“How about you show me some identification.” Bet dropped her hand off her weapon. Schweitzer sat down next to her, tense, but off the high alert her previous actions had prompted.
“Sure thing,” the man said. “But I do need to wipe the oil off my hands.”
Brown doe eyes crinkled in amusement as he kept his hands in front of him, just above waist level. He turned slowly around so Bet could see a red automotive rag in the back pocket of his jeans.
“Mind if I take that out?” he asked.
“Go ahead.” If Bet remembered correctly, Robert Collier would be in his thirties. He stood a few inches over six feet, a barrel-chested man with a reddish-brown moustache, neatly clipped like his darker beard. The hair on his face accented the strong line of his jaw rather than hiding it, as it might on a lesser man. The hair on his head was dark and shot through with strands of silver.
He turned back around and appraised her while he rubbed the oil off his hands. “Elizabeth Rivers,” he said. “Followed in your father’s footsteps, did you?”
She ignored the question. “You have that ID on your person?”
He pulled his wallet out of his pocket, then slid the driver’s license out and handed it over to Bet. Bet did believe he was Robert Collier; she remembered him. He’d cut a commanding figure even then, but curiosity about what the ID would tell her kept her quiet. Robert John Collier was thirty-six years old, six feet four inches tall, and two hundred thirty-five pounds. The ID showed an address in Arlington, Virginia.
While Bet studied the card, Robert studied the dog. He extended a hand, which Schweitzer sniffed, then ignored.
“Want to tell me why you’re sneaking up on me in my own garage?” he asked as Bet handed back the ID. His voice carried amusement, the emotion mirrored in his eyes.
“Haven’t had any of you Colliers around in a lot of years,” Bet said. “Valuable property you have here. I wouldn’t want anyone breaking in.”
“I ’preciate your concern for my family’s welfare.”
“What brings you back here?”
“I don’t know that’s any of your business.”
“I meant no offense, sir,” Bet said. “Just making polite conversation.”
“None taken.”
“When did you arrive, Mr. Collier?”
“Please, call me Rob. All my friends do.”
“You drove all the way from Virginia? That’s a long drive.”
“My horse doesn’t fit in a plane.” Rob pointed to a horse trailer parked behind the garage that Bet could just make out in the dark. “Besides, it’s a beautiful country we have. Not every day a man gets the chance to cross it. I made a lot of stops before I arrived here.”
“And that was …?”
“About two hours ago.”
“You drove across the country, arrived two hours ago, and decided you just had to change your oil.”
Rob looked at Bet, his eyes sparkling. He didn’t appear bothered by her presence or her questions, but in Bet’s experience, wealthy men rarely thought they could get into trouble for anything. He could be a stone-cold killer with no fear of getting caught.
“The engine had cooled.”
“You come all that way alone?”
“Well, there’s the horse.”
“That wasn’t quite what I meant.”
“I’m a single man, Sheriff. If I get lonely, I can find company here in town.”
Bet pulled the photo of Jane Doe from her pocket and handed it to him. “Have you seen this woman?” She was curious how he would react to the photo of a dead woman.
Rob scrutinized the photo. “Nope. I haven’t seen anyone since I arrived.”
“Notice anything disturbed in your house or this garage?”
“Not a thing.” Rob held the photo out to her. “What happened to her?” Bet didn’t take the picture from Rob’s outstretched hand.
“Accident.” Why did he barely react to the photo of a dead woman? Most people were either repulsed or fascinated.
He kneeled down then, face level with Schweitzer.
“Good-looking dog,” he said. “Don’t see a lot of Anatolian shepherds.”
“This is Schweitzer.” People rarely recognized Schweitzer’s breed, and Collier’s comment took her by surprise.
“The man or the mountain?”
“You know Idaho, Mr. Collier.” Everyone assumed her father had named the dog after Albert, but Bet and her dad loved to ski Schweitzer Mountain.
“I’ve been a lot of places, Elizabeth.”
“Plan on staying here long?” Bet was determined to take back control of the conversation, even if only in her own mind. Rob Collier’s quick response to her dog and his name threw her off. She took the photo he offered again as he stood back up.
“Don’t know my plans yet.” Rob turned to go back into the garage. “Come on by anytime, though, Elizabeth,” he continued. “Nice to know the law is looking out for me and mine.” She heard him chuckle to himself.
“Let me know if you notice anything disturbed.” She held out one of her business cards.
“You’ll be the first person I call.” Rob closed the door behind him.
It irked her that he’d managed the last word, but before she could figure out a context to reopen the conversation, the sound of a horse whinny echoed through the woods from the direction of George Stand’s house. He must be home with Constant.
Bet turned her back on the Collier estate and jogged down the road to George’s place, curious if Rob had put the locked chain back on the gate. Schweitzer ran at her side, clearly hoping for a race.
Arriving at the gate, Bet found the chain cut and the gate left open.
Why would a man need to break into his own house?
Bet picked up speed. Maybe George had seen something in the woods more helpful than ghosts.