Watch Me (17 page)

He craved more of that potent painkiller. But he wasn’t going to touch her. She’d made it clear that she didn’t want him to.

“Where were you?” she asked.

He allowed his eyes to move toward her, even though the sight of her in that sundress made him hard. “When?”

“The night Jason was killed.”

He didn’t want to talk about Jason, but at least that subject would obliterate his desire to make love. “I was at Rocky Point. For a while.”

“I know that much. I saw you there. But then you left with someone before the…” He watched her draw a deep breath. “Before the shots went off.”

He’d left, yes. But he’d gone alone. He’d seen her with Jason, assumed they were making out and couldn’t stand the thought of it. So he’d told his friends he was going home. Since he’d come with someone who wasn’t ready to leave, Amy had offered him a ride, but he’d refused. He knew what she’d want to do, knew he couldn’t deliver—not when he was so upset about the idea of Jason kissing Sheridan. So he’d walked home. He hadn’t known anything was wrong until he showed up at the house in time to receive a call from the police.

“I walked home by myself,” he said. And he’d cut through the forest so he wouldn’t be seen slouching miserably along the road—another reason he had no alibi.

“Where were Amy and your other friends?”

“They stayed at Rocky Point.”

“What made you leave so early?”

He studied her. He didn’t really want to reveal how he’d hated thinking of her in Jason’s arms. It proved that everyone who claimed he was jealous was right. And it would let her know she’d been successful in making him feel what she’d been hoping he’d feel. But they were kids back then; he was too old to play games like that now. “You have to ask?”

She raised her hands in a defensive posture. “It had nothing to do with me.”

He muted the television. “How do you know?”

“Because you couldn’t have cared less about me. I understand that—now that I’m not so naive and stupid.”

“What, you’ve slept around enough to become an expert?”

“No, but I have enough experience to know when to take something seriously and when to let it go.”

She didn’t know anything. Like his father and everyone else, she simply assumed the worst.

Shaking his head, Cain turned back to the television. “Don’t tell me what I feel.”

“I couldn’t begin to guess what you feel. I’m just trying to figure out how to prove you weren’t in the vicinity when that shot went off,” she insisted.

“There’s no way to prove it.”

“Why not?”

“Because no one saw me from when I said I was leaving until I showed up at home after it was all over.”

The phone rang. Using that as an excuse to remove himself from the conversation, he grabbed it. “Hello?”

“Cain? It’s Tiger.”

Not someone Cain wanted to speak to so soon after what’d happened. Tiger had to be as broken up as Ned. He’d cared about Amy, maybe even loved her. “Tiger,” he responded, swallowing a heavy sigh.

“I just, I wanted to—” Tiger’s voice cracked “—to ask you something.”

Cain gripped the phone tighter.
Here we go again.
“What’s that?”

“Did you call Amy last night? Did you ask her to come over?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought.” Tiger chuckled without mirth. “Would you believe she was supposed to be getting me some beer? I was sitting on her couch watching a movie while she sneaked over to your cabin.”

Cain didn’t respond. Nothing he could say would make the situation any better.

“Why is that?” Tiger asked. “Maybe
you
can tell me.”

“It’s possible someone tipped her off to trouble, I suppose.”

“No.” Tiger sounded resolute. “No one called here.”

“It could’ve been after she left, maybe through dispatch.”

“There’s no record of it. Ned checked. She didn’t receive any calls on her cell phone, either.”

Cain propped up his forehead with one hand. “What’re you driving at?”

“Why did she leave a perfectly comfortable evening with me to drive over to your cabin, where she was murdered.”

“I can’t answer that, Tiger. I have no idea.”

Tiger gave another bitter laugh. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.
Please
.”

“I wasn’t sleeping with her, if that’s what you’re getting at. I haven’t touched Amy since before our divorce.” Cain was facing a lot of doubt and accusation, but it somehow mattered that Tiger believe him on this.

“I know,” he said.

Surprised that Tiger had accepted the truth so easily, Cain lifted his head, but Tiger continued before he could respond. “Unfortunately, I also know it wasn’t because she didn’t want to. She would’ve slept with you in a heartbeat if you’d given her the chance.”

Cain didn’t respond. He didn’t have to.

“I thought I could eventually win her over, you know? I thought she’d realize you weren’t going to change your mind, that I was the best thing she was ever gonna get. But she was such a stupid bitch.” His words were harsh, but he was choking up when he said them.

“I’m sorry, Tiger. I wish the situation could’ve been different.”

“That’s the real kicker. I believe you on that, too.” Tiger laughed again, then seemed to get hold of himself. “I have to tell you something.”

Cain glanced at Sheridan, who was watching him intently. “What’s that?”

“I saw a crumpled picture of Sheridan in the cab of Owen’s truck yesterday afternoon.”

