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He nodded then moved toward the door. “Pizza and wine are needed. What’s your wine of choice?”
“I rarely drink,” she said.
“And when you do?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Wine. Red, full-bodied,” she said.
He nodded. “That we can manage.”
She locked the door behind them and walked down the front steps of her porch. She wasn’t surprised to see Jonathan drove a Range Rover.
“Nice car,” she remarked.
He shook his head. “It’s not mine—it’s a loan car. A car backed into mine while I was in St. Louis a few weeks ago so I left it there to get fixed. The car-repair garage gave me this instead,” he said. “It’s okay, but I prefer mine.”
She stole a sideways glance. “You were in St. Louis?” She couldn’t make up her mind if that was suspicious, or if she was overanalyzing it.
“Yeah, I have a few private clients, so I go there a few times per month,” he said with a shrug. “Next time we go for drinks, you’ll be much more impressed by my vehicle.”
Zoe clucked her tongue. “I’m not sure about that. What is this car you drive?”
“A slate-gray Porsche,” he said. “Drives like a beast.”
She grinned, despite the churning of her stomach. St. Louis wasn’t that far away, he could easily have private clients there, she rationalized as she buckled in. She looked down, noticing a small Tupperware container of hairpins with diamantes. “Are these the ones you used to use?” Zoe asked.
His eyes dropped to them. “Yeah. I have a client to see after dinner and I know she’d prefer this clip.”
CHAPTER27
MITCH
Mitch rubbed his tired eyes. They’d spoken to every staff member and student on Jackson’s list today, and he didn’t feel like they were any closer to finding the connection between the victims.
But they still had one more person to talk to.
Mitch swallowed the last of his bitter takeaway coffee, fighting the urge to spit it out. It was horrible, but it contained caffeine, so he forced himself to drink it.
“This is it, here,” Jackson said, pointing to the driveway. Mitch turned left, stopping at the large wrought-iron gates. He pressed the intercom and waited.
“Hello, Ross residence,” a woman with a Southern accent said.
“Hello, my name is Mitch Shaw. I’m the Redwater sheriff, and with me is Officer Jackson Payne. We’d like to speak with Brandon Ross, please.”
A long pause followed while, Mitch assumed, she spoke to Brandon and his father. Eventually the gates opened. “Please come in, Sheriff.”
“Thank you,” Mitch responded before lowering his foot on the accelerator. The driveway wound through the woods and Mitch couldn’t help himself—his eyes were scanning for bodies hanging in the trees.
When he pulled up in front of the house, Jackson’s voice matched everything Mitch was thinking.
“Holy... wow,” he said in disbelief as they looked at the French-inspired mansion that sprawled before them. Mitch had never set foot in a house like it before, but he knew from his love of real estate this type of house usually came with five or more bedrooms, five or more bathrooms, and acres of land.
It also came with expensive lawyers.
Mitch doubted Brandon Ross was going to say much at all, but at least they’d been allowed through the gates.
They walked up to the front door and, as Mitch raised his hand to knock, it opened. A woman answered and Mitch recognized her immediately—she was the young wife in the photographs.
“Hello,” she said with a New York accent. “Please come in.”
