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Lachlan suppressed an inappropriate smile. “Good to see we’re on the same train of thought. This is weird.” He took a step inside.
He walked through the couches and lighting equipment, looking for anything to confirm or deny their suspicions. He looked underneath the couches but the ground was clean; he lifted the sofa cushions, but nothing had fallen between them. The drawers of the buffet were empty. “It’s a set, for sure. I don’t think she used this area as a hangout.”
Bethenny nodded, looking up to the ceiling. His eyes followed hers, immediately noting what had caught her attention. A camera.
He frowned, not sure if it was a security camera or a camera used for filming. It didn’t look like a standard security camera, so he assumed the latter.
“Let’s check the studio,” he said as he moved to the other side of the drywall that separated the two spaces. To his disappointment, everything was clean and wiped down. The bottles of chemicals confirmed it was a photography lab, and he was surprised anyone still used one.
He pulled out the drawers, but most of them were empty.
“Not a single photograph,” he said, hearing his own disappointment.
“Maybe...” Bethenny said, sounding distracted more than disappointed. “I can’t reach it,” she said as her fingers reached between a small gap between the cabinets, “but something is stuck in here.” She grimaced as she twisted her hand, reaching farther down. “Damn,” she swore under her breath as she exhaled heavily. “Well, there’s a photo down there; it might be important.”
Lachlan rubbed his jaw. “There are no other photographs, which makes me think someone went to some effort to destroy or hide them. Let’s get it out.”
He kneeled on the ground and opened the cabinet door, knocking on the wood. A hollow echo sounded back. He knew the forensics team would have some tools to take the door off so he could reach the photo easier.
He walked to the house, opened a forensics kit, and quickly found what he needed then returned to the shed and got to work. Bethenny watched him, but said nothing. He removed the door and began working on the thin piece of plywood that served as a side piece.
When he dropped the tool, his composure cracked and he banged his fist on the floor. After seeing that note, he was hanging on by a thread and it was showing. His mind was reeling.
“How’s that hand feeling?” Bethenny asked with a touch of edge. He was still learning to read her, but he wasn’t sure she was sympathetic to his little tantrum.
“It’ll have a bruise, I’m sure,” he responded casually as he looked up at her.
“If you can’t use either hand, you’re going to have some real problems wiping your backside,” she said matter-of-factly and he couldn’t help the roar of laughter that escaped his throat. How in the world could she make him laugh in the middle of a crime scene that, at this stage, seemed to have some connection to his wife’s death?
“Noted,” he said with a smile, shaking his head.
“What? It’s true,” she said, coming to kneel beside him.
“You’re one hundred percent right. Your delivery is remarkable—has anyone ever told you that?” he asked, still smiling.
She scoffed. “Yes, but it hasn’t always been a compliment.”
That wiped the smile off his face. “Well, whoever didn’t mean it as a compliment was an idiot. Your honesty is refreshing, amusing even,” he said as he pulled at the plywood, removing it only to reveal another sheet behind it.
“Let me do that so you don’t accidentally hurt that hand, or you really are going to have some problems in the coming days,” she said, leaning forward and all but swatting his hand out of the way.
He sat back on his heels, letting her do the work. It didn’t take her long, and as the last piece of plywood came loose, her elbow came up hard and fast, almost slamming into his face.
He jerked back, only then realizing that he’d subconsciously leaned in. He had been watching what she was doing, but part of him wondered if he’d also been leaning into her. He blocked those thoughts from his mind. He had enough blood on his hands, enough death on his soul. He was not going back for more.
Bethenny reached through the cabinet. “Got it!” she said, pulling the photograph through.
Their eyes seemed to land on it at the same time, and he swore neither of them were breathing. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this.
A photograph of Bethenny standing by a patrol car.
Why would a photograph of Bethenny be in this house?
“Ahem,” she said, clearing her throat.
“Do you know when this was taken?” he asked.
“I mean, I don’t catalogue my outfits, but I think it was late last week,” she said.
