Page 20 of Silent Neighbor

"We're here about Jake Pearson," Sheila continued, watching Marcus's face carefully.

At the mention of Jake's name, Marcus's posture stiffened. The easy-going demeanor of a man enjoying a round of golf vanished, replaced by a guarded wariness. His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching almost imperceptibly.

"Jake?" he echoed, his voice carefully neutral. "What about him?"

Sheila took a step closer, her eyes never leaving Marcus's face. "I'm afraid there's been an incident. Jake was found dead this morning in the Valley of the Gods."

Marcus's face paled, the color draining from his cheeks. His grip on the golf club tightened until his knuckles turned white. "Dead?" he repeated, the word coming out as barely more than a whisper. "How... what happened?"

Sheila couldn't tell whether he was feigning surprise or genuinely feeling it. If this was an act, he was a skilled actor.

"That's what we're trying to determine," Finn said. "We understand you and Jake had a history. We were hoping you might be able to provide some insight."

Marcus's eyes darted between Sheila and Finn, a mix of emotions playing across his face—shock, disbelief, and something else Sheila couldn't quite place. Was it guilt? Fear? Or simply the natural reaction of a man confronted with unexpected tragedy?

After a moment, Marcus seemed to collect himself. He set down his golf club and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "I see," he said, his voice steadier now but still tinged with tension. "I suppose we should talk. You're probably wondering why I called in sick."

"The thought did cross my mind," Sheila said. "You hardly look like you're suffering from food poisoning."

Marcus chuckled softly. Then his face grew serious. "I've been... struggling lately. Anxiety, depression. Sometimes I need a mental health day, you know?"

Sheila nodded sympathetically. "I understand. We all need that sometimes."

Just then, the woman from before came storming out of the house, the Pomeranian trotting at her heels like a fluffy orange shadow. "Marcus!" she called, her voice sharp. "I told them they couldn't come in without a warrant!"

Marcus held up a hand, his voice gentle. "It's okay, Karen. They're just doing their job. I'm happy to answer their questions."

Karen glared at the deputies but retreated back into the house, scooping up the dog as she went. The Pomeranian gave one last defiant yap over her shoulder before disappearing inside.

Marcus offered an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that. Karen can be... protective. Especially when I'm not feeling my best."

Finn cleared his throat. "Mr. Holbrook, if you don't mind me asking... how does a climbing instructor afford a place like this?"

Marcus chuckled, a sound that seemed to ease some of the tension in the air. "Ah, that. Well, climbing instruction is more of a passion project these days. My real money comes from patents. I developed some new climbing gear a few years back—a new type of carabiner that's significantly stronger and lighter than anything else on the market. It's been quite successful."

Sheila nodded, filing away this information. It explained the wealth, but it also meant that Marcus had even more climbing expertise than they'd initially thought. "Mr. Holbrook, we understand you and Jake Pearson had a falling out some time ago. Can you tell us about that?"

Marcus's expression darkened, his earlier affability fading. "Jake was... reckless. Talented, sure, but he didn't respect the dangers of climbing. I tried to teach him proper safety protocols, but he always wanted to push the limits. In the end, I refused to work with him anymore. I couldn't be responsible for someone who didn't take safety seriously."

"And how did Jake react to that?" Sheila asked.

Marcus shrugged, his hands fidgeting with a golf ball he'd picked up. "He laughed it off, said I was too uptight. But I stood my ground. Look, I didn't like Jake, I'll admit that. But that doesn't mean I'd ever hurt him."

"What makes you think someone hurt him?"

Marcus frowned. "I guess I just figured from the nature of your questions that there was some kind of… foul play involved in his death. Why would you be asking me all these questions if it was a simple accident?"

"Where were you this morning, Mr. Holbrook?" Finn asked.

"I was here, in bed," Marcus replied. "Karen can vouch for that. We were up late watching movies, and I didn't get out of bed until nearly noon."

Sheila exchanged a glance with Finn. Having Karen—his wife, girlfriend, or whatever she was—to corroborate his story was hardly a solid alibi. Marcus seemed to sense their skepticism, his eyes darting between them.

"You don't believe me," he said, not as a question but as a statement of fact.

Sheila maintained a neutral expression. "We're just trying to verify all the information we receive, Mr. Holbrook."

Marcus nodded, his jaw tightening slightly. Then, as if coming to a decision, he straightened. "You can check the security footage," he said. "It monitors the garage and everything around the house. You'll see that I haven't left."

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