“You don’t have to do that.” He seemed embarrassed that she was unlacing her shoes, but Juniper wouldn’t dream of soiling his floor.
“It’s fine, Officer Stokes,” she said. “I’m a good Dutch girl. I don’t wear shoes in houses.”
“At least call me Everett,” he said, flipping the coffee maker on and turning to lean against the counter. “How’s your brother doing?”
“Okay. Stable. I’m actually on my way to Des Moines. I was just driving past…”
They were silent for a moment, studying each other across the tiny kitchen table. Then the radio at Everett’s shoulder crackled, fragmenting the silence. He reached for it and turned it down, appearing almost surprised to find that he was still in full uniform.
“Give me a sec, will you?” Everett asked, patting his holstered gun.
“Of course.” Juniper waved him away. “Where are your mugs?”
“In the cupboard above the sink. There’s creamer in the fridge if you’d like some. I’ll be right back.”
Everett disappeared down a hallway. Juniper lifted two mugs from the cupboard he had indicated and positioned the creamer between them. In the quiet kitchen she could hear the tick of the clock above the stove and the low hum of the radiator. She wished she had her phone—it was in the cupholder in her car—but just as she was about to distract herself with the newspaper on the table, she became aware of the sound of running water. No, not running. Burbling like a brook; a happy, bubbly sound. Curious, Juniper peeked around the archway at the far side of the kitchen and into a small, bright living room.
There was a giant fish tank against the far wall, a monstrosity with what looked like an elaborate coral reef climbing up one side. Mesmerized, Juniper tiptoed into the living room for a closer look. The fish were far too vivid to be freshwater, and the gently waving anemones looked too real to be plastic. It was an exotic salt water tank.
For a few minutes, all Juniper could do was admire. Then she realized that she was essentially snooping in a stranger’s house uninvited and turned to hurry back to the kitchen. But something caught her eye as she left. A door with opaque glass panels beside the fish tank had been left ajar. Behind it was a study: a scratched, obviously secondhand desk; an ergonomic chair; a stout, practical filing cabinet. But none of those things had grabbed her attention. It was the wall behind the desk that pierced Juniper like a hook.
The wall was filled with photos and clipped newspaper articles, Post-it Notes scrawled with words she couldn’t read at a distance, and a handful of bold headings printed on stark white paper: Tate Brothers, Franklin Tate, Carver Groen, Transient, Murder/Suicide, Jonathan Baker. For a moment Juniper felt like she was falling, and she put a hand on the doorframe to stop herself from tipping into the sharp edge of the fish tank. A hinge groaned, but she hardly noticed. Everett had turned the wall of his office into a crime board: a scrapbook of clues and motives, suspects and alibis that rivaled her own. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was taking another look at the Murphy murders.
Did he know about what was happening now? The calls and drive-bys, the insidious harassment of the most likely suspect? More important, what did Everett know that she didn’t?
The room spun when Juniper turned from the door, but she was already calculating how quickly she could race back to her car to grab her phone. Would she have time to get it and snap a few pictures before Everett was done changing out of his uniform?
She was nearly in the kitchen when Everett emerged from a room down the hall. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a plain navy sweatshirt. His hair was mussed from when he pulled the crewneck over his head. Everett’s thin smile made Juniper painfully aware of the wild knock of her heart, but she forced a grin and said, “You have a fish tank! Is it salt water?” She hoped she didn’t sound breathless.
“You’re welcome to take a closer look,” Everett said. His voice was light, but he stared at her for a moment as if searching for something in her gaze. Did he know? Could he tell that she had looked inside his study? Clearly his interest in the Murphy murders bordered on obsession.
“I’ve lost track of time,” Juniper said. “I’m so sorry, but Mandy’s expecting me, and I don’t want to keep her waiting. I really just stopped to see if you could squeeze me into your schedule sometime soon.”
“Call the police department,” he told her. “Susan will be able to take care of you.”
He was blowing her off again. Juniper forced one last smile and chatted about the weather while she pulled on her shoes and zipped up her coat. Everett’s goodbye was friendly enough, but as she pulled out of the driveway, Juniper could see him in the window, watching her.