Chapter Thirty-Six
Owen Nobles paced the confines of his living room, heartsick and more than a little pissed off. Not only had Jessica pulled away from him both emotionally and physically, but she’d obviously replaced him with another man.
No, Jessica wouldn’t cheat on him, he thought, making another pass across the hard-wood floor. No matter how insane her current mental state happened to be.
He glanced at the clock on the wall, realizing it was nearing midnight. Where had Jessica gone? Her car remained in the driveway and according to their bank records, she hadn’t used her debit card since leaving the hospital.
The sudden sounds of sirens coming up the road jerked Owen out of his anxiety-induced thoughts. He moved to one of the windows at the front of his house and watched as several police cars whipped into Eustice Martin’s drive.
“What the hell?”
Four officers descended from the vehicles, weapons drawn.
Owen could only watch in amazement as the officers ducked low and stealthily slinked forward.
Two of the officers circled toward the back of the Martins’ home while the others made their way to the front of the house.
The door abruptly opened to reveal a sobbing Mrs. Martin. She staggered outside, her voice barely audible from the distance. She lifted an arm and pointed behind her.
One of the officers, took hold of her elbow and guided her to his patrol car as his partner cautiously entered the Martins’ home.
Owen rushed to the door, curiosity forcing him outside. He tightened the belt of his robe, watching as the officers soon gathered in the Martins’ front yard, their weapons holstered.
The rest of the neighborhood began filing onto the street, obviously curious about the commotion taking place in their midst.
Mrs. Hawthorn quickly ambled across the cul-de-sac, the curlers on her head, bouncing with every step she took. She stopped at the edge of Owen’s porch.
“What’s going on over there?” She nodded toward the Martins’ house.
“I don’t know, but Mrs. Martin is in the backseat of the police car. I haven’t seen Eustice, yet.”
“Maybe she finally had enough,” Marge sniffed, crossing her arms over her ample chest, “and took a frying pan to his skull.”
Owen lifted an eyebrow and glanced down at his nosy neighbor dressed in a dark-green robe.
“Well,” she stated defensively, “that’s what I would do.”
Marge suddenly glanced toward Owen’s open front door. “Is Jessica sleeping?”
Owen reached back and pulled the door closed. “She’s not home.”
“Really? Her car is in the drive.”
Grinding his teeth, Owen merely nodded and kept his gaze on the officers standing around in the Martins’ front yard.
A black van turned onto Meadowbrook Circle, carefully maneuvering past the crowds of onlookers before pulling up next to the patrol cars. Owen noticed the words CRIME SCENE INVESTGATION on the side of the van.
“Oh, my God.” Marge’s hand flew to her throat. “That can only mean one thing.”
Owen met the older woman’s gaze. “Apparently Eustice is dead.”
Marge’s face turned sheet white. “Geraldine killed Eustice?”
“Looks that way.” Owen glanced at Gerri’s silhouette, perched in the backseat of that patrol car. Though he couldn’t make out her features in the flashing red lights, he could tell that her shoulders slumped forward. In defeat or relief, he couldn’t be sure.
Marge abruptly fled Owen’s porch; her dark green robe flying out behind her as she ran toward the street where her husband now stood.
Owen could see her pointing toward the Martins’ place, her curlers bouncing around on her head with every word she uttered.
Returning his attention to the crime scene, Owen watched two individuals climb from the CSI van, holding some sort of black boxes in their hands. They trailed up to the front door and then disappeared inside.
The officers on scene abruptly dispersed in different directions. Some strode off down the street to question the onlookers, while one made his way toward Owen.
“Good evening,” Owen greeted as the officer stepped up onto the porch. “What’s going on over there?”
Pulling a small pad and pen from his shirt pocket, the officer sent Owen a curt nod. “Evening, Mister?”
“Nobles. Owen Nobles.”
The officer scratched down some words and then peered closely at Owen. “Did you happen to see or hear anything suspicious coming from next door this evening?”
Owen shook his head. “No, but I haven’t been up long. What happened over there?”
“We have a possible homicide. Are you sure you didn’t notice anything unusual?”
So, Owen’s suspicions were true. Eustice was dead. “Like I told you, I’ve been asleep. I had just got up to get a drink when I heard the sirens.”
The officer glanced at the vehicles in the drive. “Do you live here alone. Mr. Nobles?”
“No. My wife Jessica lives here as well.”
“Where is she? I’d like to ask her a few questions.”
Owen stared at the cop without blinking. “I have no idea.”
Lowering his notepad, the officer sent Owen a questioning look. “You don’t know where your wife is?”
“I don’t. We’re going through a rough patch right now. She didn’t come home tonight.”
The officer lifted the notepad once more. “Spell her name for me.”
Owen did as he’d been asked. “I don’t see what my wife has to do with any of this. She wasn’t even home when it happened.”
“I never said when the incident occurred, Mr. Nobles. I also didn’t indicate that your wife had anything to do with it. I’m simply making inquiries.”
And on it went. Owen stood on his porch, answering the dozens of questions being thrown at him before the officer flipped his notepad closed and returned it to his shirt pocket.
“If we need anything else from you, we’ll be in touch.”
Owen didn’t respond. He held completely still, watching as the officer sauntered across his yard toward the Martins’ property.
Why had the cop questioned him about Jessica’s whereabouts? She hadn’t been home in days. She couldn’t possibly know anything about Eustice Martin’s murder. And apparently, that’s exactly what they were calling it…murder.