"How'd they get the jacket?" Cory pressed on, ignoring her implication.
"Mountain Angel volunteer room. No locks, just hooks. Anyone could grab it." Reed pulled up another window, showing a still image of the volunteer room. "But you'd need hangar access to get there in the first place."
"How many people have access?"
"All the volunteers, staff, maintenance crews..." Reed trailed off, apparently realizing the list was longer than he'd like for his neat theory.
Cory stepped back, mind racing. Andrew could have hit town yesterday. Earlier, even.
But the guy was six feet tall with broad shoulders. No way he'd fit in Izzy's jacket, much less pass for her on camera.
Which meant if Andrew was involved, he wasn't alone.
"Seems pretty clear-cut to me," Reed said. "We should bring her in."
The other investigators muttered agreement. Phrases like "inside job" and "who else would know" drifted through the group.
Cory couldn't defend her without evidence, but every instinct said this was wrong. Too convenient. Too obvious.
Was it an amateur frame job or deliberately sloppy?
"We need more than one angle," Cory said. "Let me check other cameras, verify the timeline."
"We have probable cause," Reed pushed. "Her jacket, her maintenance schedule?—"
"You’re an investigator, not law enforcement, Reed." Cory used his chief voice, the one that didn't invite argument. "We do this right, or a lawyer tears it apart later."
Reed clearly wanted to argue but knew better than to buck the local police chief. "Fine. The FBI’ll bring her in as soon as they hit town."
The man might not be wrong.
Cory stepped outside, needing air and space to think. The pieces swirled in his mind like a puzzle dumped from its box.
The key facts flitted through his brain. They were looking for someone with aviation knowledge—the saboteur knew exactly which part to tamper with.
They had hangar access, and enough knowledge of Mountain Angel schedules to know when they could work uninterrupted.
He couldn't approach Izzy officially. That would require either arresting her or warning her she was under investigation, both of which would compromise the case. But he couldn't let her walk into this blind either.
Which left unofficial contact. He could feel her out, see how she reacted. If his instincts were wrong about her innocence...
But his gut said she didn't do this. Someone wanted her to burn for it, and they'd set up the perfect pyre. Almost.
He headed for his cruiser, already planning his approach. Find Izzy, warn her carefully, watch her reaction. Because someone was playing a deeper game here, and Izzy was just the first piece being moved.
The question was whether he could figure out the player before they made their next move.
12
The soundof the doorbell made Izzy freeze, a forkful of chili verde halfway to her mouth. Through the dark December evening, she could see a figure on their porch, backlit by the streetlight.
"I'll get it." Chantal started to bounce up.
"No, baby. Finish your dinner." Izzy's protective instincts flared.
She peeked through the peephole. Cory Fraser stood on her porch in his perfect uniform, hands in his pockets, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. The porch light caught the sharp angles of his face, making him look younger somehow. Less intimidating.
What could Mr. By-The-Book possibly want at dinnertime?
