Page 13 of Off the Hook

Coulter Rodman was no idiot. I’d seen enough smooth talkers to know that I couldn’t be swayed by his reassurances, however convincing they were on the surface. But something in me wanted to believe him.

It might have been his pretty face. And broad shoulders. And strong, manly hands. All those things, combined with all the right words.

He let out a sigh. “I know. I promise it won’t happen again. After the exchange at the station yesterday, I didn’t want to ask Waylan to bring me here. I knew that would cause more trouble for everyone. But I had to know.”

His shift in demeanor took me further off my guard. I felt for him. “Well, you’re here. What do you see?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” His gaze moved to the coffee table strewn with magazines and papers. “Looks like she was planning her wedding.”

I stepped closer, shuffling the bridal magazines to reveal the stack of cards that spilled from underneath. Kylie was a happy bride-to-be addressing save-the-date cards and choosing flower arrangements. And then she was dead. I couldn’t ignore that the man least likely to want to see her married was still the prime suspect. “Save the date cards. March 18th.” I looked up at Coulter. “How does that make you feel?”

“Pretty awful. Not because she wanted to marry Jake. But because she probablyreally wantedto marry Jake.” He shook his head and sounded defeated as he continued. “That’s the whole reason I was trying to talk to her after she told me she was engaged. I wanted to look her in the eye and see if she really meant it.”

I tried to focus on getting him to talk, rather than the heartstrings he was tugging. “Because with you, she didn’t really mean it?”

“She gave the ring back less than a month after we were engaged, so… apparently not.” The tinge of bitterness in his tone made the hairs on my forearms stand on end.

“Well, I guess we’ll never know,” I said matter-of-factly. The dead can’t speak. We have to rely on the survivors to tell their story.

Coulter didn’t seem to notice that I was trying to rile him. He was utterly dejected. “Kylie wasn’t planning our wedding after I proposed. Looking back, I guess she was planning her escape.” He dropped his head, sucking in a breath through his teeth.

Escape?That was an odd choice of words. The sincerity of his sadness wasn’t in question in my mind. Their young love had fizzled out for her, but not for him. And he’d never gotten over it. But was that enough to make him want her dead? I didn’t think so.

“So why did she end up on the dock?” I asked, more to myself than to Coulter, as I pushed the bedroom door open. The bed was made. The room was clean. Not even a shoe out of place–they were all neatly filed on the rack on the back of the closet door.What shoes was she wearing when she was found?I didn’t remember any mention of it and made a mental note to check the coroner’s report when I got back to the station.

“I actually came here to collect more evidence at the dock,” I told him as I made my way back toward the front door. “You should go now, so as not to further contaminate things.”

Coulter’s chin dipped and he admitted, “I’ve already been down to the dock, just before you came.”

“Of course you have,” I said, shaking my head. “Just to make things more complicated.”

“Not the first time I’ve been accused of that,” he chuckled. “But that’s not why I did it. I was looking for evidence too. None of this makes sense.”

“Again, that’smyjob, not yours. Please just go home and let me do my job.” I started out the door.

Coulter followed after me, pleading. “But maybe I can help. I promise I won't get in the way.”

I had to give it to the guy. He was persistent, albeit annoying. Since I hadn’t found anything when I returned yesterday,another set of eyes might prove useful. “Follow me.” I sighed. “Stay close, step only where I step.”

We hopped from one paver stone to the next in a zig-zag line to the dock. Once we reached the concrete slab of the dock, I stared at the boat on the dock. “Maybe Kylie came down to check the boat, needed to adjust the lines or do something, and fell in?”

Coulter didn’t hesitate. “Kylie had better boat legs than any woman I ever knew. Impossible.”

“Improbable, perhaps,” I said, “but not impossible.”

His gaze fixed on mine. “Then where did she hit her head in that scenario? On the dock? Where?” He looked along the length of the concrete. “Can’t you take DNA samples or something?”

“We can if we find any evidence to test. Do you see any?” Because I sure as hell didn’t.

“You mind if I get down for a closer look?” Coulter asked.

I pulled another pair of gloves out of my pocket and handed them to him. “Put these on first.”

We both got down onto hands and knees and crawled along the dock, scrutinizing the concrete edge, inch by inch. Nothing. We climbed onto the boat and went over the entire length of the rub rail and the stainless steel railing around the boat. I made a mental note to get forensics out to do a luminol test to see if any evidence had been washed away, if there was foul play. But there was no real evidence at this point to suggest that there was.

If Kylie fell in and hit her head, there should be something left behind. But there wasn’t.

“I’ll have forensics come back and do a luminol test after dark to see if there’s any trace of blood that we can’t see. But for now, we’re done here.”

---