“Someone walked into this house while Mari was making dinner,” I whispered. “No forced entry that we’ve found yet. No sign of a struggle, really. There are no overturned pots, no chopped veggies on the floor. Nothing that suggests she put up a fight of any kind.”
Zane crossed his arms and nodded. “I’d agree. She trusted whoever came through that door.”
I stepped through the archway and into the living room.
Hunter Quinn sat on the edge of the sofa. His elbows were on his knees, and he was staring at the floor. He lifted his hand to wipe away a tear from his cheek, but he didn’t speak. Sheriff Stiles sat catty-corner to him, while two deputies stood near the fireplace.
“We’re sorry for your loss, Hunter,” Sheriff Stiles said. “PADA will be taking it from here.” He gave Zane and me a nod before ushering his deputies out the front door.
The second Sheriff Stiles left the room, Hunter shot to his feet, flashing his fangs at us. “What’s going on? Who killed my wife?” His voice cracked on the last word, and his hands shook as he ran them over his face. “I came home and found Mari onthe kitchen floor. I called the police, and now nobody will tell me a damn thing.”
“Hunter, please sit down,” Zane said.
Hunter looked like he wanted to argue, but after a moment, he dropped back onto the sofa.
Zane sat in the tan wingback chair Sheriff Stiles had just vacated, and I sat on the opposite end of the sofa. “My name is Zane, and this is my partner, Detective Kara Hilder.”
The vampire scowled. “I know who you both are. Especially you, Zane.”
“And you are Hunter Quinn?” Zane asked.
“You know I am.”
Zane held up a hand. “We’re just establishing who everyone is, Hunter.”
I turned toward him. “We’re sorry for your loss, Mr. Quinn.”
Hunter’s jaw tightened. “If you’re sorry, then you’ll find out who did this to my wife.”
I nodded once. “Why don’t you walk us through what happened. From the time you walked through the door until you found Mari.”
Hunter ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. I left work around five, like I always do.” He paused and frowned. “Actually, it was probably more like four-thirty, now that I think about it. It’s Valentine’s Day, you know, and Mari wanted to have some alone time together before dinner. So maybe I got here at four-forty? I’m not sure.” He waved a hand through the air. “Anyway, I parked in the garage and came in through the side door off the back kitchen. I remember closing the door and calling out to her that I was home. I set my briefcase down—we have this sort of bench seat cabinet by the garage door—and I set my briefcase down there and then hung up my coat.” He shrugged. “When I didn’t hear her call back to me, I thought maybe she was in her writing room. She sometimes would get lost like that. Lose trackof time. It wasn’t until I went inside the kitchen that I saw her.” He closed his eyes. “She was on the kitchen floor, just sprawled out.”
I nodded. “And is there anyone who can corroborate you were in your office from lunchtime on?”
“Excuse me?” Hunter demanded. “Where else would I be?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m simply asking if we talked to your secretary or someone else, could they corroborate you were in your office from say two until four-thirty?”
Hunter’s nostrils flared. “I gave my secretary the day off. Well, half the day. I told her to go home after lunch. I only had one more appointment for the day, and I knew my secretary wanted to make her husband a nice meal.”
“What do you do for a living?” I asked.
Hunter threw up his hands in frustration. “Why are we focusing on this mundane crap? Why aren’t you finding out who murdered my wife?”
“This is part of the process, Mr. Quinn,” I said. “Now, what do you do for a living?”
Anger flashed in his eyes, and I thought he was going to flash his fangs at me again. “I’m an accountant. Mari is—was a romance writer.”
Zane leaned forward in his chair. “Had Mari received any threatening messages from readers lately? Maybe a fan who was upset or stalking her?”
Hunter shook his head. “No, not that I know of.”
“It looked like Mari was in the middle of making dinner,” I said.
He nodded. “Probably.”
“How long have you and your wife been married?” I asked.
