Logan pulled in a tight breath of air. “Why would you have worried about Kincaid seeing Megan?”
“Cole was one of my regulars. He had a penchant for…” Mattie cleared her throat. “Innocents.”
A wave of fury threatened to overwhelm him. For a blessed moment Logan let the anger come, let it flow through him and guide his next words. “If that was true, why didn’t you send her back to Charity House? Why move her to a place where he could easily get to her?”
Obviously used to dealing with angry men, Mattie held Logan’s stare without flinching. “Time was of the essence. I knew if Cole caught sight of her leaving, he might follow her. And then, well…” She held his gaze. “You understand my meaning.”
Yes, he did. It was her meaning that made it nearly impossible for Logan to think rationally. Too many terrible scenarios ran through his mind. “So you thought she was safe in your sitting room,” he said, forcing down his fury enough to avoid doing anything rash. Like shake the truth out of Mattie.
“That is correct.”
“Still doesn’t explain how Kincaid got to her.”
Mattie blinked. Then blinked again. “I had to leave her alone for a moment.”
Logan drew in another sharp breath. “Why would you do that?”
“Because a business matter required my attention.”
“What business matter?”
“I had to break up a fight between two of my girls.” She lifted her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I was gone no more than twenty minutes. When I returned, Cole was lying flat on his back with a knife stuck through his chest.”
Despite the growing urge to shake the woman, Logan made himself piece together the details in his mind. So far, Mattie’s story matched Trey’s. But there was a part of the tale where his friend had been unclear, a minor point that only Mattie could answer.
“Where was Megan when you first entered the room?”
Looking everywhere but at him, Mattie shifted to a spot just behind the chair. Only after the barrier stood between them did she continue. “Dig too deep into this murder, Marshal, and you may not like what you find.”
He scowled at the remark, wondering why she was warning him off. To protect herself? Megan? Or someone else entirely?
What did this woman know? Or rather, what was she refusing to tell him?
Only one way to find out. He kept his gaze on hers, reading every nuance in her body language, and repeated the question a second time. “Where was Megan when you entered the room?”
Mattie sighed in uncharacteristic resignation. “Lying on my settee, out cold.”
Shock rippled through his body, making him shudder. “She wasn’t on the floor?” Like he and Trey had assumed?
“Uh…no.”
Logan gaped at the woman for several heartbeats. Focus, he told himself. He had to focus on the facts. No more assumptions. No more mistakes. He had to think like a lawman. Not a man who’s greatest love had been attacked earlier tonight. “Tell me how Megan was positioned on the divan. Exactly.”
“She looked rather…” Mattie screwed her face into a look of deep concentration “…comfortable. Yes, that’s the word.”
Logan clenched his teeth together. Mattie was hiding something from him. “Comfortable, how?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She lifted a shoulder. “Her head was propped on a pillow and she was covered with a blanket. That sort of comfortable.”
A thousand questions exploded in his brain. But Logan kept his breathing slow and easy, his mind focused on his questions. “Could she have gotten that way by herself?”
“No.” Mattie’s fingers drummed along the chair’s rim. She continued avoiding direct eye contact. “The blanket was tucked neatly around her.”
Clinging hard to his composure, Logan worked the new information around in his head. Instinct told him there was only one explanation. The real killer had moved Megan to the settee. And then—then—he’d covered her with a blanket.
But why?
Neither gesture rang true.
Despite the fact that the details didn’t add up, Logan was certain of one thing. Megan hadn’t killed Kincaid. Now he could take her away from here, to the one place where he knew she’d be safe.
Then why did a sense of foreboding slide down his spine? What was he missing?
“I need you to think hard, Mattie. Did you see anything suspicious last night? Anything out of the ordinary?”
Her fingers tightened on the chair, the gesture turning her knuckles white. “I’ve been over the events in my head a hundred times. Nothing comes to mind.” She took a shuddering breath, but there didn’t seem to be any subterfuge in the act. “Nothing, that is, that will change the very real fact that Cole Kincaid is dead.”
An odd choice of words.
For once in their volatile eight-year acquaintance, Logan sensed she was telling the truth.
And yet…
There was something still missing from her tale, some valuable piece of information that would fit the other details smoothly together. Unfortunately, Logan had been down similar roads with Mattie Silks. She would never volunteer everything she knew, not unless he asked the right questions. If only he knew the right ones to ask.
The Lord will direct your way…
Logan rubbed a hand down his face. Please, Lord, what’s my next step?
As soon as he voiced the prayer in his head, he knew what he had to do. “I want to interview everyone who was in this building last night,” he said. “Starting with your girls.”
After a momentary hesitation, Mattie nodded. She actually nodded in agreement!
As much as Logan wanted to rely on her cooperation, he would be wise to remember this woman had been known to harbor criminals in her own bedroom. She could not be trusted. Not fully.
Dig too deep, Marshal, and you might not like what you find.
What was she hiding from him?
“When would you like to begin questioning my girls?” she asked.
Her cooperation was at odds with the Mattie Silks he knew. “After I look around the crime scene.”
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Cole’s body is already gone. Sheriff Scott’s deputy took him away over an hour ago.”
“I want to see the room where he was stabbed.” Trey was always thorough, but maybe he’d overlooked an important piece of evidence. Logan clung to that small hope.
Mattie pushed away from the chair and started out. “Follow me.” Without a single argument, coy look or detour, she led Logan directly to her private sitting room.
He didn’t second-guess her continued cooperation. Yet.
“Here we are,” she said, moving aside so he could enter the room ahead of her.
With a quick glance, Logan surveyed the small, confining space. Cataloguing the contents of the room, he counted a fireplace, a small sofa, a winged-back chair and a bookcase actually filled with books.
Surprised by the hominess of the decor, Logan worked his way around the perimeter quickly, with a smooth economy of motion that belied his sense of urgency.
There was something here. He could feel it.
Noting the trace of blood on the mantel, he ran his hand along the wood, searching