, no. I’m in Litchfield County too.”
