A High-End Finish(53)

“Right. It was the battle-of-wits scene between the Dread Pirate Roberts and Vizzini. So, tell me, Shannon. Are you trying to outwit me?”

“No. God, no.” I rubbed my face, feeling nervous all over again, plus exhausted. “Please forget I even brought it up.”

“Why did you?”

Because I’m not thinking straight, I thought. But it was time to start. Sitting forward in my chair, I crossed my arms on the table surface. “Because when I look at all the evidence pointing directly at me, it scares me and I get a little loopy. I wouldn’t blame anyone for thinking I was guilty. But I’m not.”

“Here’s what I’m worried about,” he said, leaning forward and matching my posture. “With all this evidence pointing at you, I’m wondering who is trying to set you up to take the fall.”

“What do you mean?”

“Somebody is going to a lot of trouble to make you look guilty. Who do you know who would go to such lengths?”

“You mean, do I have any enemies?”

“That’s another way to put it.”

It was exactly what Mac had asked the other day after my bicycle accident. At the time, the only people who had come to mind were the snotty girls who’d ridiculed me in high school. They weren’t even worth mentioning. The only other person I could think of was Wendell, but he was no longer a viable suspect, obviously.

Did I dare mention Joyce Boyer? Wade seemed to think that Joyce might have it in for me, and while I was happy to point the finger at someone else besides me, it was sort of ridiculous to think that Joyce would kill Wendell. Jerry Saxton, yes. But Wendell? She and Stan had been sitting in the pub the night Wendell attacked Whitney, but did she know the man? I doubted it. Heck, she barely knew me, except through working together on her house rehab. Would she really go to all this trouble to hurt me?

“I have no idea,” I said finally.

“You had to think pretty hard to come up with that answer.”

“I’ve lived here all my life, so naturally I’ve had run-ins with people in the past. But nothing that screams Mortal Enemy. And nothing’s happened recently that would cause me to point to anyone in particular.” I thought about it and frowned. “Well, except for tangling with the two men who are now dead.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Except for them.”

Something in his tone made me sit up and take notice. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that instead of trying to set you up, someone might be trying to help you out by killing off the two men who’ve been giving you so much trouble lately.”

My mouth opened but no words came out. I shook my head in bewilderment.

He leaned forward. “Shannon, think. Is there someone who craves your attention? Someone who might be willing to earn your favor by getting rid of people who bother you?”

“Oh, my God,” I said, rubbing my hands together for warmth. “That’s so sick.”

“There’s no accounting for motivations.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know anyone who would do something like that.”

He studied me for a moment. “I hate to upset you, but clearly you do know someone who might do that.”

I scowled at him. “Why do you think I know this person?”

He tapped his pen against his notepad. “Because of the victims. Because of the use of your tools. Whoever the killer is, he or she came onto your property and killed Wendell Jarvick using your screwdriver as a weapon. Why? It can’t just be a coincidence. Something similar happened in the case of Jerry Saxton. I’m not saying that you were meant to find his body, but you were certainly meant to be blamed for his death. He was found in a house you were working on. You had keys to all the doors. And, again, they used one of your own tools to kill him.”

I sat and digested that for a moment. “And both of the dead men were bugging the hell out of me.”

“Yes.”

“So, you think someone is trying, in their own twisted way, to do me a favor.”

“It’s a possibility.”

“But, then, why would they frame me for the murders?”

“I said they were doing you a favor. I didn’t say they were brilliant.”

“It’s horrible! I don’t know what to do.” I shoved my chair back from the table and rested my elbows on my knees. I stared at the wood grain of the floor. Finally I looked up. “I’m a little freaked-out.”

“I don’t blame you,” he said with a sympathetic smile. “And it might be related to something altogether different.”

“But you don’t think so.” I thought about the implications of what he’d suggested. “I’d rather have someone trying to set me up to look guilty than to know someone was doing it to impress me. That’s just sick and creepy.”

“I agree,” he said. He closed his notebook.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “What about my bicycle? Where does that fit in?”

“We sent the brake wire to the sheriff’s office for further examination. It looks like it was deliberately cut, but we want to be sure. They’ve got a forensics lab that’ll be able to look at it microscopically. They’ll also be able to pick up any prints or fibers that don’t match yours.”