Cain’s heart skipped a beat. “Sheridan as a teenager?”

“Sheridan as an adult. As she is now. And someone had stabbed a pen or something through her face.”

“Where were you?”

“At the baseball field. I went to watch my nephew’s Little League game and ran into Owen in the parking lot. We were talking while his son got out of the truck. The picture nearly fell onto the blacktop, along with some fast food wrappers.”

Cain could imagine the garbage in Owen’s truck. It was so messy, his wife refused to ride in it. What Cain couldn’t imagine was Owen in possession of a current photograph of Sheridan.
Why
would he have one? “Can you tell me anything about the picture? Where it was taken, maybe?”

“I think he printed it out on his computer because it was on regular paper. And I didn’t get a very good look at it, but I could’ve sworn it was taken through the window of a house.”

Which meant she didn’t know she was being watched, let alone photographed. Cain couldn’t believe it. Owen wouldn’t stalk anyone. And he wouldn’t skulk around the hospital wearing a wig or hurt Sheridan or anyone else.

But he’d feel at home in that particular setting. He’d worked at Mercy General once, for two years following his marriage. And Cain couldn’t help remembering that he’d had trouble getting hold of Owen the night of Sheridan’s attack. Had he spent all that time taking care of Robert, as he’d said? Or had he raced home to clean up?

The mere possibility infuriated Cain. “Was it my house in the picture? Or someone else’s?”

“It wasn’t your place. That’s for sure. I think it was someplace in town. I didn’t immediately recognize it.”

Sickened by the thought that Owen might’ve had
something to do with the tragic events that had confused and hurt so many people, their family and Sheridan most of all, Cain fingered a hole frayed in his jeans. “You didn’t ask him about it?”

“I said, ‘Hey, that looks like Sheridan.’ And he said, ‘It’s not.’ Then he shoved it back in and shut the door.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Did you tell Amy?”

“Of course.”

“What’d she say?”

Tiger’s voice had choked up again. “She called to ask him. I checked her cell phone. His number was the last one she dialed. Based on the time, she must’ve been on her way to your cabin when that call was placed.”

Shaking his head, Cain closed his eyes. Amy had called Owen about that picture. And now she was dead?

“L
et’s go,” Cain said.

Sheridan blinked at him. “What? You’re just going to hang up after that mysterious conversation and say, ‘let’s go’?”

“I can’t leave you here alone. It’s not safe.”

“You could tell me
where
we’re going.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “My stepbrother’s house.”

“Owen? Why?”

Because Owen had had access to the cabin. He came and went from Cain’s property all the time and could easily have put that rifle in the cellar. And after Cain’s mother’s funeral, when John was busy rekindling his love life, Owen had spent a great deal of time hunting and fishing with Bailey Watts, the man who’d first owned the rifle that had been used to kill Jason. But Cain didn’t want to explain all that. He didn’t want to entertain the thoughts that were going through his head. He only wanted to disprove them.

“I need to check on something.”

She frowned. “What?”

Crossing to the bar that separated the kitchen from
the living room, he scooped his keys off the tile countertop. “Did you and Owen have much to do with each other in high school?”

She’d stood up when he told her they were leaving. Now she shoved her hands in the pockets of her dress and stepped in front of him as he moved toward the door. “Not much. Why?”

“He didn’t ever follow you, or act as if he wanted to approach you, talk to you, be with you?”

“Not really. He wasn’t interested in girls.”

He was interested enough to watch them in the camper instead of making his presence known, wasn’t he?

“He was too shy,” she added with a dismissive shrug.

“No, not shy,” Cain said. “Intimidated.” His wife tells a funny story about how Owen haunted her classes for an entire year, hoping to date her, yet never asked her out. She finally invited him to the movies. She had to instigate the marriage proposal when the time came for that, too.

Sheridan took her hands out of her pockets and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Either way, he’s not the violent type.”

Cain tried to remember how his fourteen-year-old brother had acted after that camper incident. But he’d been so overwhelmed by his mother’s death and trying to avoid any contact with his stepfather, he hadn’t paid much attention to what Owen was or wasn’t doing. His stepbrothers had had each other
and
their father. He hadn’t been concerned about them. “I remember him studying, and reading for fun when he wasn’t studying. That’s all. That’s why I made him go to that party. I thought it was time he got a life.”

“He used to attend the football games,” Sheridan said. “I don’t think he missed one. He was always right there, sitting directly behind us—the cheerleaders, I mean.”

“As if he’d come to see
you?
” Cain asked. That was the one thing missing from the puzzle. A motive. Why would Owen want to hurt Jason or Sheridan? And would the mild-mannered doctor he knew really be capable of something so horrfic, especially at such a young age?

