The Silence (Columbia River #2)(40)

Mason stepped out of the car, and Nora tucked the binder into her large bag. He was about to tell her to leave it in the vehicle—several graphic murder scene photos were inside—when he realized they’d both be in hot water if it was stolen. Best to not take chances.

He scanned for a dog, opened the low gate, and followed her up the brick-lined walkway. The lawn was pristine. Green and freshly trimmed. Rosebushes full of blooms. The attention to detail continued on the home. Crisp paint and cheerful pots of flowers next to the front door. Mason knocked. “Might be best if you started the interview,” he told Nora.

She raised a brow at him and nodded.

Footsteps sounded, and Veronica opened the door. He recognized her immediately from her driver’s-license picture. Her eyes were just as kind as in her photo but now had a question in them.

Mason and Nora held out their identification. “Good afternoon,” Nora said. “I’m Detective Nora Hawes and this is Detective Mason Callahan. We’re from the Oregon State Police.”

Veronica tensed. “What happened?”

“Can we come in?” Nora asked. “Or if you prefer, we could sit over there.” She gestured at a wicker love seat and two chairs on the wide porch.

“Is it Reuben?” Veronica whispered, her eyes wide.

Nora paused. “It is. Your brother died yesterday.”

Veronica placed a hand on the doorjamb, her gaze moving between Nora and Mason. “Please come in,” she said in a steady voice.

“Are your children home?” Mason asked.

“No. They’re at a friend’s.”

“Good.”

Veronica shot him an alarmed look.

I didn’t mean to scare her.

“We can speak more freely that way,” Nora said, smoothly covering Mason’s gaffe.

They followed Veronica into her home and directly to a formal living room on the right. Veronica sat on one end of a sofa and Nora joined her. Mason chose an uncomfortable-looking chair across from them and sat. The wooden back was nearly perpendicular to the seat.

Yep. Uncomfortable.

He felt as if he were sitting in school.

A gray tabby wandered in and studied Nora and Mason with interested blue eyes. Then it chose Nora’s shoes to investigate and rubbed its head against them.

“What happened to Reuben? You’re detectives who have driven all the way out here to inform me in person, so I assume it’s bad,” Veronica said. She grabbed a box of tissues from an end table and held it on her lap after pressing one tissue against her eyes.

“I’m really sorry to tell you, but your brother was murdered,” Nora said in the gentlest voice possible.

Veronica’s head shot up, and she clenched the tissue in her hand. “Who? Who did it?”

“We’re trying to find that out. Our investigation is just getting started.”

“Was anyone else hurt?” Veronica asked.

Mason found the question odd. “No,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

Veronica peeled a strip off her tissue, her eyes downcast. “That’s good. I just didn’t want anyone else . . .” She trailed off.

“Veronica,” Nora began, “should we be worried about someone else?”

“How did it happen?” Veronica asked, tearing another strip, ignoring Nora’s question.

“Someone assaulted him,” said Nora.

Veronica blew out an audible breath, and her hands shook. “My parents died a few years ago,” she said. “Police also came to my front door that day. I’m having a bit of déjà vu.”

“You lived in Reno at the time of your parents’ deaths?” Mason asked, knowing the answer.

Speculative eyes turned on him. “I did. We moved here a year ago . . . but I assume you already knew that.”

“We did,” he admitted, holding her gaze. “We need as much information as possible to figure out who harmed your brother.”

“He died yesterday?” Veronica’s brows came together. “Wasn’t there an attack on the police in Portland yesterday?”

“Yes,” Mason said as his curiosity rose. “Why would you bring up that shooting?”

“Was his death part of it?” she asked faintly, her gaze going from Mason to Nora.

“He wasn’t killed near the courthouse,” Nora said. “The attack was in his home earlier yesterday morning.”

Veronica relaxed a degree and slowly nodded. “I see.”

Mason wasn’t satisfied. “Ms. Lloyd, why did you immediately mention the shooting? What would a police incident have to do with your brother’s death?”

Her eyes widened. “I don’t know . . . I just watched it again on the news a half hour ago. When you said my brother was murdered, my brain sort of went there.”

She’s lying. Mason decided to back off for the moment.

“Ms. Lloyd,” said Nora, “do you know of anyone who would want to harm your brother?”

“I don’t really keep in touch with Reuben.”

That wasn’t an answer.

“You haven’t talked since you moved to Oregon?” Nora asked.

“A bit. We text here and there. He’s not someone I invite for Thanksgiving.”

Nora frowned. “Why is that?”