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“Will it?” He yelled the question. “What the fuck is going on? I’m serious. What? This is absurd. It’s like I’m being set up, but who would do that? And why?” He shook his head. “I can’t even grieve for Baines because I’m too busy being pissed at him and at...”
At me.She knew that’s how he wanted to end that sentence. “Liam...”
“Is someone trying to destroy me? I would never hurt Baines or you. I mean...” Words flowed out of him as his voice bounced back and forth between confusion and fury. “That medicine bottle. The bogus emails. It’s all garbage.”
Evidence faked and planted. She remembered Rob’s notes and all his warnings. All those cases where a piece of information would appear, somehow missed and suddenly the only answer to fill in a blank. “Can’t they track that sort of thing and verify the emails are fake?”
“They’re not inclined to help me right now. They want me to confess so they can clear the case, answer the concerns you made public, and be done.”
She’d pushed and talked about bringing in lawyers and the media. She lit a match, and now it burned in a line headed straight for Liam.
“This is my fault,” she said, knowing they both thought it.
He pushed away from the rail and moved closer to her. “Of course not.”
“The fake evidence...” Rob had warned her about this happening. Exactly this.
Liam wasn’t listening to her. He kept talking. “I don’t know what’s going on in that detective’s head, but they didn’t arrest me, and right now I’m grateful for the breathing room. I need to find an expert to discredit the emails and prove I’m being set up. Clear my name then sue the fuck out of this police department for harassment.”
“You think someone planted the evidence then tipped them off to point the finger at you.” That happened. It was the only explanation.
“But how?” Liam shook his head. “The person had to get into my condo. Into my computer. The only two people in there are you and Kennedy, and neither of you did it. It really doesn’t make much sense.”
Only someone with power and access could accomplish this. Someone who could pay experts. “Earl Swain.”
Liam frowned. “What about him?”
Maybe not him, but his wife. Loretta Swain, the woman with a secret society at her command. “The stolen bid. Maybe that pushed him over the edge. He has money, so I’m sure he has connections.”
“I have money, and I wouldn’t hire people to frame someone.” Liam’s flat tone told her how little he thought of her theory. “No, he doesn’t gain anything by ruining my reputation. He battled with Baines, but Earl and I get along fine.”
“Okay, but—”
“Sure, he wins a few contracts, but he’s a guy who likes competition. And he’s not unhinged.”
She had to be careful. Liam appreciated practical solutions. He didn’t go off on wild wanderings. He would have hated her searches and snooping. But Rob Greene had predicted all of this. He’d warned her. Nothing else made sense. Liam hadn’t killed anyone. Hadn’t threatened anyone. She may not have really known what Baines was capable of until it was too late, but she knew Liam. Him being set up was part of a bigger plan. A message to her.
She got it, but she didn’t intend to lie down and take it. They’d gone too far. Liam and Kennedy were off-limits. She’d get the evidence to clear Liam’s name and protect her family. Somehow.
It was time for her to fix her mess.
Chapter Fifty-Four
The Foundation
Most of the Foundation’s meetings centered on reviewing files and discussing actions. The work didn’t leave a lot of room for socializing or enjoying time together. The women came in and sat down, dealt with hard topics, sometimes life-and-death topics, all while locked under a dome of security and trapped in the tension of the moment.
This once-a-year meeting had a different focus—a silent auction. The annual event they used to raise money for their public causes. Truth was they campaigned all year. They had a full-time staff of two, unrelated to the confidential backroom workings of the Sophie Foundation, who, along with volunteers handled the funding and paperwork, regulations and thank-you notes.
All year, the charity pushed an agenda aimed at assisting and, at times, rescuing women and children in danger due to violence and abuse within the home. The silent auction was the charity’s shining moment. A dressy event catering to influential people with fat bank accounts, willing to pay five thousand dollars for a table then vote on various donated items. The event allowed for mingling and talking and check writing and, most important, the honoring of the Foundation’s namesake.
Retta both loved and hated this weekend. She’d vowed long ago not to let Sophie and Claire Kline be forgotten. Not to let the reason for Sophie’s murder—her abusive, mean, pathetic husband, Adam—slip into the quiet safety of history. This event ensured the accumulation of needed funds, but it also prevented anyone from “cleaning up” Adam’s reputation or even mentioning his name without also stating in a full-throated and clear voice that he was a dangerous animal who’d killed his wife and child.
He was not forgiven. His history would not be scrubbed clean, or the edges dulled by the weight of time or insulting explanations. Any attempts at blame-shifting or suggesting Sophie had invited the violence or played a role in her own killing would be squashed and the person voicing the opinion ridiculed.
This year’s auction had one other benefit, and that one related to Jessa.
“She understands the importance of this event.” Retta had engaged in more than one conversation with Jessa on that topic, so she felt comfortable making that blanket statement. “She believes I will be assessing her ability to work a room and assist in fundraising for the charity.”
