Keats tossed and turned in her own bed. She'd gotten so used to sleeping beside Ryan, it was pathetic.
But she wasn't alone by any means. Patty was sleeping beside her, having held Keats as she cried herself to sleep.
"This is what happened with what's-his-face. We started out fine and then we began to fight all the time…this is just like that, Patty." She cried over both pains, from the past and the present, and tried to tell herself that their fight was a sign.
"Are you kidding me, Jelly? Ryan seems like a great guy. And don't get mad at me or anything…I mean, I did happen to be awake and all…I think you deliberately picked a fight with him." She said when Keats had calmed down a bit.
"Why would I do that?" Keats sniffed. Matters of the subconscious were Patty's specialty, seeing as she was a current Psych major.
"You're afraid. Duh…it's a little late in the game to be sitting on the fence. If you're going to stay in this marriage, then you need to work at it. But make up your mind, for Crissakes." She mumbled, settling into the pillow.
"Should I call him? Is it too soon, you think?" Keats blew her nose in a tissue and grabbed her cell phone. Patty rolled her eyes.
"That's a definite possibility. Not long ago you accused him of belonging to the Third Reich. I don't think even I have said that to a guy that before. And you know how many insults I've slung around." Patty said, taking the cell from Keats.
Patty rocked her to sleep, much like she did when they were younger.
Ryan sat opposite from Dean Stryker, the man that had nearly taken Keats' life.
"In the eyes of the law, Mr. Stryker, you're looking extremely guilty. Care to explain your actions?" Ryan ran his fingers over his lower lip, gauging his guilt.
"I did what I had to do. They were trespassing on my private property." Stryker shifted in his chair, obviously under the assumption that he had no business being taken into police custody.
"This has nothing to do with the fact that your sister is a prime suspect in a murder case." Ryan countered.
"Absolutely not. She didn't touch them." He spat.
"So you're admitting that you're the guilty party…" Ryan let the sentence hang. Stryker's eyes became aglow with fury.
"I didn't do anything wrong!" He shouted. Ryan rose out of his chair, leaning over the table.
"You almost killed my wife, Stryker. Do you mean to sit there and tell me you have no shame in what you did?" His voice was calm, his gaze steady.
"That's exactly what I'm saying. If I had it to do over, I would have taken a better shot." He smiled, showing a set of grimy yellow teeth. Ryan nodded toward the cops outside the door, watching with satisfaction as they took him away.
He sat back in his chair, wondering if he should call Keats and tell her he missed her. He hadn't been able to sleep at all the previous night. So what if she was messy? He was still in love with her.
Keats sat at her computer, running over the files of the Edwards-Hughes murder. The police had already assumed it was Stryker that murdered Jill Hughes and Hal Edwards. She yawned, glancing over a few news articles featuring Dean Stryker, the champion marksman. Winner of tournaments, target events, blah, blah…
His latest public appearance was a three-day competition in Daytona Beach pavilion. She checked the date of the contest, discovering it to be during the approximate time of death of the victims. There is no possible way that he committed the murder.
"Delko? It's Remington. I know that I'm not allowed to come to work, so I'll just pass on this bit of info. Dean Stryker is not the killer." Keats said, dressing in jeans and a striped t-shirt. She could hear Delko sigh over the phone.
"How do you know? We've got no other leads." He replied.
"Remember that gut instinct of mine that most everyone trusts? Well, it led me to find out Stryker has a solid alibi. I'll tell you more when I find out more."
Keats hung up, jamming her cell in the back pocket of her jeans. Patty was still asleep, so she left her a note. She then headed out the door, on her way to visit the widow Edwards.
"Who was that?" Calleigh asked. She glanced at Eric with her hand on her hip.
"Remington. She said that Stryker's not our guy." He murmured. Ryan shook his head, wondering if she'd ever grasp the idea of rest.
"That's it?" He mumbled skeptically. Keats usually said more than that.
"She said she'd tell me more when she found out more. Her exact words." Delko replied. Coming from Keats, that was not a good thing.
"Did she say what she was going to do?" Ryan took out his cell phone and dialed her number, not waiting for an answer from Eric.
"What do you want?" Keats picked up her phone, annoyed at the voice on the other end.
"You're on vacation, Keats. Let us finish the case." Ryan said.
"Suit yourself. Just thought you should know that Mrs. Edwards was the one that taught her brother how to use a firearm. Ciao."
Ryan stared at the phone in his hand, suddenly piecing together all parts of the case. Keats was simply amazing.
"How dare you imply that I killed my husband…" Mrs. Edwards set down her glass of iced tea and patted her hair indignantly.
"Forgive me if I don't altogether rule that out as a possibility. Think about what it looks like…the cheating husband, the best friend, the fact that your brother is walking on eggshells, your extensive background in -"
"I know what it looks like. Be that as it may, all of it is just…circumstantial. I didn't know for sure they were having an affair until after they were dead."
Keats gave a small nod, trying to put her at ease lest she go crazy like Stryker.
"May I remind you that I'm here off-duty. This has nothing to do with my job. Anything I find out now is strictly to satisfy my curiosity." She murmured, sipping her iced tea. She played a bit with her lemon, glancing at the widow's clothing.
"Ah, yes. You're not even a real police woman, are you? That can't be helped, I suppose." She gave a tight smile, delivering her underhanded remark with winning subtlety.
"Exactly. I'm not even certified, yet. So there's no need to worry."
"Worry? Why should I be worried?" She asked, crossing her left leg over her right. Left side dominance…Jill's throat was slashed from right to left suggesting a left-handed murderer.
"No reason. But, boy, whoever it was, they really did a number on Jill. The Reverend was simply shot once. Jill was shot multiple times, had several contusions on the back of her head from a lead pipe, and had her throat cut.
They must have really hated her, you know." Keats exclaimed, taking a huge bite out of a sugar cookie. Mrs. Edwards pursed her lips together.
"You are the most unorthodox cop I've ever met, Ms. Remington." She said.