He paced over to the window in the guest bedroom of thehouse where he’d been relegated after the professor took up residence in the cottage that had always been his private domain.
If she hadn’t spotted his flashlight, no one would ever have suspected there was activity on the premises at night.
He took a gulp of the scotch and glared at the cottage.
At least Cara would be gone soon, back in Cape for the weekend, and he’d have free run of the place.
Unless the sheriff got Natalie to agree to install security cameras.
The man had made a valiant effort when he’d stopped in after sharing cookies and a kiss with Cara outside the cottage.
Steven scowled as he replayed the touching little scene he’d watched from his bedroom that had confirmed what he’d already concluded.
The two of them were smitten with each other—meaning Cara had the sheriff’s ear. If she saw anything else suspicious, he’d be all over it.
Luckily, Natalie hadn’t been convinced that installing cameras would produce results.
And he’d reinforce that conclusion over the next two days.
But at the moment, the cameras were less of a worry than the questions Brad Mitchell had asked him about his whereabouts the day Micah died.
Those had come out of left field, after Natalie retired to her room for her afternoon nap.
Steven finished his drink. Examined the empty glass.
Dare he have a third?
No.
He shouldn’t be drinking at all. He had to keep his wits about him.
Fisting his free hand at his side, he drew a steadying breath.
Who knew why the sheriff was checking alibis? The man hadn’t provided a rationale, other than to say he was talkingto everyone who visited Natalie’s place. It had all been very low key and friendly.
But his eyes had been sharp. Probing.
Conclusion?
Brad Mitchell wasn’t wasting his time tracking people down to talk to unless he had serious cause to believe Micah’s death hadn’t been an accident.
Steven did his best to tamp down the sudden uptick in his pulse. There was no cause for worry. He was in the clear.
Thank goodness he’d had the foresight to leave Saturday evening and go to his gym on Sunday morning, where there had been plenty of witnesses to attest to his presence the day Micah had died.
What no one knew was that he’d hung out all night in his car on the vacant property he’d scouted out half a mile from Natalie’s. Nor did anyone know he’d gone straight to the gym on Sunday morning after he’d done what he had to do, stopping en route only to dispose of the bloody ski cap in a quick-shop dumpster. All the witnesses knew was that he’d been on the elliptical by a few minutes after nine o’clock.
So whatever had the sheriff sniffing around would lead him nowhere.
Nevertheless, going forward it would be prudent to search only during Cara’s absences. No need for any more Thursday arrivals. He’d just have to extend his Friday and Saturday hunts to compensate for the lost night. Since he could only disappear for so long on his daily “hikes,” evening sessions would be in order again—just as they’d been after Micah had started giving him the evil eye. Shouldn’t be a problem, though. Natalie had grown accustomed to him sleeping late.
And long nights would be worth it if his clandestine forays led somewhere.
He crossed to the bed and picked up the notebook where he’d been mapping the cave as he searched. Paged throughit, frowning. The network of passageways was a literal maze, leading to a hunt that was long and frustrating.
Was it possible he’d missed some clue that would make it easier?
He zipped open the side pocket on his suitcase and pulled out the folder containing the letter he’d found among his father’s papers last spring after his dad’s sudden death, along with his grandfather’s handwritten inventory. Sat on the edge of the bed to reread the letter.
