Within Range. Janice Kay Johnson

Seth focused on the woman again, taking in her appearance and noticing she had more than a passing resemblance to the dead woman. Although if they were related, wouldn’t Ms. Boyd have said so?

      “Is there someone who can watch Jacob for a few minutes?”

      “I... Yes. If she’s home, my neighbor is usually willing. Let me—” She jumped out, slammed her door and hurried around to his side, letting him see that she was five foot six or seven, long-legged, thinner than he suspected she was meant to be. When he backed away from the opening, she took his place.

      “Jacob, honey, let’s go see Iris.”

      “I like Iris,” he stated in apparent delight.

      Seth had noted the movement behind the front window of the house next door. In fact, he intended to interview whoever lived there next. He strolled behind Ms. Boyd, who carried the boy on her hip. The front door opened even before they reached the small porch, revealing an elderly woman with deep wrinkles and a warm smile for the little boy.

      Ms. Boyd explained briefly that she’d arrived at home and somebody had gotten into her house. She needed to talk to the detective. “Could you...?”

      “Of course I can!” Iris cast a worried look at Ms. Boyd but beamed at Jacob. “I just baked chocolate chip cookies. Would you like one, Jacob?”

      He held up his hand with all five fingers splayed. Iris laughed and took the boy’s hand. The door closed.

      Surely at his age the kid couldn’t count. He obviously got the concept that more fingers represented more cookies, though.

      For just a minute, Ms. Boyd stayed where she was, looking as if she’d give almost anything to follow her son inside. But finally her shoulders squared and she turned.

      “Do we have to go in my house?”

      “No,” he said. “Why don’t we sit in your car?”

      Relief seemed to loosen some of the fear he’d seen on her face. Her teeth closed on her lower lip and she nodded. “Yes. Okay.”

      He let her get into the driver’s seat again, guessing she’d feel more comfortable there, more in control. He had to move the passenger seat way back to accommodate his long legs, which meant she had to twist a little to look directly at him.

      “Detective...? I’m sorry, I know you introduced yourself, but—” Her voice trembled.

      “Renner.”

      Her eyes fastened on his. “I’m sorry. It’s just—”

      “You’re understandably upset.” He watched her closely while trying to appear relaxed and even friendly. “Tell me about your day. Anything out of the ordinary?”

      “Not until I got home. The rest of the day... Do you care?”

      “I’d like to hear about it.”

      “I commute to Portland every day. I work as an executive assistant.”

      He took a notebook from an inside pocket and jotted down the name of the company, her boss and the phone number.

      “I left at 5:30. I’m pretty insistent on that, since I have to pick up Jacob from day care by 6:00.”

      That sounded standard to him. He made a note about the day care, too, an in-home one.

      “I parked in the driveway, like I always do.”

      He left the question of why she didn’t use the garage for another time. She sounded steady enough now to make him curious. Anxiety wouldn’t have surprised him; her poise did.

      “I carried Jacob in,” she continued, “set him down and started toward the bedroom.”

      “Just like that?”

      She stared at Seth. “I told him we were having hamburgers, and he insisted he wanted hot dogs. Oh, and that he didn’t need to use the potty. Is any of that relevant?”

      He smiled. “No, you sound like you were rushing.”

      “Well, I was, because my feet hurt.” She glanced down. “They still hurt.”

      He saw that she wore black pumps. “They look similar to the shoes the victim was wearing.”

      No, her outfit didn’t match, but color-wise...yeah. Almost. A cream-colored, finely knit cardigan over a sleeveless top, and black dress pants. If someone had seen her go out the door, then caught sight of this Andrea Sloan in the kitchen, a mistake might be possible.

      Seth reminded himself not to jump to conclusions.

      Ms. Boyd swallowed. “I know. There was a weird minute—”

      A weird moment?

      Shaking her head, she said, “I just thought, did I leave my shoes in the middle of the kitchen floor? But they were still on my feet, so that didn’t make sense, and I’d already seen the...her legs. But...my mind wasn’t making the connection right.”

      “That’s often the case when you see something completely unexpected,” he said gently.

      She shuddered. “Yes. I took a step closer, and then realized Jacob was coming into the kitchen after me, so I grabbed him and my purse and raced outside. My hand was shaking so much I had trouble getting the key in the ignition, but I locked all the doors, backed out of the driveway and kept backing halfway up the block. I didn’t come closer until the police car arrived.”

      “That was smart. You couldn’t be sure there wasn’t somebody still in the house.”

      Her steadiness must have been a facade, because her fingers twisted together and he saw fear on her face. “Do you think he was?” she asked.

      “He?” Seth repeated.

      “I just assumed it would have to be a man... I mean, could a woman have enough strength to bludgeon someone to death like that?”

      Not likely for a woman, but he wouldn’t rule one out. “I doubt the killer was still in the house when you arrived home.” Seth’s guess that the murder had happened within the last half hour or so suggested the killer hadn’t been gone long, though.

      He asked her what cars she noticed parked on the street. She turned her head, telling him she recognized the pickup truck near the corner as belonging to the man who lived in that house. Otherwise...

      “That almost has to be her car, doesn’t it?” He followed her gaze to the sedan right in front of her car.

      “I’ll find out,” he said, and continued to ask questions.

      No, Ms. Boyd hadn’t seen anyone outside or even looking through their windows when she turned onto the block and then into her own driveway, although she really hadn’t paid attention. “Less than usual,” she admitted. “Because my feet hurt.”

      “New shoes?”

      “Yes, and I’m going to throw them away.”

      He smiled faintly, then asked, “Does anybody else have a key to your house?”

      The way her hands continued to writhe, he was surprised he hadn’t heard the snap of her knuckles cracking.

      “The landlord must.” She frowned. “And...I suppose Andrea might have had one. I guess she must have, or she couldn’t have gotten in, could she?”

      He didn’t even try to hide the spike of anger. “You know the victim?”

      Her gaze slid away from his.

      “Any reason why she might have been in the house?”

      “But there isn’t any reason for her to be here. I mean, the real estate firm she works for also manages the property, but I haven’t needed any repairs, and I can’t imagine anyone complained that I was doing damage to the house. Why else would she have let herself in?” Alternating between