I hadn’t let myself think that far ahead. I had to go to the mailbox to send the photos back to Sofie Rhodes, and then I had to find a safe place far from my house so I could dispose of the bullets and the tin of red paint.
As soon as Cal’s car left, I ran to the laundry room and picked up the box of things from Henry’s room, intending to rush to my car to dispose of it all. But as I reached my door, I heard an engine on the street. Was Cal returning already?
No. It was worse.
A police car pulled into the driveway and parked behind my car. Panicking, I dropped the box to the floor and shoved it beneath a lamp table in the corner of my living room. The lace table square on the table hung only a few inches over the edges. The box was visible, but surely it wouldn’t arouse suspicion even if the officers did notice it.
Then I straightened my shoulders, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
I showed Detective Johnson and his partner, Detective Tucker, inside and invited them to take a seat. I offered them coffee, which they declined. I dropped into my armchair when I realized my nervous hovering was probably making me look guilty. When I caught myself picking at the skin around my fingernails, I jammed my hands under my thighs. I resisted a bizarre urge to keep looking toward the box in the corner of the room.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your morning,” Detective Johnson said. I remembered him from his previous visit. He looked uncomfortable this time. Beneath my thighs, my fingers twitched. “I have some terrible news, Mrs. Miller. Jürgen Rhodes was shot this morning.”
“Shot?” I gasped, feigning shock. “Is he—”
“He’s alive,” Tucker said. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t look good.”
If Rhodes did survive, it might mean all manner of complications for Henry—but I couldn’t bring myself to hope for any other outcome. Even if Jürgen Rhodes did have skeletons in his closet, I couldn’t wish death on the man.
“We’ve taken Mrs. Rhodes in for questioning, ma’am,” Detective Tucker said. I thought I’d misheard them for a minute. I blinked.
“Did you say Mrs. Rhodes—Sofie Rhodes?” My hands began to tingle. I was conscious of the thump of my heartbeat against my chest. I thought things were as bad as they could possibly be, but somehow, this was so much worse. My gaze kept drifting across the room, toward the box. I dragged my eyes back to Detective Tucker.
“We believe there was some kind of domestic altercation that led to the shooting,” Tucker told me.
“It’s shocking, I know,” Johnson said sympathetically. “You said Mr. Miller is at the base?” I nodded mutely. “And your brother?”
“He left for a new job up north,” I said. “Yesterday.”
“Can you tell us where he is? How might we contact him?”
I shook my head. This answer, at least, I’d planned.
“He tends to drift around—but he’ll write me once he finds a place to stay.”
I kept thinking about the Sofie Rhodes in those photos. There had been so much hope in her eyes. Then I thought about her children. I was certain she only had two with her at that party, but the photos suggested three.
Children in a strange country—they didn’t even speak English. Their father might die. Their mother might go to jail—or worse, if she were convicted of murder. Maybe, if Henry had been arrested, he could have used an insanity defense, but Sofie Rhodes would have no such option. She was a woman—maybe that would help? Jürgen Rhodes likely earned an excellent salary. Even if he didn’t survive, they might have enough savings to fund her defense and maybe—
I froze. Was I really trying to convince myself to let an innocent woman face the death penalty for something I knew she didn’t do?
I glanced at the box beneath the lamp table for a split second, then looked back to Tucker. He leaned forward, staring at me with visible concern.
“Mrs. Miller, we know this has been a terrible shock. Would you like us to give you a moment? We do have a few questions we’d like to ask you.”
“Me?”
“Sofie Rhodes told us a fanciful tale about your brother harassing them,” Johnson said, his tone suggesting he was embarrassed to even repeat the accusation. “She’s adamant that Henry was lying about the night he saw her husband in your home. To be truthful, Mrs. Miller, I don’t put much stock in what those Germans do or don’t say. But I figured we’d come and have a chat with you anyway, just to do our due diligence.”