“Yes,” I lied. If Dale had killed Greta, I didn’t want to be next on his list.
He raked his hand through his hair again, sighed. “I don’t want Kate dragged into all this. She’s such a private person.
Good Catholic girl, you know?”
No need to point out that there were actually very few “good Catholic girls” out there. Maybe Kate was the exception.
I didn’t want to think about the sins
“Yesterday morning. I didn’t think she was home. I’d been watching the house, hadn’t seen any lights or movement for almost a day. The back door was unlocked. I searched almost all the downstairs before heading up. I went through the bathroom, then headed to the master . . . that’s when I saw her.”
“Why didn’t you call 911?”
“She was obviously dead already. What good would it have done except to implicate me?”
“Did you see anything out of place while you were there?”
He shook his head. “If your husband finds the pictures . . .”
He closed his eyes. “They’re going to become evidence, aren’t they? Open to the public to examine and judge.”
My curiosity buzzed. “Probably. Sorry.”
“I’m glad Russ is dead. I hope he burns in hell.”
On that cheerful note, I backed away. Fury glowed in Dale’s icy eyes. “The police,” I said, “will probably be by to talk to you soon.”
He nodded. “I figured. I guess I need to take the rest of the day off.”
It wasn’t the stereotypical response of a murderer, which made me think that Dale hadn’t killed Greta. Or maybe he was a good actor. Maybe I was gullible.
195
I needed to call Kevin as soon as possible and tell him what I knew.
“Can I see the letters?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
Redness colored his cheeks. “They describe the pictures taken.”
“Were they typed?”
“On an old-fashioned typewriter. Like the one Russ owns.”
“Or Greta,” I said.
“I don’t buy it.”
“Did you notice anything about the font?”
“The lowercase i is out of alignment.”
Yep, they were written on the same typewriter.
“Anything else?” I asked. A confession, maybe?
“Wait a sec.” Dale ran into the house, came out a second later. “Take these with you. I don’t know why I took them in the first place except I knew Bill had been looking for them.”
He placed two red leather-bound accounting books into my hands. So Bill hadn’t taken them. He probably hadn’t been in the Grabinsky house at all. Probably hadn’t killed Greta.
But who had?
I called Kevin from my truck. I got his voice mail and thanked my lucky stars. I left a quick message about Dale Hathaway being blackmailed, possibly by Russ or even Greta herself, and casually mentioned that Dale had been the man I overheard threatening Greta.
I didn’t mention Dale’s breaking and entering into the Grabinskys’ house. Kevin was smart. He’d put two and two together.
196
Heather Webber
I hung up feeling as though I’d done my civic duty.
The accounting books sat on the seat next to me, in between a terra cotta pot and a roll of Mentos. I reached for the Mentos and tried to decide what to do about those books.
Technically, they belonged to Bill. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that Russ had been suspicious of them in the first place. Had Bill been swindling Growl? Had Russ found out?
And instead of calling him on it, he turned to blackmail?
