Page 26 of Peak Suspicion
She nodded, but couldn’t speak around the knot in her throat.
“You were his alibi,” Travis said.
She tried to clear her throat. “I told the truth,” she said. “Not because I wanted to protect George. I didn’t. He deserved every punishment for what he did. But I told the truth. He couldn’t have killed David because he was with me.”
“Did you leave Santa Fe because of George Suarez?” Travis asked.
“Partly.” She forced herself to lift her head and meet his gaze. She shouldn’t act like a guilty person. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Except falling for a pedophile who contributed to the exploitation of innocent children. “I had family and friends who stood by me after George was arrested. The school district kept me in my job. I could have stayed in Santa Fe. But people would always remember what happened. And there were parents who I knew didn’t trust me with their children. I thought it would be better to start over. Then I received these letters…” She gestured toward the notes laid out on Travis’s desk and blinked back burning tears.
“Have you heard from George Suarez at all since his arrest?” Travis asked. “Has he tried to contact you?”
“Right after he was taken into custody he called a few times and left messages protesting his innocence and asking for my help.” She shook her head. “I saw the videos the police seized. I mean, I saw the titles and the pictures on some of the covers. I saw a few files they showed me on his computer. Those weren’t things an innocent man would own.” And she remembered signs she had previously ignored that all wasn’t right—how he would lock himself in his home office, sometimes for hours late at night. He didn’t even like her going into his office and his computer was protected with multiple layers of passwords. She had even joked to a friend that maybe George worked for the CIA, he was so security-conscious.
She had been so naive, truly blinded by love. Or what she thought was love.
“Do you think George Suarez could have sent these notes?” Travis asked.
“No! He’s in prison.”
Travis shook his head. “He was paroled in April. At this time, no one knows where he is. I’m wondering if he came to Eagle Mountain.”
“Isn’t he supposed to be supervised?” she asked, alarmed. “Like, register as a sex offender and check in with a parole officer?”
“He’s supposed to do those things, but he hasn’t. Have you seen anyone in town who might be him?”
“No.” The idea appalled her. She didn’t want George Suarez anywhere near her.
The sheriff said nothing. Did he think she was lying? “If I thought George had anything to do with these notes or Bryce’s kidnapping or David’s murder, I would tell you,” she said.
“Are you afraid of George Suarez?” Travis asked. “Did he ever threaten you?”
Was she physically afraid of George? “No,” she admitted. “He was never violent or threatening.” He had been a very gentle man. A kind and considerate boyfriend. Thoughtful and quiet, with good manners. Which had made the extent of his crimes that much more shocking. “I don’t think George is a violent person,” she said. “For all his…perversions… I don’t think he would kill someone. But I never thought he would be attracted to children that way, either.” She had been closer to George than she had ever been to anyone and to discover she hadn’t known his true self at all had made her doubt everything.
Travis folded the letters and slipped them into a folder. “We’ll keep these with the other letters people have turned in,” he said. “Let us know if you receive any others.”
“Did you find out who called in that bomb threat?” she asked.
“No. We looked at security camera footage at the school and we didn’t see anyone acting suspiciously before the call came in. No visitors we couldn’t identify.”
She stood, anxious to be out of there. “I have to get back to school,” she said.
He rose also. “Thank you for coming in.”
He walked with her to the lobby, and watched as she left the building. The sheriff had a good reputation as a by-the-book lawman and a family man. He hadn’t accused her of a crime or said anything to make her think he didn’t believe her. She knew she hadn’t done anything wrong.
Then why did she feel so guilty?
“Thanks, Carter. That wasa terrific tour.” The big man from Texas—six feet seven inches tall, not including the cowboy hat—pressed a twenty-dollar bill into Carter’s hand and grinned. “We all had a great time.”
“Thanks.” Carter slipped the tip into his pocket. “Come back anytime.”
“Hey, Carter!” The man’s oldest son, a freckle-faced ten-year-old, held up a hand and Carter gave him a high five.
“You were a great copilot, buddy,” Carter said.
The boy grinned, revealing braces threaded with purple rubber bands.
A middle-aged blonde approached and offered another twenty. “Thank you for the great tour,” she said. “We promise to give you a good review online.”
