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“I’d like you to leave. Now.”
“Her remains were found in Dead Mule Canyon, Butch. That’s not far from here, is it?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been there.”
“You’re sure about that?”
He rounded the desk. “I’m done talking to you. Get out of my office.”
She stood but refused to back away, even when he stepped right up to her. She had to get him to make a mistake, to give away a detail they could use, or she would’ve accomplished nothing by coming here. And she had a greater chance of getting him to reveal his true nature while he was upset. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll call the cops. I’ve tried to be nice. I returned your purse—”
“After stealing it in the first place,” she broke in.
“I didn’t steal it! It was gone by the time I came back to look for it. I think my freak of a brother-in-law grabbed it. That’s all I can figure, because he’s the one who brought it to me last night.”
Francesca remembered ringing the doorbell and getting no response. “Dean was home that day?”
“Of course he was. He’s usually home. He can’t drive because of his meds. Besides, you’ve seen what he’s like. Who’d want to hang out with him?”
“Honestly?” she said. “He seems a lot nicer than you.”
“Maybe you should get to know him better.”
“Maybe I will.”
He shoved a hand through his hair, making it stand up in front. “This was a mistake,” he said, and stalked out, leaving her alone in his office with that air conditioner chugging for all it was worth and his coffee growing cold on his desk.
Could Butch be telling the truth? Francesca wondered. She could see him getting fed up with the actions of some jealous husband. She could even understand how her own fears might’ve created certainties in her mind that shouldn’t have been there. She’d mistaken that mannequin for a corpse, after all….
She could’ve bought it—if he hadn’t acted so strange when she mentioned Bianca Andersen. He knew Bianca; Francesca was sure of it.
“I’m done here,” she said to the men who were listening.
She was about to let herself out when she caught sight of movement at the window and realized Dean was peering in at her. Tossing her newly recovered purse over her shoulder, she headed for the door. She thought he might scurry off, pretend he hadn’t been stealing glimpses of her through those dirty panes, but he didn’t. He waited. Then he fell in step beside her.
“What’d Butch have to say?” he asked.
The sun burned so bright it blinded her. Rooting through her purse, she came up with her sunglasses. “Nothing. Why?”
“You two were in there for quite a while.”
Once she had her glasses on and could see him without squinting, she tried to analyze what he was feeling, without success. He held himself rigid, as if he was upset, and yet his voice was as calm as ever. “He apologized for our little misunderstanding the other day.”
“Is that what you think it was? A misunderstanding?”
Stopping, she faced him. “Isn’t that what you’d call it?”
He glanced around as if he was taking a big risk by speaking out. “He’s not a nice person,” he whispered. “You should know that.”
It was Francesca’s turn to see if she could catch a glimpse of Butch, but they seemed to be alone. “Give me some specific details, Dean.”
At the gravity in her voice, he shook his head. “No. Never mind. I don’t know anything. Butch is a good guy, like I said on the phone. I didn’t mean it when I said he wasn’t. I swear,” he said and, running with an awkward gait, he took off for the house.
CHAPTER 14
Jonah watched Francesca pull the wire out from under her shirt and place it on the conference table.
