Questioning the Heiress. Delores Fossen

the equivalent of tampering with evidence.

      A better solution was just to keep the journal from him and not let him read a single word. She’d wait and show the notes to the psychiatrist, especially since she was meeting with the doctor the following day. Maybe she could convince the psychiatrist to keep them private. After all, it was obvious to her that the dream wasn’t connected to the murders or the hit-and-run.

      Caroline tucked her journal beneath her arm and stepped into the garage. The doors were open, allowing in the humid breeze and plenty of light so she could see the damage. It was indeed minimal. A few small holes in the wall and some smoke stains—that was it.

      Unfortunately, the minimal damage didn’t extend to her.

      Someone had violated her space, and Caroline wondered how long it would be before she could walk into her house and not think about being killed.

      Maybe she never would.

      The white Mercedes was gone, of course, towed away in the early hours of the morning by the CSI agents, who were probably now looking for clues about the person who had left that explosive for her. She prayed they’d have answers soon.

      Caroline continued to look around the garage, and her gaze landed on the workshop door. It was wide open. And it shouldn’t have been. Good grief. She hurried to close it. Except it wouldn’t shut. The CSI had apparently busted the lock, probably to check for evidence, and she glanced inside the workshop at what they’d no doubt seen.

      Her old secret.

      Something she didn’t exactly want to announce to the world, including Taylor, who likely knew about it but was too much of a friend to say anything. Caroline would have to do something about getting that door fixed.

      Taylor ran her fingers over the remaining vehicle, the 1967 candy-apple-red Mustang. “You used to drive this car all the time,” she reminded Caroline.

      “Yes. But I gave up on hot, fast things.” And for reasons she didn’t want to explore, she immediately thought of Egan again.

      Thankfully, she didn’t have to think of him for long because she heard the voices in her backyard. Obviously, the guard heard them as well because he reached for his gun. Caroline waved him off, however, when she saw her visitors approach the garage.

      Kenneth and Tammy Sutton.

      She didn’t want a gun drawn on her neighbors. Of course, Kenneth was also Egan’s prime suspect, but Caroline didn’t believe that. Except she hated the uncomfortable feeling that crept through her now. Egan was responsible for those doubts.

      But the question was—were his doubts founded?

      Twelve hours ago, Caroline would have replied with an emphatic no, but that was before someone had tried to blow her to smithereens.

      “Are you all right?” Tammy asked, hurrying to her. She latched on to Caroline, hugging her, and engulfing her in a cloud of Chanel number-something. The woman’s layers of thick gold chains dug into Caroline’s breasts and her bloodred acrylic nails were like little daggers.

      Caroline untangled herself from the hug and stepped back. “I’m fine,” she said, realizing she’d been repeating that lie all night and all morning. To her parents. To Taylor. Even to the security guard lurking in the mudroom doorway. And now to Tammy Sutton.

      Kenneth strolled closer. No hug. He had his hands in the pockets of his expertly tailored gray suit. With his dark hair combed to perfection, he looked ready for work. And probably was. Being chairman of the City Board often required a sixty-hour-plus week, and it was already past the normal start of his workday.

      “You look tired,” Kenneth observed.

      “Caroline and I sat up chatting all night,” Taylor volunteered. Covering for her. So that she wouldn’t have to discuss the stress of the explosion and lack of sleep. “She’s doing great, just like Caroline always does. Of course, she’s anxious to catch the monster who did this.”

      Kenneth and Tammy nodded sympathetically. “So did the intruder take anything?” Kenneth asked.

      Caroline inadvertently glanced down at the new dream journal squished between her arm and side. “Not really.”

      Tammy must have noticed that glance and the uncertainty in Caroline’s voice. “Are you taking inventory?”

      “Something like that.”

      Tammy opened her mouth, probably to ask more, but Caroline heard the movement just a split-second before Egan rounded the corner. Wearing a blue shirt again. And those butt-hugging jeans. No Stetson today. It was probably still drying out from the rain. But he did have his badge and that shoulder holster with the gun tucked inside.

      He took one look at Kenneth, and Egan put on his best surly scowl. “Is there a problem?” Egan wanted to know.

      “No,” Kenneth answered just as quickly. “My wife and I were checking on Caroline. Last I heard, there was no law against that.”

      Egan’s expression didn’t change. He went closer to Kenneth and met the man’s gaze head-on. “But there are laws against attempted murder, breaking and entering and interfering with an investigation. This is still a crime scene, and you shouldn’t be here.”

      Tammy indignantly pressed her hand to her chest. “And you don’t think we know that this is a crime scene? We’re not idiots, Ranger…whatever-your-name-is.”

      “Caldwell. Remember it, Mrs. Sutton, because you’ll see me a lot in the next few days while I interrogate your husband and you.” Egan looked down at Kenneth’s feet. “What size shoes do you wear?”

      “Why?” But it was Tammy who asked, not Kenneth.

      “Because I want to know.” His attention landed on her shoes as well. “And while you’re at it, you can tell me your size, too.”

      “A perfect six,” Tammy said, overly enunciating the words. “And my husband wears a size ten. Satisfied?”

      “Not really. I’ll have one of the CSI guys drop by to check your closet, just to make sure everything is as perfect as you say.”

      Taylor cleared her throat, obviously sensing that something even more impolite was about to be said, and she went to Kenneth and Tammy. She hooked her arms around both their waists. “Why don’t you come on over to my house for some coffee? Egan and Caroline have to finish up this investigation, and we’d just be in the way.”

      Tammy looked back at Caroline. “Are you sure you don’t need us here? Your mother will never forgive me if I don’t try to help you at a time like this.”

      “I’m okay.” Caroline hoped. “Please tell Mom that if you talk to her.”

      Egan looked at the security guard once Kenneth, Tammy and Taylor were out of sight. “Make sure Kenneth Sutton and his wife leave the premises. I don’t want them back here, either.”

      The guard nodded and went after them.

      “Tammy’s a suspect now?” Caroline asked.

      Egan shrugged. “Just about everyone around here is. Guilt by association.”

      Caroline had the eerie feeling that he wasn’t exaggerating. “And her motive?”

      “Well, if her husband did order Vincent Montoya to kill those people, then maybe Tammy wants to keep that their own little family secret. Of course, Kenneth has the same motive, so I’d prefer neither of them comes around here.”

      She huffed. “They’re my neighbors. And Kenneth is my boss at the City Board. Any suggestions how to stop them from visiting?”

      His gaze eased to hers. “I think my presence will deter them.” She stared at him, but he didn’t say more. Instead, he shifted his focus to the Mustang. “Nice car.”

      Yes. It was. “It’s from my wild-child days. I guess I’ll