closer look at the outfit. He reached his hand out.
“Don’t touch anything,” Ryan reminded him.
Landingham pulled his hand back and instead peered closely at the clothes before kneeling down and studying the sneakers.
“None of this stuff is mine,” he finally said.
Jessie tried to contain her excitement.
“Can you look around and tell me if anything is missing?”
Landingham looked at her with skepticism.
“How would I know? We have a lot of stuff.”
Jessie tried to stay cool, tried not to raise her voice.
“I don’t mean anything valuable, like jewelry or technology. I’m thinking clothes—maybe your favorite T-shirt for lounging around the house, that kind of thing.”
Landingham disappeared into the walk-in closet, with an officer in tow.
“What are you thinking?” Ryan asked quietly.
“I have a theory but I want to hold off until I get an answer from him.”
It only took another moment for Landingham to call out. He emerged from the closet with a proud expression his face.
“Something is missing—my favorite pair of pajamas. I only wear them occasionally but they’re super comfortable. They’re silk, navy blue. The hanger they were on is on the floor in there.”
Jessie sensed Ryan’s eyes on her and turned to face him, trying to corral the thoughts pinballing in her head.
“Here’s what I think happened,” she said slowly. “Lots of people around here leave town for stretches of the summer. That means lots of empty homes. I think this guy, the killer, is a squatter, but not just a regular one. He’s a guy who knows the neighborhood well, its rhythms and the people who live here and vacation elsewhere.”
“You think he’s a local?” Ryan asked.
Jessie nodded, honing her hypothesis with each new word.
“I think he’s like Randy out there if Randy didn’t have a home base. Maybe he’s homeless. Or maybe he fell on hard times or had a run-in with the law. Whatever the reason, this guy has been camping out in people’s homes when he knew they’d be gone.”
“It would be hard for a homeless guy to know the vacation schedules of residents,” Carl offered.
“Good point,” she replied. “More likely he’s someone who has or had interaction with locals and heard their plans. He could be anything from a barista to a waiter to an employee at a property rental agency. Whoever he is, I don’t think he followed Priscilla Barton into the Bloom house as part of some home invasion. I think he was already there because he knew the Blooms were out of town.”
No one spoke for a moment as the idea settled in.
“Same at this place,” Ryan added, getting on board. “He must have known the Landinghams would be gone too.”
“Right. But something went wrong there,” Jessie said, turning to Landingham. “Were you supposed to come back today?”
“No. For the last five years, we’ve left on a Thursday and came back a week later on the Sunday. I…” He stopped mid-sentence.
“What?” Jessie demanded.
His face turned pink as he answered.
“I came back early. I told Eileen I had a business meeting. But it was really so I could spend time with Kelly without worrying about getting caught.” He paused before adding a question. “Does this mean she died because of me?”
“So the killer must have thought he had half a week left,” Jessie mused, ignoring Landingham’s anguished question. “He was likely napping in the bed here after a little snack, enjoying the silk pajamas. Then some girl wakes him up, thinking it’s Carl. She runs when she realizes it’s not him. He chases her. Maybe in the past he would have just snuck out.”
“But she’s seen him and he’s already on the hook for one murder,” Ryan interjected.
“Exactly,” Jessie agreed. “He can’t let her give a description to the cops, so he pursues her down the hall. Her heel breaks at the stairs. Either she falls or he pushes her. Either way, he finishes her off in the foyer. But before he can go back upstairs and change into his own clothes, Carl here comes home. So he has to bail, barefoot and in silk jammies.”
Carl was standing in front of them in horror-stricken silence. But neither Jessie nor Ryan were focused on his feelings of guilt right now.
“So we’re not dealing with a thief,” Ryan said, more to himself than to her.
“No, not unless you count the stocking, which feels like it’s a whole other thing. We’re not dealing with home invasions or theft. We’re dealing with a guy who wants to live these people’s lives, relax in their homes, wear