The more Cait thought about the rodeo guy, the more she was convinced he didn’t murder Chip, but she’d also thought it wasn’t possible she had a stalker. “Did anyone get the drunken rodeo guy’s name?”
Rook shook his head. “No. He left peacefully.”
“Maybe you should track him down.”
“There’s a slim chance he’ll attend the mixer at the rodeo grounds on Wednesday,” Rook said, “but it would be like looking for that proverbial needle in a haystack. Our best use of the officers’ time is here, where we know who we’re looking for.”
“You’re right,” she admitted.
“Look, Wally Dillon could have gone into Baughman’s or Dom’s western outfitters and bought a shoestring necktie as a souvenir,” Rook said.
“Have you taken Wally’s picture to the stores to see if they recognize him? If not, I’ll do it.”
“We just got his picture, Cait. We’re not miracle workers. That’s on my long list of things to do,” Rook said.
“I have to check the costumes,” Alt said. “Chip and I are about the same size, so there shouldn’t be a problem. Don’t worry, Detective, I’m not going to disappear. I want to know who murdered Chip as much as you do.”
Something nagged at Cait until she finally pulled it out. “Was Chip in costume when he was killed? I didn’t notice what he was wearing.”
Rook rubbed the back of his neck. “No, jeans and T-shirt.”
“If Chip was wearing his own clothes, he meant to leave. If he rented a car, he would’ve gone to the parking lot, not the vineyard. And if he carpooled with another actor, wouldn’t that person look for Chip when he didn’t show?” Cait asked.
“Jim and I saw Chip after the guests left,” June said. “That was some time after ten. He said he was staying in one of Tasha’s leased apartments in town and was waiting for his ride.”
“So he decided to take a stroll through the vineyard where he couldn’t be seen?” Cait asked.
“He did appear to be upset,” Jim said, “but when I asked if he was okay, he said he’d had another argument with Alt and needed to walk off his frustrations. That’s the last we saw of him.”
All eyes turned on Alt.
He held his hands up. “No, no, no. I did not kill Chip. There’s no way you’re pinning this on me.” He spun around and stalked off.
Cait hadn’t spent as much time as she would have liked with the actors from Macbeth and was torn over which play to attend, but it was important to see Kenneth as Hamlet. Her instinct told her he was innocent of murder, but would he leave, afraid no one would believe him? She reached into her pocket for Wally’s mug shot. His face was seared into her mind, along with his brother Hank’s, but she wanted another look. Eyes are the mirrors of the soul. If she came face to face with Wally, as she had Hank, she wanted to compare the brothers.
“Why are you staring at that mug shot?” June asked.
Cait shoved it back in her pocket. “I was thinking about Calder Manning.”
“Why?”
“He might know if Wally has contacts in California.”
“Maybe your detective friend in Columbus should call him,” Jim said. “Someone supplied Dillon with guns, maybe a local or someone from over the hill in the central valley like Detective Rook suggested.”
Fatigue weighed heavily on Cait, leaving her feeling older than thirty-five. Everyone thought she was strong because she’d been in law enforcement. “Manning’s probably out of the country, but it’s worth a try. I’ll ask Shep.”
Niki bounded through the gate followed by RT. She studied RT’s body language. When she was working, she’d paid close attention to nonverbal communication, body posture, gestures, facial expressions, and eye movements, and she continued to do so today. People sent and interpreted signals subconsciously. When she’d met her husband, she’d dismissed all the signals that screamed at her to “keep walking,” but because he was a police chaplain, she’d dismissed them as nerves. How wrong she’d been.
RT’s eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. He walked straight and tall, a Navy SEAL trained to mask his feelings. But she caught the raised eyebrow and slight hitch at the corners of his mouth. Was that a wink behind the opaque glasses? Her body hummed as she flashed to last night in her bedroom.
Niki jumped up on Cait, begging for attention. She kneeled and wrapped her arms around his neck, comforted by the warmth of his fur.
RT offered a treat to the dog. “You gotta carry treats in your pocket, Cait.”
She saw Detective Rook and a couple of officers coming toward her. The officers were probably in their mid-twenties, pumped and eager to work with a homicide detective. All wore belts carrying guns, batons, and handcuffs. Rook, in jeans, wore his service weapon in a shoulder holster visible underneath his opened jacket.
“Sergeant McCloud and other officers are combing the grounds, as far back as the cave,” Rook said. “These officers will split up, walk through the theaters, hike down the hill to Cross Road, and come back up the driveway in front. Everyone has copies of Wally’s mug shot.”
Voices from the direction of the Elizabethan theater caught Cait’s attention. She saw Ray, his arms flailing in the air. He looked intense, his eyes darkly focused on her as he ran.
Oh, no. This can’t be good news, Cait thought as she looked at Ray.