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alone!”
    Patrick put an arm on Trevor to steady him, then eased him back onto the couch. Lucy asked, “Was Vanessa close to her brother?”
    “Very. Two peas in a pod. Nelson was one of my best friends. We’re a year older than Vanessa. He’s my brother-in-law now—” Trevor choked back a sob. “This will kill him. Why did this happen to Vanessa?”
    “A coroner will make that determination,” Lucy said.
    “I need to know. I just need to know that she was happy. That she didn’t—” He pressed his palm on his forehead.
    “What did you do today after breakfast?” Patrick asked. That had been the last time he and Lucy had seen the Marshes.
    “We went on a walk. A long walk to this vista with an amazing view. We talked. Thought about how nice it would be if we could have a vacation home up here. Phoenix is so damn hot—and I suggested we go to Kirkwood and check out some properties. Vanessa asked if I would do it alone, she wasn’t up for snowmobiling. Beth went with me, and it only took thirty minutes to get there. We stayed a few hours, got back at three or so. I went to check on Vanessa, but she was sleeping and I left—What if she was in trouble and I could have helped her?” His voice rose in panic.
    But Lucy caught what he’d said. “She was sleeping? You went into your room?”
    “I opened the door and saw her lying on her side, curled up like she sleeps. I let her rest. But when she didn’t come down by five, I went back to wake her up and she—” He broke off.
    Trevor had put himself at the scene of the crime during the window when Vanessa was murdered.
    “Are you sure she was asleep?” Lucy asked.
    “I don’t understand, of course she was asleep.”
    He could have been mistaken. She could have been dead, but looked asleep. The eyes often opened as the muscles in the lids contracted during early stages of rigor mortis. But she might have been sleeping. Or drugged, in order for the killer to inject her with whatever killed her.
    But she was presupposing that Trevor wasn’t the killer.
    “Where did you live before you returned to your hometown?” Patrick asked.
    “I went to college in Boston, and stayed there. Met my first wife. We moved to Dallas so I could be close to my team.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “I owned the Dallas Kings.”
    “The baseball team?”
    He nodded. “I sold it during the divorce, to my ex-wife. I bought it for her, anyway, but at least I got my money back, and more. Treena was the sports nut. So nutty that after I caught her cheating on me the second time with a player, I filed for divorce.”
    “And what do you do where you can buy and sell baseball teams?”
    “Do?” He almost smiled, though his blue eyes were still watery and rimmed red. “I’m an investor. Venture capital. I invest in companies I think have promise, in exchange for a small percentage. I’m good at what I do. Out of twenty-nine investments this last decade, twenty-two were successful.”
    “Define successful.”
    “Five years ago I invested five hundred thousand in two college students to develop tracking software that helps businesses target their most likely customers. I gave them a little advice on how to sell the software—instead of flat-fee licensing, they get royalties on the license. In two years, they were netting over one million a year. Last year, it was three million. I own twenty percent of the company. In five years, I’ve more than tripled my initial investment. That’s my most successful venture to date. I love those boys like they’re my own sons.”
    Patrick seemed impressed, but he was always into technology. Something felt wrong to Lucy, though. “Trevor,” she said, “why would you and Vanessa spend your honeymoon at a lodge like the Delarosa? I’d imagine that you could buy your own cabin anywhere you wanted.”
    “Vanessa saw a brochure for the place and wanted to visit. We’re going—” He stopped himself, leaned back and closed his eyes.