“Remind me why we’re here again?”
“I need to talk to someone.”
“And you can’t call them?”
“I don’t think she’ll answer my calls,” I admit, shifting my attention out the window.
All of the statements Reed told us about are essentially true—or some variation of the truth. But Reed insists that this one isn’t. Plus, none of us ever remember seeing this server upstairs. So I decided to seek her out. I want her to tell this lie to my face.
“This place looks sketchy,” Val observes, leaning across the console to look out my window at the sprawling apartment complex.
She’s right. All the buildings look tired and worn. The cement sidewalk is cracked and buckling. Weeds creep up the chain link fencing that encloses the parking lot in the center of the buildings. But I’ve lived in far worse conditions than this.
“Do you think I should knock on the door or wait for her to come out?” I ask.
“Do you know what she looks like?”
“Yeah, she was part of the catering staff that came to the house once. I’d recognize her if I saw her.”
“Then let’s wait. If she’s not going to answer the phone, I can’t see her opening the door to you.”
“Good point.” I tap my fingers against the wheel impatiently.
“You ever think Reed did it?” Val says quietly after a few minutes.
“Yeah, I think about that.” All the time.
“And?”
“I don’t care.” And then, because I want Val to be clear on this, I abandon my stakeout for a second. “I don’t think he did it, but if it was an accident and they got in a fight where she fell and hit her head, then I don’t see why Reed should be punished for that. Maybe that makes me a terrible person, but I’m Team Reed.”
Val smiles and reaches out to cover my hand with hers. “For the record, I’m Team Reed, too.”
“Thank you.” I squeeze her hand and turn back to the window in time to see the door to apartment 5B swing open. “There she is!”
I scramble out of the car, nearly taking a header on the pavement in my haste.
“Ms. Myers,” I call out.
The petite, dark-haired woman stops, just inside the fence. “Yeah?”
“I’m Ella Harper.”
To my relief, her face registers no recognition. I straighten my blazer—one that I ruined by ripping the Astor Park badge off in hopes that it makes me look like a journalist. “I’m a reporter for The Bayview News. Do you have a minute?”
Immediately, a shield falls over her face. “No. I’m busy.”
She turns away, but I yell her name sharply. “Ruby Myers, I’d like to ask you a few questions about the statement you gave in the Davidson murder.”
I can only see the side of her face, but it’s pale and stricken. Suspicion spikes through me.
“I-I got nothing to say,” she stutters, then puts her head down and rushes to a vehicle parked three spaces away.
I can only watch as she climbs in and speeds out of the parking lot.
“Did you see that?” Val demands.
I turn to find her at my elbow. “What? That I suck as an investigator?” I want to stomp my foot on the ground like a spoiled kid. “I couldn’t even get one answer out of her.”
“No. Did you see what she was driving?”
“God, not you, too. Reed was hassling me about not knowing the difference between a truck and a car. It was an SUV?”
“That’s a Lincoln Navigator and it runs about sixty grand. This one still has the showroom shine, it’s so new. You said she was a catering waitress, right? You’re telling me she just found a bunch of money?”
“You think someone paid her to lie about Reed?”
“Maybe?”
I think it over for a beat, then hiss out a breath. “There’s only one person who really has anything to gain by pinning this on Reed.”
“Who?”
I lock eyes with Val. “My stepmother.”
28
Ella
After I drop Val off at home, I immediately speed back to the hotel. It takes me all of two seconds to find Dinah. She’s lounging on the sofa when I storm in, her eyes glazed and her hair slightly mussed up.
“Where’s Steve?” I demand, glancing around. If I’m going to confront Dinah about possibly paying off Ruby Myers, then I don’t want an audience. Steve will just antagonize her, and then she’ll clam up.
Dinah lifts one shoulder, her barely-there nightgown sliding halfway down her slender arm. “Who knows? Probably buying a sixteen-year-old hooker down at the wharf. He likes them young, you know. I’m surprised he hasn’t crawled into your bed yet.”