However, the most important thing was that they drew the correct conclusion.
And those things couldn’t be rushed.
After a few seconds of silence ticked by, Caleb straightened, and his gaze met the sheriff’s again. “What else did you find? Anything in the car?”
“Not much. Some basic surveillance equipment—camera, binoculars. A notebook with a few entries. But nothing to tell us definitively who hired this guy or what he was looking for.” Sutherland paused. “We’re going through his phone records now. Talking to his colleagues, friends, anyone who might know why he was out here.”
Caleb’s jaw tightened. “And the scene? Any evidence that points to who killed him?”
The sheriff’s expression darkened. “That’s the problem. Rain washed most of it away. We’ve got the general area cordoned off, but any footprints that might’ve been there are gone. Same with fingerprints on the body or anything he might’ve been carrying.”
“So we’ve got nothing.” Disappointment stretched through Caleb’s voice.
“We’ve got a name,” the sheriff corrected. “That means we’ve got a lead. It’s not nothing.”
Caleb exhaled, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “You’re right. The best bet is to figure out who he was investigating. That’ll tell us who might’ve wanted him dead.”
“Exactly.” Sutherland closed his notebook and tucked it back into his jacket. “We’re working on it. But it’s going to take time.”
Time.
The word sat heavy between them.
Caleb didn’t have time. Not with three women living under his roof, one of whom might be a killer.
“One more thing . . . one of the ladies mentioned that she saw Millie coming out of your office,” Sutherland said. “Said she looked . . . sneaky.”
Caleb squinted. That would have to be Sissy who said something. Valentina wasn’t here when Millie had done that. He didn’t fault the woman for sharing the information, especially not considering everything that had happened.
“I know about that,” Caleb admitted. “She told me.”
Sutherland nodded. “Good. I wasn’t sure if it was relevant or not, but I wanted to mention it.”
“Thanks.”
A few minutes later, the sheriff left, the door swinging shut behind him.
Caleb stood alone in the kennel, the weight of everything pressing down harder than before.
Ed Lowen. Private investigator. Charlottesville.
Someone had hired him to come here. Someone had wanted information about this place—or about one of the women inside.
And someone had killed this man to keep him quiet.
Caleb’s thoughts turned to Millie, to the fear in her eyes when she’d confessed about logging into Garrick’s calendar.
What if I led him here?
If Lowen had been working for Garrick, then Millie’s worst fear had come true.
But if he’d been working for someone else—Richard, realtor Bill McLoughlin, the Henderson neighbors—then this was bigger than any of them realized.
Either way, the refuge wasn’t safe.
Not anymore.
And Caleb didn’t know how to fix it.
