Page 22 of Lake House Killer

“Was anyone else coming around?” I ask. “Did you ever notice any suspicious cars? Any fans? Any other friends?”

His chest expands as he thinks about it. “Lydia walks in the morning with another neighbor, Nora Archer. She lives four doors down. They seemed pretty close. The two of them were always chatting from the minute they took off until the second they came back. But that’s it.”

Nora Archer. I make a mental note of it.

“All right,” Jack says. “One last thing. There was an incident about a week and a half ago. You verbally threatened to harm Damien. I read the police report, but I’d like to hear it from you. What happened?”

Owen’s face contorts in something this side of rage. “That row of trees I told you about?” His jaw redefines itself. “They torched it. They freaking dumped kerosene on the ground and the entire row went up like Roman candles. He could have burned my house down. I know it was him. He kept saying they were getting too tall and blocking his view of the lake. I told him I’d get a tree trimmer out when I could. A couple of months went by and the guy took care of it himself. The man is violent. And judging by the way he manhandled his wife, he’s got a temper, too. The guy’s a nutjob. And the funny thing is, he’s got the entire neighborhood believing that the nutjob is me.” His phone buzzes and he glances at the screen. “Are we done here? I’ve got a product to promote inside, and I paid a lot of money to do it.”

“What about the night of the incident?” Jack presses on. “Where were you?”

Owen shakes his head with a look of disbelief in his eyes. “I was at a charity event sponsored by High Spirits. Wagon Wheel Bar and Grill. I have dozens of witnesses. I stayed late.”

It doesn’t mean much, considering we have no clear time yet on when the shootings took place, but Owen seems confident his alibi will pan out.

“You got any properties other than your home?” I go on, uninterested in how much money he may be losing.

“I’ve got a warehouse in Elmwood. I share the space with a few other liquor startups on the corner of Grand and Livingston. You’re welcome to check the place out any time, no warrant needed. Just show up. I’m never there, but someone always is.”

That dovetails with what we discovered last night when we put his name in the database. Property records indicate as much, but we still can’t rule out that he’s holing Lydia away somewhere.

Jack nods as he hands him a card. “Call me if you think of anything else.”

Owen takes it reluctantly and shoots Nikki and me a forlorn smile. “So does that mean we’re off the table?”

I give him a nod and Nikki shrugs.

“It all depends on whether or not I arrest you,” she tells him and both Jack and I groan.

Owen takes off and Nikki looks at the two of us.

“What?” she says. “I was just telling the truth.”

My phone pings and I glance at the screen. “Good grief.”

“What is it?” Jack looks as if he’s already angry about whatever has cropped up, and he should be.

“It’s Riley. She and Jet are at the Velvet Lounge Gentlemen’s Club right here in Denver.”

“That’s a strip club,” Jack says as if he has firsthand knowledge of the place, and I have no doubt he does. “What the heck are they doing there?”

“Do you really have to ask?” Nikki scoffs. “They’re looking at strippers.”

“They’re not there for the strippers,” I say with a sigh. “They tracked down Marco Rossi.”

14

Lydia Cole

Head hurts.

Body hurts.

A deep moan escapes from me.

“What’s happening?” My voice croaks as I try my hardest to rouse myself from this heavy sedation I’ve been struggling with for hours, or maybe it’s days—weeks. It could be months for all I know.

My head feels clouded, all fogged up with no sense of time or what could have possibly happened to me.

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