Her Alibi. Carol Ericson
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her fingertips in her hair, tracing over a tender lump on the back of her head. Had she and Niles had some kind of fight? A physical altercation? Could his killing have been in self-defense?
She bunched up her hand into a fist and pressed it against her stomach. Self-defense when she stood to gain 100 percent control of Snap App? Self-defense when everyone knew they had been fighting over the company for months?
Nobody would believe her—not with her past. She couldn’t afford to be at another scene involving a dead body.
She picked up the towel and continued wiping down surfaces in the bedroom. With a brisk nod, she dropped the towel to the floor and picked up her slacks next to it.
She slipped into the black pants and gasped, patting the pockets. Her lashes fluttered as she huffed out a breath. She’d left her phone at home last night on the charger. Her battery had been dying lately and she couldn’t be happier about it now. She didn’t need her cell phone signal pinging in this house at this time.
She pulled her blouse over her head. As she reached for the top button, she grabbed threads instead. Her button had popped off—the oversize multicolored, highly unique button.
With her head pounding, she dropped to her knees and ran her hands across the wood floor and underneath the dresser. Her fingers stumbled across the button and she slid it across the floor and dropped it into the pocket of her slacks. Then she stepped into the high heels placed next to each in perfect alignment.
She scooped up the towel and gave the room a final look over her shoulder from the bedroom door. She froze. The knife.
What if the knife had her prints on it? Her head swiveled from side to side. What knife? She hadn’t seen a knife anywhere.
Her gaze slid to Niles’s body. He had stab wounds on his back, but what about his front? If she rolled him over, she could leave more evidence of her presence here. If she didn’t, she could be leaving a murder weapon with her prints on it.
She kicked off her heels and approached Niles. She feared him now more than she ever had alive. Still gripping the hand towel, she pushed at his inert form enough to tilt it on its side. Before he fell back to the floor, she’d determined there was no knife beneath him—nothing beneath him except more blood. This had been angry overkill.
It hadn’t been her anger that had killed him. But then she’d blacked out.
She grabbed her shoes in one hand and shuffled out of the room backward, as if she expected Niles to jump up and point an accusing finger at her, and then turned and jogged down the curved staircase, sweeping the towel along the banister for good measure. She and Niles had come back to the house for some file, and she still had every intention of leaving with that file.
She scurried into Niles’s home office and scanned the clean surface of the mahogany desk. She and Niles hadn’t even made it far enough to get the file. But she knew exactly where they were.
With the towel still clutched in her hand, she dropped her shoes and crouched before the desk drawers, pulling open the bottom one. She shoved the hanging files aside and then snatched a letter opener from a pencil holder on the desk. She jammed the point into a circular release at the bottom of the drawer and slid open the false bottom.
She released a sigh. The labels indicated the file folder she wanted was on top of some other folders and a few other items. Niles must’ve got it ready for her. She removed the folder, replaced the false bottom, closed the drawer and wiped down everything.
Gripping the folder in one hand, she turned away from the desk and tripped to a stop when she saw two crystal tumblers on the counter of the wet bar. She yanked the towel from where she had it draped over her shoulder, rinsed out both glasses, wiped them down and put them back on the shelf behind the bar.
The computer had to be her next stop, to check the footage from the security cameras. Covering the mouse with a tissue from Niles’s desk, she navigated through the security software.
She drew in a quick breath as her mouth dropped open when she realized the system had been disabled. Had Niles done that earlier? Had his killer? Had she?
Now she needed to sneak out of here...and find herself an alibi.
* * *
CONNOR DUG HIS feet into the sand and squinted at the surfers battling the heavy surf—and each other.
He pulled out his video camera, zoomed in and started filming the Cove Boys and their antics in the water. Summer might’ve ended but the rowdy group of surfers who ruled the cove with a belligerent localism never stopped when they thought outsiders were riding their waves.
Connor caught the Cove Boys dropping in on others’ waves, cutting them off, yelling and making rude gestures. This footage would help with the lawsuit.
The Cove Boys’ aggressive behavior had its desired effect as, one by one, the harassed surfers came to shore in defeat.
A couple approached him, their boards under their arms. The man reached back and yanked down the zipper of his wetsuit. “Are they always like that?”
“Yep.” Connor held up his video camera. “But we’re trying to stop it. Some local surfers who don’t like the reputation of the cove are bringing a class action lawsuit against these guys—and I just captured some solid evidence.”
“Good. It’s about time someone did something about these guys.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw a surfer clambering from the surf and coming at him. He turned, widening his stance on the wet sand, his muscles tense.
Jimmy Takata, one of the Cove Boys, threw down his board. “What’s up, Wells? What’s the camera for?”
“Whaddya think? You guys can’t stop even when your attorney tells you to lie low.”
Jimmy lunged at him, and Connor dropped the camera on top of his bag and raised his hands. “You wanna go there?”
“You’re playing with fire, Wells.” Jimmy leveled a finger at him. “Your old man doesn’t rule this town anymore, and he did a crap job when he did.”
Connor’s eye twitched behind his sunglasses. “Aren’t you kinda old to be playing beach bully, Jimmy?”
“Never too old to protect your own. Besides, you’re not a cop anymore, so stop trying to recapture your glory days.” Jimmy guffawed as he scooped up his board and waded back into the water.
Connor crouched and stashed the camera in his bag. Then he hitched it over his shoulder and scuffed his bare feet through the dry sand to the line of cars on the road above the beach.
He slid behind the wheel of his truck and tossed the bag on the seat next to him. Gripping the steering wheel, he let out a breath. If he could help break the stranglehold the Cove Boys had over the best surfing spot in San Juan Beach, it might go a little way toward restoring the town’s former luster.
It seemed a million years ago since his father patrolled this small beach community as its police chief and the residents could trust each other and trust authority. Then the drugs moved in and all that ended—along with his father’s life.
Connor swallowed the bitterness that flooded his mouth and took a swig of the warm water from the bottle in his cup holder. He’d leave this place, as others had, if it weren’t for the land and his father’s dream. Didn’t he owe that to him?
Someone rapped on his window and he jumped. He peered through the glass at the couple from the beach and powered down his window.
The guy stuck his hand into the open space. “Thanks, man.”
“For what?” Connor jerked his thumb toward the beach. “They’re still out there intimidating people.”
“Yeah, but if that lawsuit prevails and those idiots are slapped with an injunction, they’re going to think twice about their localism—and your video footage should help.”
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