“Hey.” He pauses. “I spoke to Dad about the waitress. Figured I should let you know.”
“The waitress—oh,” I say, realizing he means Ruby Myers. My pulse instantly speeds up. “What did he say? Do we have proof that someone paid her off?”
“She took out a loan,” he says flatly. “Her mom died unexpectedly and had a small life insurance policy. Myers used that to put a down payment on the car. No signs of any wrongdoing there.”
I swallow a frustrated scream. “That can’t be true. Dinah all but admitted she paid Myers off.”
“Then she did it in a sneaky way, because I’ve got a copy of the loan papers.”
“God, I know Dinah’s involved in this.” Panic ripples through me. Why aren’t these investigators making any progress? There has to be something that doesn’t point in Reed’s direction.
“Even if she did, Dinah’s plane didn’t land until hours after Brooke’s time of death.”
Tears fill my eyes and tighten my throat. I slap a hand over my mouth, but a muffled sob filters through.
“I have to go,” I manage to say, my voice only wobbling a little. “Steve wants me to pack so we can be back in the penthouse tonight.”
“All right. I love you, baby. Call me when you get settled.”
“I will. I love you, too.”
I hang up quickly and then bury my face into my pillow. I close my eyes and let the tears flow, just for a minute, maybe two. Then I tell myself to stop feeling sorry for myself and get up to start packing.
Brooke died in that penthouse. There has to be some kind of clue there.
And I intend to find it.
* * *
Hours later, Steve hustles me into the lobby of the swanky high rise. Dinah’s already inside waiting for the elevator. She barely said a word on the ride over. Is she nervous about revisiting the scene of her crime? From the corner of my eye, I watch her avidly for any signs of guilt.
“I’m going to put you in the guest room,” Steve babbles as the three of us step into the elevator. “We’ll have it redecorated, of course.”
I frown. “Isn’t that where…” I lower my voice, even though we’re in a cramped space and Dinah can hear every word, “Brooke was staying before she, ah, died?”
Steve frowns back. “Was she?” He turns to Dinah.
She nods stiffly and answers in an even stiffer voice. “She sold her apartment after Callum proposed, so she was staying at the penthouse until after their wedding.”
“Oh. I see. I didn’t realize that.” Steve looks back at me. “Are you all right staying in that room, Ella? Like I said, we’ll have it redecorated.”
“Yeah. It’s fine.” Morbid as hell, but it’s not like Brooke died in that room.
Nope, she died right there, I think as we enter the posh living room. My gaze instantly lands on the fireplace mantle, and a shiver runs up my spine. Steve and Dinah are both looking in that direction, too.
Steve is the first one to turn away. He wrinkles his nose and says, “It stinks in here.”
I inhale deeply and realize he’s right. The air is kind of stale. The apartment smells like a weird mix of ammonia and old socks.
“Why don’t you open the windows?” Steve suggests to Dinah. “I’ll crank up the heat and light a fire.”
Dinah is still staring at the fireplace. Then she makes a distressed sound and runs down the hall. A door opens and then slams shut. I stare after her. Is that guilt? Crap, how do I know what guilt looks like? If I killed someone, I’d run to my bedroom, too, right?
Steve sighs. “Ella, can you get the windows?”
Glad for something to do that takes my attention away from the crime scene, I nod and quickly move to the windows. Another shiver overtakes me when I pass the fireplace. God, it’s creepy here. I have a feeling I won’t be getting a wink of sleep tonight.
Steve calls in a delivery order, and it arrives about fifteen minutes later, filling the apartment with a spicy aroma that might have smelled good if my stomach wasn’t churning from anxiety. Dinah doesn’t come out of the bedroom, refusing to answer Steve’s summons for dinner.
“We need to talk about Dinah,” Steve says over a plate of steaming noodles. “You’re probably wondering why I haven’t divorced her yet.”
“It’s none of my business.” I push a green pepper around my plate, watching it make tracks through the soy sauce. I haven’t given the marriage much thought. I’m too obsessed with Reed’s impending imprisonment.
“I’m arranging things,” he admits. “And everything needs to be in order before I start the paperwork.”