LITMIR.BIZ

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missing or out of place.

      Savannah had been to many crime scenes in the six years she’d been a cop, but she’d never been to a crime scene where her own family members were the victims. And there was no doubt in her mind that her mother was a victim as much as her father was. They just hadn’t figured out yet what her mother was a victim of.

      Before leaving her apartment she called Breanna to check in on their father. There had been no change in his condition, and Breanna told her she and Adam were heading home for some much-needed sleep. Clay had no news, either.

      In the brilliant sunshine of day the crime-scene tape surrounding the house looked even more horrifying than it had the night before.

      Savannah got out of her car and was greeted by Officer Kyle O’Brien, a young man who’d apparently drawn the duty of guarding the house until it was released by the police department.

      “The chief is on his way. I’m sorry I can’t let you inside until he gets here.” He looked at her apologetically.

      “It’s all right, Kyle.” She forced a smile. “I’ll just wait for him in my car.” She slid back in behind her steering wheel, ignoring the look on Kyle’s face that indicated he wouldn’t have minded a little conversation.

      She didn’t feel like talking. She leaned her head against her headrest and closed her eyes as the events of the night before replayed in her mind.

      He’d had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Her mind filled with an image of the man she’d frisked in the hospital parking lot. Yes, he’d had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, but they hadn’t sparkled; rather, they had been somber and filled with sympathy.

      She rummaged in her purse and pulled out the business card he’d handed her the night before. Riley Frazier, Master Builder of Frazier Homes.

      She’d heard of Frazier Homes. But why would a homebuilder think she’d want to speak with him? She wasn’t in the market for a new home, and last night had definitely not been the time to approach her. It didn’t make any sense.

      At that moment Glen Cleberg arrived on the scene. Savannah shoved the business card back into her purse, then got out of the car to greet her boss.

      “How you doing, Savannah?” he asked with uncharacteristic kindness.

      When Glen had become chief a year ago, he’d seemed to be afraid that the James siblings wouldn’t honor his authority after serving under their father. He’d been harder on them than on any of the other officers and it had taken several months before they had all adjusted.

      “I’m fine…eager to get this over with.”

      He frowned. “Maybe I should have had Clay do it…but I was afraid he’d look at the scene professionally rather than as a family member.”

      “He probably would have,” Savannah admitted. Clay was consumed by his work as a crime-scene investigator. She suspected if somebody cut him he wouldn’t bleed blood, but would bleed some kind of chemical solution used in his lab to look for clues.

      “We tried not to make a mess, but you know some things can’t be helped,” Glen said as he handed her a pair of latex gloves.

      “You don’t have to explain that to me.” She pulled on the gloves, surprised by the dread that she felt concerning entering the home where she’d been raised by loving parents.

      Glen drew a deep breath. “Let’s get on with it, then.” He unlocked the front door and together they stepped into the large living room.

      Savannah drew in a breath as she saw the blood. It stained her father’s chair, dotted the ceiling overhead and had dried on the television screen in front of the chair. She knew enough about blood-spatter evidence to realize her father had received a tremendous blow.

      She struggled to find the emotional detachment to get her through this, trying to think of it as an unidentified victim’s blood instead of her father’s.

      Fingerprint dust was everywhere and swatches of carpeting had been cut and removed. Her father’s chair faced away from the front door. It would have been easy for anyone to ease into the house and hit him over the head.

      “Let me guess, no sign of forced entry,” she said. “My parents kept their door open and unlocked until they went to bed.” Emotion threatened to choke her. She swallowed hard against it. “It would never have entered their minds to be afraid here, to think they should lock up the doors and windows.”

      She drew a deep breath and looked around the room carefully. “Nothing seems to be missing in here. If it was a robbery attempt, you’d think they would have taken the stereo or computer equipment.”

      Glen didn’t quite meet her gaze, and with a stunning jolt she realized he believed her mother had done this. He wasn’t seriously entertaining the thought that it had been a botched robbery or anything else.

      “Glen, I know my parents fought. Everyone knew they fought. They fought loud and often in public. They were both stubborn and passionate, but they were madly in love. You know my mother isn’t capable of something like this.”

      His gaze still didn’t meet hers. “Savannah, we can only go where the evidence takes us, and until we find your mother, she’s our top suspect in this case.”

      Knowing he thought it and hearing him say it aloud were two different things. She swallowed the vehement protest rising to her lips, aware that whatever she said would make no difference.

      From the living room they entered the kitchen, which was neat and clean and showed no evidence that anything or anyone unusual had been in the room. The only thing out of place was a pie that sat on the countertop, along with a knife and a plate. Her father loved his pies, and Rita baked them often for her husband.

      The next two bedrooms yielded nothing unusual. Nothing appeared to have been touched or disturbed in any way.

      As they entered her parents’ bedroom, a small gasp escaped her lips. Here it was obvious something had happened. The closet door stood agape, and it was evident clothes were missing. The dresser drawers were open, clothing spilling out onto the floor as if somebody had rummaged through them quickly.

      She walked to the closet and looked on the floor, where three suitcases in successive sizes had always stood side by side. Now there were only two. The middle size was missing.

      She stared at the spot where the suitcase had stood, trying to make sense of its absence, but it made no sense. In all their years of marriage her parents had never taken trips separately.

      It would have been extremely out of character for Rita to pack a bag and go anywhere without her husband. Just as it would be extremely out of character for her to harm the man she loved.

      Clothes were missing…several sundresses, slacks and summer blouses. Empty hangers hung on the rod and littered the floor, as if items had been forcefully pulled off them. A check of the dresser drawers showed missing lingerie, sleepwear and other personal items.

      She became aware of the ticking of the schoolhouse clock that hung on the wall, stared at the beautiful dark-blue floral bedspread that covered the bed.

      What had happened here? She looked at Glen, whose face was absolutely devoid of expression. “I don’t care how it looks. I’ll never believe my mother had anything to do with my father’s injuries.”

      “But you have to admit, it looks bad.”

      Savannah’s heart ached as she acknowledged his words with a curt nod. Yes, it looked bad. It looked very bad. If her father didn’t survive, then her mother would be wanted for murder. Either possibility was devastating.

      They finished the walk-through and left the house. She’d hoped to find some sign of an intruder, some clue that somebody else was responsible for her father’s condition. But she’d seen nothing to help prove her mother’s innocence. And where was her mother?

      She remained in her car long after Glen had pulled

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