He watched the ambulance grow small in the rearview mirror, sweat pinpricked along his forehead and his upper lip. “Excuse me?”
“Let’s just … let’s just line up the facts and decide for ourselves, OK? First”—she hit the dashboard—“you brought a phone into a crime scene!”
“I didn’t know it was gonna be a crime scene!”
“You brought a bat!”
Shepherd opened and closed his mouth, as though his lips were searching the air for words. “I thought I might need to save you.”
“From what, if you didn’t already know it was a crime scene?” She made a weird “UGH!” shout before hiding her face in her hands and taking several deep breaths. “Shepherd, I appreciate that you probably saved my life today. Twice. OK, and the good news is that fire, right? Fire destroys evidence. So hopefully what the police find is a dead and crispy corpse, one who is so crispy that they can’t find any trace of the blow to the head that took his life.”
He gripped the steering wheel. “I didn’t kill him with the bat, Ginny.”
“Then you killed him with the fire! Oh God, hopefully the fire destroys the bat, or at least all the fingerprints on it.” Ginny took another deep breath. “Maybe the police will mark it down as a drug-related death and won’t investigate any further. Because if they decide to get a tower dump to see what phones were in the area …” She shook her head, patted hisshoulder. “It’s a good thing we’re going to see my family. You might need some really good defense attorneys.”
“I didn’t kill anyone on purpose!”
She squeezed his shoulder. “That’s exactly what you say to the police. And my dad.”
THIRTEEN
The drive to the Coral Gables neighborhood should have taken an hour; with Fourth of July weekend traffic, it took closer to two. Shepherd had never been in the gated neighborhood where Ginny’s family lived.
To be fair, he’d only ever been in a gated community once, and that was during high school when he stayed over at a friend’s house without realizing said friend was rich. He wore affordable sneakers! The same sneakers Shepherd wore! How could he have known?
The gated community itself was a parade of wealth—expansive art deco mansions, vibrant palm trees lining the streets, wide canals with fishing boats that looked more like yachts docked every few dozen feet. The Kent Manor, because that’s what it was—a freakingmanor—sat on the corner lot at the end of the main street, sandwiched between two bodies of water—a large canal on one side, open bay on the other. The manor was three stories tall and expanded further in either direction than he could see from his Toyota Camry.
There were so many cars parked inside the white stone fence of Ginny’s family home that Shepherd had to leave his across the street. Some of them were white-and-blue police cars, some were black SUVs, and a few, closer to the house, were Aston Martins.
Shepherd assumed those did not belong to anyone in law enforcement.
“Oh, great,” Ginny muttered, “Grandpa’s here.”
Just the word “Grandpa” conjured up an image of a bearded, smiling man, somewhat overweight, bearing gifts in Shepherd’s mind.Santa. He was thinking of Santa Claus. But the way Ginny said the word “Grandpa” suggested that, perhaps, her family member was not quite as jolly as his imagination was hoping.
She laced her fingers through his as they walked up to the front door. Saltwater and sargassum filled the air, and even though he couldn’t see it, Shepherd knew there was a boat ready and waiting for a day of sport fishing out back.
A cop stood guard outside the door, and Ginny said hello but reached for the doorknob. The cop cleared his throat. “Identification, please.”
“What are you, a bouncer?” Shepherd asked.
The police officer did not think that was funny.
“That’s not funny, sir,” he said. “I have strict orders to only allow necessary people inside.”
What Shepherd wanted to say was,Huh, guess you aren’t a necessary person. But Ginny just pulled out her wallet and handed the cop her ID. “I’m Ginny Kent, Deandra’s daughter. This is my … fiancé. Shepherd.”
He’d been upgraded from pretend boyfriend to pretend fiancé? And without even a pretend ring?
The police officer waved them through, and Shepherd and Ginny entered the manor hand in hand. He expected the sweeping staircase with decorative wrought-iron bars and the giant crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and dazzling visitors upon entry. He expected the fresh-cut flowers and the marble flooring. He expected the display of wealth in every sterile, perfectly clean, perfectly modern aesthetic touch.
But what caught him by surprise was theamountof activity. People swarming from one room to another, talking to each other or on phones. Strangers in suits going up and down the stairs. The smell of coffee overpowered the rotten egg of the sargassum, and Shepherd took a deep, steadying breath, looking around for the nearest cup.
“Virginia!” a male voice called from somewhere on high.
Shepherd looked up, excepting to find God, or, at the very least, Santa. Instead, there was an older man, with dulling auburn hair, thick black glasses, and pale, lightly wrinkled skin. He was wearing gray slacks and a light-blue button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. On his feet were expensive-looking sneakers, which meant this was a shoes-on house.
Shepherd felt Ginny shuffle beside him, heard her soft inhale. “Dad,” she replied.