It was almost impossible to believe. But there had to be some explanation for that picture of Sheridan in his truck.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Where else was he going to sit? The poor kid was two years younger than everyone else in his grade. He didn’t have any friends to hang out with. And he knew me from the classes we had together. Being close to me probably made him feel more comfortable.” She sounded confident in her answer, and yet a shadow passed over her face.

“What is it?” Cain had walked around her and was holding open the door.

“I guess there was
one
odd thing. But it didn’t happen back then. It happened recently.”

“What is it?”

“When he mentioned our—” she cleared her throat “—time in the camper.”

“What’d he say?”

“He said, ‘
You
were about the only girl I thought would rebuff him,’ as if I’d let him down by not doing so.”

Cain dropped Sheridan off at The Roadhouse Café, which was well lit and public enough for him to feel confident that she’d be safe. She wasn’t happy about being
stowed there like baggage, but he had no intention of leaving her at the house alone, and he hesitated to take her with him to confront Owen. Owen would clam up if they had an audience, particularly a female audience. He’d never been at ease around females and, except for his wife, still socialized almost exclusively with men.

But Owen wasn’t at home enjoying Sunday afternoon in his expensive air-conditioned home, as Cain had expected. According to his wife, he’d received a call from one of his patients and had gone to the office.

After playing with his three nephews for a few minutes, Cain thanked Lucy and drove to Owen’s medical clinic, hoping to catch his stepbrother just after his patient had left. But whoever it was—a woman, despite the hoarse voice—was still there when he arrived. He could hear her and Owen talking behind the closed door that separated the reception area from the examination room.

You have strep, all right.

Lordy, it’s the middle of the summer. Where’d I get that?

You could’ve picked it up anywhere. I’m going to prescribe an antibiotic that should make you feel better within twenty-four hours. If you don’t notice a marked improvement, give me a call. And take some ibuprofen for the fever as soon as you get home.

Cain turned on the rest of the lights in the lobby and thumbed through a few magazines. Then he got up to see if Owen had bought any new fish for the giant aquarium that filled most of one wall, but he was watching the clock the entire time and brooding over Tiger’s discovery. What would Owen’s response be?

At last, the door opened and Dahlia Daugherty, a fiftyish woman Cain recognized as a checker at the Quick Shop, came out. Her watery eyes and flushed cheeks made her look as ill as she no doubt felt.

“Hi, Cain. When did you come in?” she asked when she saw him.

“A few minutes ago,” he replied, but his attention was fixed on Owen, who stood behind her. His stepbrother didn’t look surprised to see him—but he didn’t look pleased, either.

“Lots of sleep and plenty of liquids,” he reminded Mrs. Daugherty as she shuffled out.

“Hope you feel better,” Cain called.

“Thanks.”

The outer door shut behind her with a quiet
click
, leaving them in silence except for the whir of the ceiling fan.

Owen studied Cain through the gold wire-frame glasses he wore when he worked. “I take it you’ve heard from Tiger.”

Cain nodded.

“What’d he tell you?” Owen hadn’t bothered to raise the heavy blinds his assistants lowered before leaving every Friday afternoon, and even with the lights on, the place had a closed-up feeling.

“What do you think he told me?” Cain countered.

“About the photograph, of course.”

It was always hard to tell what was going on in Owen’s mind. He insulated himself from the world, hid behind those glasses and that lab coat. Formal, stilted and often easily out of his element—unless he was
sitting at his desk behind a tower of books—he rarely revealed anything personal. But that was the worst Cain would ever have thought. That he was a bit antisocial, someone who took refuge in his professional status. Not that he was a killer. “He saw it in your truck.”

“And you’re here to find out why.”

“I’m sure I won’t be the only one who’ll want to know.”

“Have you told anyone about it?”

“Just Sheridan.”

“I suppose now you think I’m the one who’s been trying to frame you.”

“I’m hoping you’re about to convince me otherwise.”

Owen tapped the pen he’d used to write Mrs. Daugherty’s prescription on the counter and didn’t speak.

“Well?” Cain prompted.

“I didn’t take that picture.”

Cain stepped closer. He’d been hoping for this, wanted to believe it. “Who did?”

His stepbrother blinked at him from behind those glasses. “It must’ve been Robert.”

“Why?”

“I let him borrow my truck the other day.”

Cain remembered. At the nursing home. He’d spent the past few days trying not to think about the amount of money Robert had probably wheedled out of Marshall. “And?”

“And he must’ve left it in there.”

“I want to see it,” Cain said.

“I don’t have it.”

“Unless you were covering for someone, yourself or Robert, you’d have it.”

“I’m not covering for anyone. I’ve still got it. I hid it in my garage so no one else would see it until I figured out what it meant.”

Cain blew out a long sigh and began to pace. “Does it tell you anything? When or where it was taken?”

