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Apparently, the position was more involved than punctuation. “And who was that?”
“Melody? Sorry, I don’t remember her last name. But Flick’s publisher was Garrison & Marrow. They’re the second largest publisher in the world.” As Celeste added that tidbit, her shoulders lifted, as did her chin, showcasing obvious pride in her friend’s accomplishments.
A publisher with serious clout wouldn’t have hurt Felicity’s chances of success, though it probably had a lot to do with talent and luck as well. “We’ll find Melody. Do you know the name of Felicity’s agent?”
“Justine Livingston, apparently one of the best there is. Not that I’ve met her, but that’s what Flick told me about her.”
“All right, thank you for taking the time to answer our questions,” Amanda said as she withdrew a business card and handed it to Celeste. “You can go now, but if you think of anything, call me anytime. I mean that.”
“Thank you.” Celeste stepped forward to hug Amanda.
Amanda’s instinct was to move out of reach. Touch made things personal, and she needed to remain detached for the benefit of the investigation. But to turn her back on this woman’s suffering would make her feel like an anatomic robot. She let the embrace happen but kept it brief.
Celeste palmed her cheeks as she drew back. “If anyone is going to find out who did this to her, it’s you.”
She appreciated the faith, not the pressure. “We’ll do our best.”
Barry and Celeste walked off while Amanda and Trent stayed put.
Officer Wyatt came over. “She’s so distraught. Poor woman.”
“Any highlights from your conversation with her we should know about?” Not that she suspected that Celeste had lied or was Felicity’s killer—her grief and angst struck Amanda as genuine—but due diligence required they compare what they’d been told.
“Just the ex, and that guy sounds fishy. Did she mention him to you?”
“She did.” Amanda shared the overview of the story they heard, and Wyatt confirmed he’d been told the same, short of the proposal.
“Just a heads-up that canvassing will start once we know time of death.”
She nodded, expecting that would be the case. Hopefully, a neighbor saw or heard something that would give them a lead.
Wyatt walked off toward a cruiser, and Trent turned to her. “Luis Navarro sounds like someone we’re going to want to speak with soon.”
“Agreed. Turned down and set loose after seven months—just after Felicity struck gold. That would hurt anyone’s ego. Did it wound Navarro’s pride enough to make him kill Felicity Kelley?”
“Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
Amanda and Trent walked up to Felicity’s front door. Again, she was thinking what an ordinary neighborhood it was for such a violent act. But the thing was, murder didn’t discriminate between class, color, or age.
SIX
As Amanda walked inside the house, booties back over her shoes, she was somewhat conflicted about whether they should hang around longer, or go have that talk with Luis Navarro. But it would be beneficial to glean whatever information they could first. One thing that niggled was why Felicity’s phone had been under a couch cushion. The spot suggested she’d been trying to hide it and keep it from someone. If so, was something on there she had wanted to protect?
Amanda and Trent found CSIs Blair and Donnelly hard at work processing the scene. Donnelly was snapping photographs, and Blair walked into the living room area taking video of the scene in situ with a tablet. A couple of yellow evidence markers were in the middle of the room, but Amanda couldn’t tell what they were indicating. “What are these for?” Amanda asked Donnelly.
“Shoe impressions.”
Amanda nodded. CSIs could lift shoeprints even when they were invisible to the naked eye. They’d use an apparatus that magnetically charged Mylar and lifted dust particles, retaining the tread pattern. Shoeprints, often as unique as fingerprints, could go a long way in building a case against someone. Just one more reason it was so important not to traipse all over a crime scene. “Well, everyone with the PWCPD is wearing booties. Felicity isn’t wearing shoes. I know it’s possible these could belong to a pair from her closet—”
Donnelly shook her head. “They are too large. A man’s size-ten running shoe.”
“A running shoe,” Trent said slowly, as if chewing on the words. “So, whoever this guy was, he was dressed casually.” He looked at Amanda, and she thought she read his mind. If so, he was also thinking about Luis Navarro.
“If only we could determine when they were left.” Not to be negative, just trying to keep this potential lead in perspective.
“I’m not that good.” Donnelly smiled. “But I can tell you one print was headed toward the front door, another coming into the living room.”
“The same person came and went. For however much that helps us,” Trent said.
