Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m going to make this easy on you. I loved Joanna as a friend, and—”
“Only as a friend?” I interrupt. “Never crossed the line?”
“Never.”
“Not sure I believe that.”
His breathing remains even. His gaze holds mine steady. He’s either telling the truth or he’s a very skilled liar. He huffs in disgust, charges around to the driver’s side of his car, and yanks the door open. “I told you I was late. Have a good evening, Detective.”
I move in front of the garage door, so he can’t leave unless he plans to run me over. “You like your job, and Point Reina is a tight community. You can’t afford a bad name, or you won’t work anywhere around there again. You’re loyal to the Harrises because you and Joanna were close. I get all that. But if you loved her—as a friend—help us figure out who did this to her.”
If he doesn’t know already.
He curses under his breath, glaring at me. Then he says, “Okay. I’ll answer anything you want about Joanna. But their marriage was none of my business. I don’t want to get involved.”
“You already are, Dean.” I stare him down. “You go in and out of Ravenwood almost every day. You know what goes on inside those walls. Inside that marriage. You knew back then. Do you remember anything strange happening last summer?”
“Strange? No. Nothing.”
“Anything, Dean. Did they go anywhere in May, June, or July? Take any trips, or—”
“They didn’t go anywhere,” he blurts. “Especially in May. Christ! Joanna wouldn’t even come out of her room for the last half of the month.”
“Do you know why?”
He shrugs. “Said she wasn’t feeling well.”
“She secluded herself in her room for half of the month, and you don’t think that’s odd behavior?”
“It’s not a crime to be sick, Detective. She had a horrible pregnancy. Nauseous all the time. Couldn’t keep food down. It wasn’t abnormal to find her in bed half the day.”
“So she kept to her room and to her bed. Do you know who took care of her during that time?”
“Samara—the woman wouldn’t leave Joanna’s side.”
“Were she and Mr. Harris arguing at the time? Or any time before or after she secluded herself in her room?”
“Didn’t you hear what I said? If I want to keep my job, I can’t talk about their marriage.”
“Did Mr. Harris give you that ultimatum?”
His jaw twitches as he stares into the Mustang’s interior. It’s as if Dean’s deciding whether or not to bolt. Staying would probably mean disrespecting or even disobeying his employer. But running from an open investigation would immediately throw suspicion on him. If he’s not guilty, why would he need to dodge innocent questions?
I’ve got him pinned, and we both know it.
“All right, Dean,” I say, pretending to give a little ground. “I’ll keep my questions focused on Joanna.” Because it’ll loosen him up for the more complicated questions later. “Did she have any enemies?”
“No.”
“Can you recall any disagreements between Joanna and Rachael Martin?” I press. “Or anyone else in the neighborhood?”
“No.” With a heavy exhale, Dean slams his car door shut. The sound ricochets off the walls of the garage like a thunderclap as he approaches me, fire blazing in his eyes. “That’s the thing you’re not getting. Everyone loved Joanna. Everyone. She was the light in any room. The life of the party. She was unbelievably charismatic, and kind, and funny. When she talked, you listened. When she walked away, you watched. Everyone did. Women wanted to be her. Men wanted to be with her.”
“Then,” I insist, feeling my own pulse jump at his words, “who the hell would do this to her?”
“If I knew of one person who thought poorly of her, who would wish her even the slightest bit of