Page 17 of Hunting the Crossbow Killer

He rolled his eyes again.

“O’Brien,” Grace said, purposely using his last name in front of the others. “Do you have any idea who would hate you enough to try to frame you as a serial killer?”

His jaw tightened. “I would think my in-laws despise me. How could they not? We never got a chance to speak after I was arrested. They were grieving, too upset and shocked to seek me out. I sent an apology, again, through my lawyer. But how do you apologize for something like that? Regardless, I can’t see them coming after me, or even having someone else do it on their behalf. They’re truly good, decent people. They just… No, it’s not them.”

“There has to be someone else, then. Help us make a list.” This time it was Chief Dawson who spoke. “If not your former in-laws, then who? Who else could it be?”

Aidan thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No one. I mean, there are plenty of people who’d love to see me dead based on the hate mail I received in prison. But they were strangers, people who get fired up over news reports. I can’t imagine any of them actually coming after me all these years later.”

“Do you still have those letters?” Grace asked.

He hesitated, his gaze capturing hers. He was silent for several moments.

“Do you?”

He looked away. “I threw them out. They certainly weren’t comforting or sentimental, something to take with me to reread after I was released. No. I don’t have the letters.”

Grace didn’t believe him. That hesitation told her he was holding something back. Was there someone who’d written him that he’d just realized might be the one trying to frame him? If so, why not tell them?

Dawson leaned forward to get Aidan’s attention. “What about people here in Mystic Lake? Other than the obvious—people being wary of you because of your past—has anyone gone out of their way to antagonize you? Have you made any enemies?”

This time, he didn’t hesitate. “No. I can count on one hand the friends I’ve made here, with a couple of fingers left over. But I keep to myself for the most part and haven’t made any enemies. I’m sure that, like other strangers who heard about my case, many of the townspeople wish I’d go live somewhere else. They likely have strong feelings against me. But again, to go this far, to frame me and risk the lives of innocent people over what they think I…” He cleared his throat. “For what I did, I can’t think of anyone who would do that.”

Grace stared at him, the words he’d stumbled over running through her mind.For what they think I… For what I did.Was he going to say for what they thought he did? Had he slipped up and almost admitted that hedidn’tkill his wife? She noted that Dawson and Collier were both studying Aidan, too, as if weighing the words he’d just said and realizing there might be more to his past, a truth no one else knew. Except Aidan.

Aidan cleared his throat and stood. “Anyone need a drink?” He headed into the kitchen side of the large, open room.

Hoping to break the tension that had fallen over everyone, Grace called out, “Yes, please. The coldest beer you have. None of that light stuff, either.”

“No way,” Collier said. “We’re all on duty, including you. And you’re my patient. I won’t be able to give you any pain medicine if you drink.”

“Meanie.”

He laughed.

Still debating whether or not to allow a part-time, relatively new EMT to stick a needle in her arm to stitch her up, she asked Collier, “Who flies the helicopter?”

He pressed some fresh gauze against her arm, mumbling an apology when she winced. “Bobby Thompson. He’s—”

“The owner of the marina. I remember you told me earlier.”

“He’s also retired military, flew a chopper for most of his career. He oversees the maintenance and flies when needed. Stella Holman, from the bed-and-breakfast, was a career nurse before vacationing here, then meeting Frank, getting married and staying for good. She’s the one who rides with Bobby to take care of the patients until they reach the hospital.”

A loud knock on the open door of the cabin had all of them looking over to see Officer Fletcher standing there. “Justin’s arrived with his scent dog.”

“About time,” Dawson said. He stood and Aidan met him at the door.

Dawson arched a brow. “Don’t even think about it. You might not be a suspect anymore, but you’re still a civilian.”

“Who saved you from tumbling over a cliff’s edge earlier. Remember that?”

Dawson’s face reddened. Now Grace understood why the chief was treating Aidan more like a friend than a foe. She could well imagine how much he loathed owing his life to an ex-con. Judging by the hard set of his jaw, he didn’t like it one bit.

Aidan continued. “It’s my land. I know the best ways to get through the brush, where the slopes have loose rocks and dangerous footing, where the cliffs—”

“Okay, okay. You made your point,” Dawson grumbled. “You can go, but only as a guide. If we find this guy, don’t make any attempts to intervene or take him down. That’s for the police to do. Understood?”

Aidan crossed his arms.

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