Read Online Not Guilty by Patricia MacDonald - Free Book Online Page A

time for you, hasn’t it, Dylan?”
    Dylan shrugged.
    “Your stepfather was a pretty good guy?” he asked sympathetically.
    “He was okay,” said Dylan.
    “Of course, he couldn’t replace your real dad.”
    “No,” Dylan admitted softly.
    “I’ll bet that was tough for you, what happened to your father—”
    “Wait a minute, Detective. Why do you have to bring that up?” Keely demanded. She had a sudden, blinding image in her mind’s eye of the blood, Richard sprawled on the rug, and Dylan huddled in the closet. “These are very painful memories for us.”
    “All right, let me backtrack a little,” said Phil Stratton. He studied his leather notebook, tapping on it with his gold pen, and cleared his throat. Then he asked, “Would you say you got along pretty well with your stepfather?”
    “Pretty well, I guess.”
    “That business with the bike didn’t get him angry at you?”
    “He didn’t know about it,” said Dylan.
    “You didn’t talk about it when you came home that night?”
    “I didn’t even see him,” said Dylan.
    “So there was no argument between you two? No threats exchanged?”
    “What are you talking about? Who said anything about arguments or threats?” Keely protested.
    “No, I told you,” Dylan insisted. “I didn’t see him.”
    “And even if he did, what difference does it make?” Keely cried.
    Dylan jumped to his feet. His features were distorted with anger, and his reedy body was shaking. “I didn’t, Mom. I just got finished saying that I didn’t.”
    A fretful little cry sounded from down the hall. “Keep your voice down,” said Keely. “Look, I’m sorry, Dylan. I’m not blaming this on you. Detective . . . Stratton, is it? Detective Stratton, can’t you just leave us in peace? I told the officer who was here that night, my husband Mark did not know how to swim. It was a terrible mistake for us to have a swimming pool, but they say that hindsight is twenty-twenty.”
    “I have a couple more questions to ask Dylan,” he replied.
    Keely felt the blood rush to her cheeks. What was this policeman up to? Was he going to make Dylan admit to leaving the gate open? Since when was it against the law to leave a pool gate unlocked? To be forgetful? No matter what the tragic consequences, Dylan didn’t cause the accident. It could have been prevented any number of ways. Abby might have been in her playpen at the time. Mark might not have been distracted. She wasn’t going to let this man saddle Dylan with that guilt. “Look, if you are trying to find someone to blame for this . . . Accidents happen, Detective. It’s tragic, but it’s true. I can accept that.”
    “It’s not a question of your accepting or not accepting it,” he said, and there was a trace of steeliness in his tone. “We just think that Sergeant Henderson may have been somewhat . . . less than thorough in his inquiries in this situation. There are official procedures in a case like this . . .”
    Keely did not miss the import of his words. She tried to keep the alarm out of her voice. “A case like this. What are you talking about? It’s obvious what happened.”
    “Well, it appeared to be obvious. But what we didn’t know, on the night of Mr. Weaver’s death,” he said carefully, “is that this is the second time you’ve lost your husband in a tragic accident.”
    Keely felt as if he had slapped her across the face. It took her a moment to recover her wits. Then she breathed, “How dare you? My first husband’s death, as you must know, since you have obviously heard about it, was a suicide.”
    The detective raised his eyebrows and looked surprised. “Apparently your lawyer,” he said with a hint of sarcasm, “argued that it was an accident. Argued successfully with the insurance company, if my information is correct . . .”
    Abby’s fretting from down the hall turned into a wail. The sound of her baby’s distress made it difficult for Keely to think. “Dylan,” she said,