He passed the patio and kept going to the edge of the woods and looked down. There were trees all the way down a steep hill, and at the bottom was a single-lane country road. He could see that the trees weren’t that dense, so a killer could have parked along the road, climbed the hill to the back door of the cottage, and let himself inside. Escape would’ve been accomplished the same way, with the car left on the road below, which looked hardly traveled, like the roads he had taken on the way here.

Chris returned to the cottage, entered, and went directly to the spot, deep in thought. There was a random cherrywood chair sitting near the middle rafter. He looked over at the desk, seeing that the chair’s mate was sitting in front of the desk and that it also matched the desk chair itself, which was on rollers.

Chris mentally reconstructed the murder. The killer wouldn’t have chosen the desk chair because it had rollers, so the side chair was a rational choice. The killer could’ve entered the back door, surprised Abe at his desk, and either chloroformed or injected him to incapacitate him, then used the side chair to hang him. Abe would have kicked the chair over in his struggle or death throes. It was likely that the police, when they came to cut him down and take the body away, would have righted the chair.

Chris reasoned there had been more than one killer, because Abe would have been too heavy for one person to lift and hang from a rafter, deadweight even if he wasn’t struggling. Chris walked over to the desk but didn’t touch anything, looking around. His first impulse was to go to the computer, but Jamie had said it was under passcode that even he didn’t know.

The bright sun illuminated the cluttered desk, covered with correspondence, pages of poetry in draft, and notes written on lined paper. He read the notes to try to see if they contained any clues, but no luck. He slid his phone from his pocket and took pictures of the papers, the desk, the rafter, the stain, and everything else, to be reviewed later, in case he had missed anything.

Chris stood next to the spot, looking around in a 360-degree turn. The circular motion stirred up dust motes, the tiny specs visible in the solid shaft of sunlight, sending them swirling. It brought him to a realization. If killers had come in and hung Abe, there would have been signs of a struggle, even if they only had to hoist the body up. But the room was undisturbed, which meant that everything had been put back in order—and if that had happened, the proof could be in the dust.

Chris bent over and looked at the desk more closely. There was a clean square, book-sized, on the left side of the desk, and it was the only place not dusty. His gaze went to a paperback dictionary, which sat on top of another note-filled legal pad. It was the same size as the dictionary. So somebody had moved the book, and that wasn’t something the police would do. They might have righted the chair, but they wouldn’t have straightened up a desk.

Chris felt his heart beat faster. He continued scrutinizing the desk, finding more blank spaces where an object had been but was placed somewhere else. He didn’t get the impression that the desk was searched, but merely put back in order so it would look as if Abe had simply been reading his rejection letters, rose from them, moved the side chair, and hung himself with the power cord.

Chris felt a bitter taste in his mouth, knowing it would be difficult to prove murder now that Abe had been cremated. But even so, he had to know who killed Abe and why. His gut was telling him that it was linked to the baseball team, but he couldn’t connect the dots.

Chris moved papers on the desk to find the phone, but didn’t see one, also consistent with his theory. The killers could have taken the phone, worried that it contained information or phone calls that implicated them. The police wouldn’t have taken a personal effect, and the funeral home would have let Jamie know by now. Chris’s best guess was that Abe’s phone was in the hands of whoever had killed him, so cruelly.

Chris became aware that he was taking too long, so he picked up the laptop and gathered the Wyoming photos, taking pictures of them for later. They showed a scenic array of mountains, a lovely home in the woods, then Abe’s parents and siblings, Jamie, Courtney, Rick, and their respective spouses.

Chris knew they would be grieving for years to come. He made a silent vow to the murdered teacher.

I’ll get your murderers, Abe.

And I’m sorry I didn’t get them before they got you.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Mindy glanced at the kitchen clock, on edge. It was 11:15, and she couldn’t wait for Evan and Paul to get home. When she’d awakened this morning, having overslept through yoga, there’d been a note from Paul saying he and Evan had gone to play golf. She’d texted back, come home ASAP, family meeting, and he had texted back, will be home after nine holes.

She paced, getting angrier. She thought that Evan had withdrawn the money and spent it on Amanda, but it was still possible that Paul had, on his new mistress. She was going to confront them both at the same time. She wanted the truth to come out, unvarnished and unprepared for, once and for all.

She checked her phone, which showed one of the naked pictures she’d found in Evan’s phone. There were more than one girl because they had pierced nipples, weird body jewelry, and tattoos, which she thought was disgusting. Plus you had to be eighteen to get a tattoo, so Mindy had no idea what was going on in the world anymore.

She heard the sound of Paul’s car in the driveway and reminded herself to stay in control. She didn’t want to fall into the Hysterical Mom category, in which Paul and Evan were so willing to place her. They acted like she was the numbskull in the house, and she was finally over it. She hadn’t had anything to drink, no G&T yet or wine. Deep inside, she was angriest at herself, for medicating herself with alcohol. For telling herself she had a happy marriage and perfect son, when she had neither. For not knowing what was happening under her own roof. That had to end, right now.

Mindy stormed out of the kitchen just as Paul and Evan entered the house, flush, happy, and sweaty in their golf clothes. “Boys, in the family room!”

Evan’s smile faded. “Mom?”

“Honey?” Paul did a double-take.

“We’re having a meeting in the family room.” Mindy stalked into the family room, seeing it with new eyes—a cheery red couch with matching side chairs, a beautiful glass coffee table, three walls of eggshell white, and a red accent wall. She had decorated it herself, but right now, she wanted to set it on fire. Mindy pointed to the couch. “Sit down, both of you.”