“Good question,” Rafe said.
Back in the car, Winston draped the front half of his body over the back of the seat and nuzzled Hannah’s shoulder. She scratched his ears and glanced at Rafe.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked.
“About that lingerie and the videos the Willis brothers found hidden behind Kaitlin’s dryer?” Rafe steered the Porsche in a tight circle and drove down the dusty, rutted road that led away from Sadler’s Auto Rebuild. “Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking. Maybe those videos were her nuclear option.”
“Blackmail material?”
“Maybe,” Rafe said again. “And maybe Chief Yates suspected something. Maybe that’s why he tore her place apart that night.”
“But he didn’t find anything.”
Rafe turned right onto the main road. “Which means that whoever killed Kaitlin managed to recover the videos and the lingerie.”
Hannah shivered. “Do you realize what we’re saying here?”
“We’re saying that Dell Sadler was right all along. Kaitlin didn’t die in an accidental fall. And she sure as hell didn’t jump off the Hidden Cove path. She was murdered by someone she was attempting to blackmail.”
Hannah took a breath. “We’re making some huge assumptions here.”
He shrugged. “After what almost happened to you and Winston last night, I’m willing to take some very big leaps.”
“If we’re right, someone murdered Kaitlin because she had possession of compromising videos.”
“The question is, who in this burg would have committed murder just to keep her quiet about an affair involving some frilly lingerie? Cross-dressing isn’t that big a deal.”
“Come on, Rafe. You want possibilities? How about some desperate assistant professor at Chamberlain who might have been afraid that his chance at tenure was about to go up in smoke because of those videos? Or try a minister at a local church who would lose his congregation if his taste for ladies’ underwear became public knowledge. And then there’s the crowd up at the institute. Arizona Snow has always been convinced that there are some very unsavory characters up there. Maybe she’s right.”
Rafe sank deeper into the leather seat. “You’re right. A long list of possibilities.”
“Then there’s the Willis brothers’ theory that the killer was someone from out of town. Which gives us an even longer list.”
Rafe’s dark brows met above his shades in a thoughtful frown. “Don’t think so. Her decision to use her nuclear option, as Dell put it, was apparently an impulse. Her victim had to be someone she could reach on the spur of the moment that night. Not someone who had to be summoned from Portland or Seattle or Salem.”
“Makes sense.” Hannah pondered for a minute. “Okay, let’s try this from another angle. Surely not everyone in Eclipse Bay is into ladies’ lingerie. And not everyone here who is into women’s underwear would commit murder to keep a blackmailer quiet.”
“Your point?”
“All we need to do is find out who fits the profile, as the cops say. Someone who is into female undies and who would also be willing to kill to get his hands on the compromising videos.”
“To do that we need to talk to someone who knows this town better than you and I do.”
“Got a name in mind?”
Rafe’s mouth curved in a humorless smile. “As a matter of fact, I do. Our dinner guest tonight.”
Chapter 18
Rafe rinsed the red radicchio leaves under running water and dropped them gently into the colander on top of the arugula and cilantro. Mentally he ran through his plans for the meal. Three carefully chosen ripe avocados sat in a bowl at the far end of the counter. He would cut them in half just before serving, spoon balsamic vinegar into the hollows and sprinkle them with some coarsely grated sea salt. The pasta would be a straightforward dish using olives and tomatoes and goat cheese.
When he finished rinsing the lettuce for the salad, he went to work on the hummus. He tossed a sizable quantity of cooked garbanzo beans into the food processor and added tahini, lemon juice, and a bit of garlic.
He snapped on the lid, flipped the switch, and thought about what Dell Sadler had said while he listened to the pleasant sound of garbanzos being pulverized. Kaitlin had intended to use her nuclear option.
A killer who had thought himself in the clear for the past eight years might have reason to worry now that the old gossip was being dredged up and rehashed all over town. What if someone remembered something important after all this time? What if someone put two and two together in a way that hadn’t been done eight years ago? What if someone had seen something that night and belatedly realized that it was a clue?
A murderer who had struck once to keep his secret might be willing to strike again.
A cold feeling closed in on Rafe. The dread that he had been holding at bay all day broke through the dam, and he was suddenly dealing with a nightmarish river. The question he had not raised with Hannah, the one that had been plaguing him for hours, could no longer be avoided.
That question was horrifyingly simple: What if Winston had not been the main target last night? Maybe the attack on the dog had never been intended as a warning. Maybe the Schnauzer had been set out on the finger as bait to lure Hannah into danger. If she had arrived home as little as half an hour later, rescuing Winston would have put her in great jeopardy. The force of the incoming tide could have swept her feet out from under her, perhaps dashed her against the rocks.
He thought about how she had taken Winston into the caves because she had sensed someone watching her from the cliff path. What if the killer had been hanging around, watching to see if his plans were going to work out as he’d intended? What if he had waited on the cliff path with the intention of making certain that Hannah and Winston never made it back from the cove alive?
What if?
Rafe switched off the food processor and removed the lid. He could not afford to take any more chances, he thought as he scooped out the fragrant hummus. Tonight he would have to take drastic steps. He would never be able to sleep if he didn’t.
At six-thirty that evening, he picked up the tray of hors d’oeuvres. Winston, who had been supervising the final kitchen preparations with an expression of mingled wistfulness and lust, got to his feet.
“Here you go, mutt.” Rafe tossed him a slice of pita bread slathered in hummus. “Chef’s privilege.”
