"Then we're clear," Dad said. "It never occurred to me to talk about her private life."
"Good. Keep it that way. I know my mother hasn't said anything, either. Blair, have you told anyone?"
"Not even Lynn. We've had other stuff to talk about, you know?"
"So we'll go back to the previous arrangement. She'll stay with me, she won't go to work, and after tonight you won't see her until we catch this guy. Talk on the phone all you want, but nothing in person. Got it?"
Everyone nodded. He looked satisfied. "The detectives are canvassing Blair's neighborhood, talking to everyone, even the little kids. Maybe someone was seen around your car, and no one thought anything about it at the time."
I wasn't real hopeful on that front. Because I didn't park at the curb in the front of the building, my car wasn't as readily visible as most of the others. Someone could have approached from the rear unseen, unless a neighbor just happened to be looking out a back window at that exact time, and slid under my car without anyone seeing him from the street.
I hated it, but I'd been banking on Dwayne Bailey being the one who was trying to kill me. He was the only person I knew of with a motive, and even then he hadn't really had one; he just didn't know that I couldn't have identified him. Finding out he had an alibi that was likely legitimate left me mentally floundering, because I couldn't think of any other reason why someone would want me dead. I didn't mess around with other women's men, I didn't cheat anyone, and unless provoked, I tried to be nice to everyone. I didn't even wear white shoes after Labor Day or before Easter. Hey, I saw that movie with Kathleen Turner, and I took it to heart. I don't want the fashion Nazis coming after me.
"If it isn't personal," I said, thinking aloud, "then it's about business, right? Money. What else is there? But I haven't cheated anyone, and I didn't drive anyone out of business when I opened Great Bods. Halloran's Gym had already closed down when I bought the building and renovated it. Does anyone have any ideas here?"
All around the picnic table, heads shook from side to side. "It's a mystery," Siana said.
"What are the usual motives?" Dad asked, and started ticking them off on his fingers. "Jealousy, revenge, greed. What else? I'm discounting politics and religion, because as far as I know Blair isn't political, and she isn't a religious hothead. This isn't a case where someone gets mad and acts without thinking, right, Wyatt?"
Wyatt shook his head. "Both of the attempts were premeditated. If we play percentages, both attempts were made by a man-"
"How do you figure that?" Siana asked, intrigued as always by any intellectual discussion, even one that involved someone trying to kill me.
"The weapon used wasn't a handgun, not from that distance. We know where the shooter positioned himself, because we found the shell casing. It was a twenty-two rifle, which is common as grass in these parts, not a lot of stopping power to it, but with an accurate shot it'll kill. It's also a subsonic round. Blair bent down as the shot was fired, which is why it hit her arm instead of a vital area. Women may use handguns, but they seldom use rifles, which require practice and skill for distance shooting, and that generally isn't something a woman's interested in."
"What about the brakes?" Mom asked.
"There are four women sitting here. Do any of you know where the brake line is?"
Mom, Siana, and Jenni all looked blank. "Beneath the car," I said. "I saw you looking."
"But did you before that?"
"No, of course not."
"There are several lines and cables beneath the car. How would you know which one to cut?"
"I guess I'd have to ask someone. More likely I'd just cut everything."
"Which proves my point. Women aren't likely to know enough about a car to cut a brake line."
"Or I would get a book that showed me where the brake line is," I said. "If I really wanted to cut a brake line, I'd figure out some way to do it."
"Okay, let me ask you another question. If you wanted to kill someone, is that a method you would even think of? How would you do it?"
"If I wanted to kill someone," I mused. "First, I'd have to be really, really angry or really, really scared, like if I had to protect myself or someone I loved. Then I'd use whatever weapon was handy, whether it was a tire tool, a rock, or my bare hands."
"That's the way most women are, and there goes the premeditation down the drain. I said most women, not all, but statistically we're looking for a man. Agreed?"
Everyone nodded agreement.
"Now, if I were just pissed at someone, that's different," I said.
Wyatt got a look on his face that said he knew he shouldn't ask, but he did anyway. "How so?"
"Well, that would take some planning. Like maybe I would bribe her hairdresser to do something really awful to her hair. Things like that."
He propped his chin in his palm and stared at me, half smiling. "You're a scary, vicious woman," he said. Dad snorted with laughter and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Yeah," I said. "And don't you forget it."
Chapter Twenty-two
Mom wouldn't let me leave until she worked on my bruises. Siana and Jenni helped, plastering me with cold packs, vitamin K cream, cucumber slices, and tea bags soaked in ice water. Other than the vitamin K cream, everything else seemed to be just a variation on an ice pack, but doing it made them feel better and being coddled and fussed over made me feel better. Dad and Wyatt were smart enough to stay out of the way while this was going on, entertaining themselves with some ball game.