“I think he printed it out on his computer because it was on regular paper. And I didn’t get a very good look at it, but I could’ve sworn it was taken through the window of a house.”
Which meant she didn’t know she was being watched, let alone photographed. Cain couldn’t believe it. Owen wouldn’t stalk anyone. And he wouldn’t skulk around the hospital wearing a wig or hurt Sheridan or anyone else.
But he’d feel at home in that particular setting. He’d worked at Mercy General once, for two years following his marriage. And Cain couldn’t help remembering that he’d had trouble getting hold of Owen the night of Sheridan’s attack. Had he spent all that time taking care of Robert, as he’d said? Or had he raced home to clean up?
The mere possibility infuriated Cain. “Was it my house in the picture? Or someone else’s?”
“It wasn’t your place. That’s for sure. I think it was someplace in town. I didn’t immediately recognize it.”
Sickened by the thought that Owen might’ve had something to do with the tragic events that had confused and hurt so many people, their family and Sheridan most of all, Cain fingered a hole frayed in his jeans. “You didn’t ask him about it?”
“I said, ‘Hey, that looks like Sheridan.’ And he said, ‘It’s not.’ Then he shoved it back in and shut the door.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Did you tell Amy?”
“Of course.”
“What’d she say?”
Tiger’s voice had choked up again. “She called to ask him. I checked her cell phone. His number was the last one she dialed. Based on the time, she must’ve been on her way to your cabin when that call was placed.”
Shaking his head, Cain closed his eyes. Amy had called Owen about that picture. And now she was dead?
17
“Let’s go,” Cain said.
Sheridan blinked at him. “What? You’re just going to hang up after that mysterious conversation and say, ‘let’s go’?”
“I can’t leave you here alone. It’s not safe.”
“You could tell me where we’re going.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “My stepbrother’s house.”
“Owen? Why?”
Because Owen had had access to the cabin. He came and went from Cain’s property all the time and could easily have put that rifle in the cellar. And after Cain’s mother’s funeral, when John was busy rekindling his love life, Owen had spent a great deal of time hunting and fishing with Bailey Watts, the man who’d first owned the rifle that had been used to kill Jason. But Cain didn’t want to explain all that. He didn’t want to entertain the thoughts that were going through his head. He only wanted to disprove them.
“I need to check on something.”
She frowned. “What?”
Crossing to the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room, he scooped his keys off the tile countertop. “Did you and Owen have much to do with each other in high school?”
She’d stood up when he told her they were leaving. Now she shoved her hands in the pockets of her dress and stepped in front of him as he moved toward the door. “Not much. Why?”
“He didn’t ever follow you, or act as if he wanted to approach you, talk to you, be with you?”
“Not really. He wasn’t interested in girls.”
He was interested enough to watch them in the camper instead of making his presence known, wasn’t he?
“He was too shy,” she added with a dismissive shrug.
“No, not shy,” Cain said. “Intimidated.” His wife tells a funny story about how Owen haunted her classes for an entire year, hoping to date her, yet never asked her out. She finally invited him to the movies. She had to instigate the marriage proposal when the time came for that, too.
Sheridan took her hands out of her pockets and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Either way, he’s not the violent type.”
Cain tried to remember how his fourteen-year-old brother had acted after that camper incident. But he’d been so overwhelmed by his mother’s death and trying to avoid any contact with his stepfather, he hadn’t paid much attention to what Owen was or wasn’t doing. His stepbrothers had had each other and their father. He hadn’t been concerned about them. “I remember him studying, and reading for fun when he wasn’t studying. That’s all. That’s why I made him go to that party. I thought it was time he got a life.”
“He used to attend the football games,” Sheridan said. “I don’t think he missed one. He was always right there, sitting directly behind us—the cheerleaders, I mean.”
“As if he’d come to see you?” Cain asked. That was the one thing missing from the puzzle. A motive. Why would Owen want to hurt Jason or Sheridan? And would the mild-mannered doctor he knew really be capable of something so horrfic, especially at such a young age?
It was almost impossible to believe. But there had to be some explanation for that picture of Sheridan in his truck.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “Where else was he going to sit? The poor kid was two years younger than everyone else in his grade. He didn’t have any friends to hang out with. And he knew me from the classes we had together. Being close to me probably made him feel more comfortable.” She sounded confident in her answer, and yet a shadow passed over her face.
“What is it?” Cain had walked around her and was holding open the door.
“I guess there was one odd thing. But it didn’t happen back then. It happened recently.”
“What is it?”
“When he mentioned our—” she cleared her throat “—time in the camper.”
“What’d he say?”
“He said, ‘You were about the only girl I thought would rebuff him,’ as if I’d let him down by not doing so.”
Cain dropped Sheridan off at The Roadhouse Café, which was well lit and public enough for him to feel confident that she’d be safe. She wasn’t happy about being stowed there like baggage, but he had no intention of leaving her at the house alone, and he hesitated to take her with him to confront Owen. Owen would clam up if they had an audience, particularly a female audience. He’d never been at ease around females and, except for his wife, still socialized almost exclusively with men.