Page 29 of End Game

Another thoughtful pause. Finally, she shook her head. “I would be speculating at best. Something I don’t do.”

“Any leads, no matter how unlikely, would be appreciated.”

“I will let you know if I come across anything substantive.”

“Call or text me anytime.” He handed her a business card, even though his number would be in her cell’s Recents log. “Final question. Any idea why Governor Stokes requested a private meeting with your daughter?”

Her attention shifted to the French doors’ multipaned windows, to the garden beyond. “No, I’m afraid not.”

An untrained observer would have missed the slight stiffening of her posture and the suspension of her breathing, but Ash catalogued each of her anxiety-ridden tells.

“If something occurs to you, please let me know.”

Dropping her gaze to his card, she brushed a red-painted thumbnail over his name. “Life is such a wonder, don’t you think?”

“In what way?”

“The fundraiser I threw last night met its goal. We saved Gorekin Cove and, in the process, sacrificed one of my dearest friends.”

He stilled. “Sacrificed?”

“If I had not invited her, she would still be alive.” A pair of tortured eyes bore into his. “Do you think a thousand acres of woodland was worth a life?”

“The governor’s death rests in the killer’s hands, not yours.”

“Ambition, influence, power—they are the great motivators in politics and business. An arena I know very well.” She swallowed with a hard, audible click. “Invite a governor and they will come, with their virtual checkbooks.”

Grief counseling was not his forte. He would hand over his entire savings if silver-tongued Phin walked through the door, right now.

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know Governor Stokes, but from what I’ve gathered, she seemed like someone who would have been honored that her last evening on earth saved a valuable natural area.”

The CFO’s features teetered on the edge of collapse. She fought through the deluge of emotion and gave him a grateful smile. “Yes. Yes, she would.”

When she disappeared into the house, he stepped out onto the veranda. Despite the reason for his being here, the spring day promised to be a beautiful one. Tulips rose from their hibernation to jumpstart the season. The waning purple-pink blossoms of a redbud tree occupied the back corner near a gurgling waterfall.

But for the most part, the garden had a barren quality to it. Many of the trees and shrubs were only now starting to break free of their winter sleep. A fact that would’ve made the shooter’s job a lot easier, but also left them vulnerable to exposure. He followed the circular path around, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Forensics would’ve already done a thorough search. But even the most stalwart could miss things. When he got to the gazebo, he stepped inside, expecting to find evidence of the governor’s violent death. But like the mansion, the interior was now spotless.

On one level, he couldn’t help but be impressed with the Krownes’ cleaning crew. The large rug, where the governor’s body had fallen, had been replaced by a nearly identical one.

Not a speck of blood spatter could be found anywhere inside the structure. On another level, the ever-present red flag at the back of his mind was slowly unfurling.

He understood that the crime scene and the detritus from the party would be painful reminders of whom they had lost the previous evening. But this level of cleanliness reeked of something less emotional and more strategic.

After finishing his first circuit, he ditched the manicured path and wove his way through triangles of rosebushes, hillocks of grasses, and tangles of leafless vines.

His efforts produced no fruit, not that he had expected them to. But he never underestimated what a fresh set of eyes could accomplish. Returning to the gazebo, he stood in the approximate spot the governor had occupied.

A mixture of trees, shrubs, and spring perennials surrounded the structure. A firepit was visible off to the left and a pool/hot tub combo was off to the right of the veranda.

Each area was surrounded by vegetation, offering the users a modicum of privacy during the growing season, rather than an open backyard, spring-break vibe. The Krownes’ property wasn’t fenced in, nor were their neighbors’. Which meant the shooter could have come in from any direction and taken up a spot behind one of the many trees dotting the property.

He hoped forensics found something that would give them a clue about the killer’s identity, but he wasn’t holding his breath. A shooter who could put a bullet in their target’s forehead would know how not to leave any evidence behind.

Still, he took another circuit around the property. Every fifteen feet or so he would pause and glance back at the gazebo, judging distance and line of sight. When he reached the southeast side of the structure, between the fire pit and pool, he paused near a large dogwood.

The understory tree’s low hanging branches, heavy with its distinctive white blooms, would have given the shooter ample cover, yet an unimpeded sight line to where Kayla had stood with the governor.

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