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She threw her hands in the air in exasperation.
With a nod, Jewel said, “I’m following you.”
“I just have to work this all out in my mind. I’ve been fairly boggled. I had no idea how I’d respond to Michael. I had less of a clue with Sam. But that all has to take a backseat to this assignment. I’m fully dedicated to it.”
“There’s only a couple weeks left to the statute of limitations,” Jewel reminded her. “So finish with your investigation and then see what’s what. Right?”
Scarlet wanted to believe it was all that easy to compartmentalize. But it wasn’t. Yet what other choice did she have than to push her romantic encounters to the dark shadows of her mind? At least until she was done with her job.
Because she really did need to uphold her professional commitment and reputation. As far as the big picture went, that was currently most important.
So she left Jewel’s office and returned home, a three-bedroom Tudor-style house with two dens. She shared the space with her gran, who typically would be pounding the keys of her laptop at this time of day, working on her latest novel. Except that she’d apparently run out to get the mail.
As Scarlet entered from the garage, L.C. came through the front door. They met in the middle.
Scarlet’s grandmother was a petite woman with pale-green eyes and silvery hair styled in a chic bob. She wore four-inch heels and wispy scarves and was quite fashionable and sophisticated.
Thrusting a few envelopes at Scarlet, L.C. said, “The usual nonsense. Credit card solicitations and AARP still wants to sign you up.”
Scarlet gave a half snort. “I’m only twenty-eight years old.”
“So they start campaigning when you’re at an early age?”
“They’re killing a lot of trees with this crap.”
“Indeed. So how did your interview in Montana go?”
Thank God Scarlet wasn’t sipping anything at the moment or she would have spewed all over her gran.
Interview … Wasn’t that an interesting word?
She said, “Another suspect whose name I’m pretty sure I can draw a line through. Airtight alibi and nothing to gain from the larceny. In fact, less of something to gain than suspect number one. Though he’s a lost cause as well. I’m not finding any solid ground here.”
“What’s next?” L.C. asked as they walked toward the back of the house, where their respective offices were located, utilizing the dual den space.
“I’m not sure,” Scarlet told her. “I’d really like to question the father. But he’s a beast of a man. Bared teeth, menacing growl, and all. And getting close to the wife? Oh, for the love of God … I’m going to need a crossbow and a spear to get within a ten-foot radius of that woman while Mitcham Vandenberg is still breathing.”
“Why is he so defensive if he has nothing to hide?”
“First, he has yet to proclaim he has nothing to hide—just abruptly told me to go to hell. Second
… it might not exactly qualify as defensiveness but rather his inherent desire to keep nosy people like me at bay. I’ve been warned that the Vandenbergs don’t want anyone looking too closely into their affairs.”
“Those are the best people to interrogate.” There was a wicked glint in L.C.’s eyes. “Push enough buttons and Lord only knows what will pop out of their mouths. Mostly that’s when you get the real answers to your questions.”
“Very true. But gaining access to these people is point A. And there are plenty of barriers.”
L.C. gave her a quick squeeze around the shoulders and said, “You’ll come up with something. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” She veered off in the direction of her workspace and Scarlet continued on to hers.
Her first order of business was to record her interactions with Michael and Sam as they pertained to her case. After that, she took the opportunity to read through the FBI report, since this was the first time she was seeing it. A tiny kernel that had lodged itself in the back of her brain kept trying to make its way to the forefront, so she called Bayli.
“Interested in more research?” Scarlet asked.
“Always!”
Scarlet smiled at her friend’s enthusiasm even as she said, “This one falls into the Mission Impossible category. I want to know who Sam Reed’s father is.”
“Hmm … Did you ask him?”
