Page 63 of One in a Million
“What are you going to do for transportation?” he asked her.
She shrugged. “There are a few spare vehicles in the shed. I’ll find one that runs. It’ll have to do for now. Of course, I’d like a new car. But I don’t have the money, and I’m not desperate enough to go to my mother.” She stood, one hand brushing back her damp hair. “Meanwhile, today I’ll be spending time on my computer. There are jobs out there that I can do remotely. But I’m going to need a new résumé. That’s what I’ll be working on.”
“Good luck. I’ve got work to do myself.” Sam stood with her.
“I’m up for sharing dinner if you want some company later.”
“Let’s see how it goes—for both of us.” Sam would have enjoyed being with her, but given what he’d found in Lila’s car, he needed to back off. Where Jasmine was concerned, he was already in too deep.
After she’d left him, he went back into the bungalow for a closer look at the evidence he’d taken from the wreck. The hypodermic needle was still in the plastic evidence bag. He’d thought about dusting it for prints. But it might be a better idea to take it to the crime lab in Willow Bend. Not only could they check for prints, but they should be able to determine whether the hypodermic had been used to deliver fentanyl.
Another question surfaced. He remembered Darrin urging him to get a search warrant. Had Jasmine’s brother been the one to slip the hypodermic into Lila’s car, hoping it would be found? Why would he, or anyone, go to the trouble unless it could be proven to be the actual murder weapon?
Leaving the hypodermic untouched in the evidence bag, he slipped it into his briefcase. If he could get away, he would drive to Willow Bend this afternoon. He needed answers that only the lab could give him.
He took a few minutes to study the photo he’d taken of the leaking brake fluid. The seal had been loosened partway, probably so the fluid would leak slowly and run out later. If Lila had been speeding on the freeway when the brakes failed, the accident would have been worse, possibly fatal. But on that narrow, two-lane road, she wouldn’t have been going more than forty or fifty miles an hour. Had something caused her to slam on the brakes early, pumping more fluid out of the line? Or had the person who loosened the seal simply miscalculated the flow? Sam was no mechanic. Maybe someone at the police station would know, or there would be a garage in town.
Whatever the answers to his questions might be, Sam couldn’t ignore the new evidence of the photographs. They gave Lila an even stronger motive for murder.
And his list of suspects still included four other people: Madeleine, Darrin, Jasmine, and Roper.
Roper still had a motive for killing Frank, but not for sabotaging Lila’s Porsche. Anyone with eyes in their head could see that the man was in love with her. That left the three Culhanes, likely working together, who had every reason to pin Frank’s murder on Lila, or to see her dead.
But did that mean Madeleine and her offspring—one or all three—were guilty of killing Frank, or did they honestly believe that Lila had done it?
He studied the photos of Frank and the unknown dark-haired woman. Was there anything to the rumor that Frank had planned to divorce Lila and marry a younger replacement? Could that woman have been Cheyenne McKenna?
Sam had run out of answers. It was time to take a chance with the one person who might be able to tell him more. He needed to talk to Roper.
* * *
It was lunchtime for the stable work crew. It stood to reason that Roper would be in his office, probably resting. Sam knew he might not like being disturbed, but it was a challenge to catch him when he wasn’t in the arena. Sam tapped on the closed door.
“What is it?” Annoyance edged Roper’s voice. Like Sam, he’d been up most of the night hunting for the escaped predator.
“Just doing my job,” Sam said. “I need to show you something and ask you a couple of questions.”
Roper’s sigh was audible through the closed door. “All right, Sam. Come in and sit down. You’re probably as tired as I am.”
Sam took the chair opposite the desk. “Any more word about Lila?” he asked.
“I just got off the phone with her.” Worry shadowed his deep-set eyes. “She’s got a slight concussion, but the clinic isn’t equipped to keep her overnight, so they’re letting her go home. I’ll be leaving early to pick her up. After that, she’ll need to take it easy for a few days. But you know Lila. Holding her down won’t be easy.”
“Is she aware—and are you—that the brakes on her car were sabotaged?”
“What?” Surprise flashed across Roper’s face. “She said something about a goat, and not being able to stop. But I thought maybe she’d just panicked and swerved.” His hand tightened into a fist. “Damn!So somebody wanted her dead?”
“It looks that way. The question is who.”
“Give me three guesses. I guarantee you that one of them will be right.”
“Guessing is easy. But I can’t make a move without proof.”
“Proof?” Roper’s fist crashed onto the desktop. “What kind of proof do you need?”
“The kind of proof that would hold up in court against the priciest lawyers in the state. I’m still working on that.”
Sam thought about the hypodermic. He would keep the device a secret until it had been tested in the lab. It could be the vital evidence he needed—or it could be a worthless distraction. But that wasn’t why he was here now. He laid the manila envelope on the desk.