“It’s printed on regular eight-by-ten paper. There’s no date. It was taken after Sheridan returned to town but before the beating. She has no visible injuries.”

“What about location?”

“She’s in her uncle’s house. At the kitchen sink. Whoever snapped the shot did it from outside the window.”

“Is it possible that Robert was stalking her? That he took that picture and left it in your truck? Intentionally or otherwise?”

“
Someone
was stalking her. I don’t know if it was Robert. When I confronted him about it late last night, he claimed he’s never seen that picture before in his life.”

Cain didn’t care much for Robert, but he had a hard time believing his youngest stepbrother would do anything as violent as what’d happened to Sheridan. And, provided there
was
a connection between the shooting and her attack, Robert couldn’t have killed Jason. He’d always been large for his age. With a ski mask covering his face, he
might
have been able to pass for a small man at thirteen. But he’d worshipped Jason. There was no way he would’ve shot him. “When did you first notice that photograph in your truck?”

“When Tiger did, of course. Otherwise, I would’ve removed it a lot sooner.”

“So why’d you act furtive, shove it back in and shut the door?”

Owen remained unflustered. “I didn’t
act
furtive. I just didn’t want him to see it. I was hoping he hadn’t caught enough of a glimpse to know what he was looking at. I wanted to buy myself some time to examine it.”

It was believable that Owen would treat the situation as he’d described. He was by nature private, methodical, judicious. But Cain had other questions. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

Owen shoved his glasses on to the bridge of his nose. “Because I still don’t know what it means.”

Robert had been drunk the night Sheridan was attacked—so drunk he’d wrecked his car and banged up his face. Had he been so drunk he’d done other things, as well? Were some of his injuries due to Sheridan’s attempts to fight him off?

But why would he attack her in the first place? And why would he beat her so badly? Whoever took her into that forest had either been out of his mind—or wanted to kill her. That much was obvious.

“Robert would never have hurt Jason,” Owen said, echoing Cain’s thoughts. “Which makes it unlikely that he was involved in the attack on Sheridan. But…”

Cain frowned as Owen’s voice dwindled away.
But
they didn’t have another explanation. That picture had come from somewhere. Cain wished he knew where. Was it Owen who was lying? Or Robert? Or was there some other answer?

“Was Dad around when you confronted Robert?”

“No, he was at Karen’s. He spends a lot of his time there these days.”

Cain recalled the awkward encounters he’d had with
his former English teacher since she’d moved back to Whiterock. The first had been at the grocery store. She’d whipped around a corner and nearly slammed into him with her cart. Blushing furiously, she’d mumbled an apology and hurried on. The next had been at the Roadhouse. He’d been having dinner alone, glanced up and caught her watching him from across the room.

But the last time had been the most uncomfortable. She’d accompanied his stepfather to a horse show in Kentucky, a show Cain had also attended. Since it was so far away, Cain hadn’t expected anyone he knew to be there, but once John spotted him in the crowd, he and Karen made their way over and pretended to be excited about the chance meeting, even insisting they all have dinner together.

That was two months ago, during one of those rare periods when his stepfather was putting some effort into building a relationship with him. John did that occasionally. But such efforts were erratic, as if he wanted Cain to like him but simply couldn’t hold out for the long haul.

Now that John thought he’d killed Jason, Cain doubted he’d ever bother trying again. Which, oddly enough, came as a relief. Cain couldn’t forgive him for how he’d treated Julia. It was easier to avoid each other.

“So John doesn’t know about the picture?” Cain asked.

“Of course not. No one does. I figured it was best to leave it alone until I could determine who the photographer was, and who might’ve left it in my truck.”

“Do you lock your vehicles at night?”

He shook his head. “If someone was going to steal a car, I doubt it would be that one.”

And he often parked it out by the curb, which meant practically anyone had access. But it seemed pretty farfetched that someone would take that picture, poke a hole through Sheridan’s face, then plant it in Owen’s truck.

Could he believe Owen? It was impossible to tell. Owen was the most self-contained person Cain had ever met. He never gave anything away. Whether or not he’d wanted his father to marry Cain’s mother. How he’d felt about skipping two grades. If he regretted graduating early. How much he missed Jason. Whether he’d resented Cain’s presence in his life. Cain never knew how he truly felt about anything.

And yet he’d revealed
some
emotion to Sheridan. He’d let her know he was disappointed in her for sleeping with Cain. Was she the one woman he’d always silently admired? The one who, for whatever reason, could provoke him to violence?

“What’d you tell Lucy?” Cain asked.

“Nothing. She doesn’t know anything about it.”

Cain wondered if that was the case with a lot of things. Lucy admired her husband’s intellect and praised his cool reserve. She’d been raised by a blustering drunk, a father who was occasionally abusive, and Owen appeared to be the complete opposite. But did she ever look deeper than his composed demeanor?