Luckily there was no dog on the porch ready to give them a hard time. Rory stood aside, and Chance knocked on the door. As hard as he tried not to stare, her eyes drew him in every time he looked her way. The striking contrast of her black hair and pale skin would garner the attention of anyone in her vicinity. She reminded him of a fairy-tale creature found only in books.
“What?”
He blinked, realized he had been staring too long. “Sorry. I was just thinking.” Rather than explain, he knocked again. The door was battered, the paint worn. Someone had or at least tried to jimmy the lock on more than one occasion.
With the lack of noise on the other side of the door and no serviceable vehicle in the drive, Mr. Banks might not be home.
Chance knocked a third time, louder this time.
“Hold on!” echoed from inside.
Their gazes met, his and Rory’s. Apparently someone was home after all.
The door opened, and a man resembling the latest mug shot available on the net stood before them. His jeans and tee looked as if he’d lived in them for about a week. His hair was longer than in the mug shot and poked out around his head like a dark cloud. But the baseball bat held firmly in his right hand made the biggest statement about the man. Angry.
“Who the hell are you?” Banks demanded.
Chance removed his credentials case from his back pocket. He showed the ID to the guy. “Chance Rader, private investigator.”
“Tay,” Rory said. “You remember me? Rory Wilkins. I married Pete Harris.”
Banks had kept his attention fixed on Chance until she spoke. Even then he spared her only a brief glance.
When he didn’t respond, Rory added, “You came up with this story that you and I had an affair.”
His gaze shot to her again, something like annoyance on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We’re not here to cause you trouble,” Chance assured him. “We just want to talk about what happened back then.”
The disheveled man’s gaze narrowed. “You got some kind of reward for information?”
“Tay Banks,” Rory snapped, moving a step closer to him, “don’t even go there.”
“As a matter of fact,” Chance intervened, “there is a reward.”
Rory turned and stared at him, her expression less than pleased at the prospect of giving the guy anything.
“Depending on what you know,” Chance went on, “the amount works on a sliding scale.”
Banks hitched his head. “Well, come on in, then.”
He turned and headed deeper into the house. Rory gave Chance a bewildered look before following Banks. Chance supposed he should have mentioned that this was sometimes a necessary tactic. He would explain later, in the car, and hopefully she wouldn’t be upset that he hadn’t prepared her—particularly with a man like this who had wronged her so flagrantly.
Inside the house was in worse shape than the exterior. Dimly lit, cluttered. Smelled as bad as it looked. Empty beer cans and liquor bottles. Pizza boxes and fast-food leftovers cluttered most surfaces.
Banks pushed aside a pile of blankets and pillows on the sofa and gestured to the newly cleared area. “Have a seat.”
Rory hesitated before taking him up on the offer. Chance suspected the number of not readily identifiable stains on thecushions were the reason for her reluctance. When she finally sat down, careful not to lean back, Chance did the same.
Banks dropped into the equally stained recliner he’d no doubt vacated to answer the door. He propped the baseball bat against his knee and reached to the side table for the only unopened can of beer among the half dozen or so scattered there. He popped the top and took a long swallow. Once he’d wiped his mouth with his forearm, he looked from Rory to Chance. “Let’s get this party started. What do you want to know?”
“You tried to blackmail me,” Rory said, not waiting for Chance. “You were lying, but that’s not the part that matters. I need you to confirm who put you up to saying all those lies about me.”
He made a disgusted sound. “You still think you’re too good for me, don’t ya? Even after going to prison for murder.” He gave her a cold once-over. “You ain’t no better than me. So don’t even pretend.”
Rory nodded. “I have never considered myself better than you or anyone else.” When he would have protested, she held up her hands. “I’m not here to judge you, Tay. I’m just trying to find the truth. Can you help me with that?”
He turned his beer can around and around between his fingers. “I get it. You’re still trying to prove you didn’t kill your husband.”
