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Which meant she was going to cave to James Wallace’s request.
“All right, Mr. Wallace.” She searched out his address on the report. A quick detour on her way home wouldn’t be toomuch of an imposition. “I can swing by at the end of the day. About five or five thirty, if that’s convenient.”
“I’d be happy to come to your office if that’s easier for you.”
“No.” She had more control over the length of the visit if she went to him. “I don’t mind stopping by. I’ll be in your area later today anyway.”
“I’ll see you this afternoon, then. And thank you.”
The line went dead, and Bri set her cell on the desk. Read Les’s report again.
There it was. The notation about an open window. Also a mention of the remnants of what appeared to be a trash can close to the victim.
Eerily similar to what she and Marc had found at Les’s house.
But while those parallels spiked her suspicions, they weren’t in themselves evidence of criminal activity.
So unless Michelle Thomas’s father had more concrete information to offer—unlikely, or Les would have been all over it—today’s visit would be nothing more than a compassionate gesture to placate a grieving father.
“HOME SWEET HOME.”Marc swung into the driveway and glanced over at his passenger. More than two weeks into radiation, Nan’s growing fatigue was evident in the lines at the corners of her eyes and the shadows beneath her lower lashes. A normal side effect, according to her doctor, but stomach-churning for a loved one nonetheless.
“It wasn’t necessary for you to cut your day short to ferry me to and from my treatment, Marc.” Nan released her seat belt as he stopped the car and set the brake in the garage. “I could have called Uber or another friend after Betty had to cancel out on chauffeuring me.”
“The afternoon was winding down, and I was ready to call it quits. Sit tight and I’ll get your door.”
“You don’t have to treat me like an invalid, you know.”
“I’m not. I’m treating you the way you taught me to treat a lady.” He winked and called up a smile.
Her features softened as she looked over at him. “You’re a fine man, Marc Davis. But I feel guilty about taking you from your work.”
“Don’t.”
He slid from behind the wheel and grabbed their dinner from the back seat, his lips flatlining as he juggled the takeout bag while circling the car.
If anyone should feel guilty, it was him. Not about Nan, though. He was here for her and always would be. Never again would he be absent when someone he loved needed him. That was the legacy of the guilt he’d been unable to banish, even after all these years.
But why burden Nan with that? It was his load to carry. She’d had enough to deal with guiding a traumatized young boy through a maze of messy emotions and dealing with all the other challenges that had landed in her lap over the decades. Including this health crisis.
He stopped on the passenger side of the car, recomposed his features, and eased her door open in the tight garage. “Watch your head getting out.”
“Thanks for the warning, but I’ve been doing this for most of my life. I think I can manage.” She swung her legs out, but as she struggled to stand, it was clear her youthful spryness had been another victim of her treatment regimen.
Without comment, he gave her an assist.
“Mercy.” She brushed a hand down her jacket once she was on her feet. “That shouldn’t take so much energy.”
“It should if you’re having radiation treatments.” He shut the door and lifted the bag he held as savory aromas swirled around them. “This may give you an energy boost. It’s a bit early for dinner, but we could eat now if you like.”
She took his arm as they walked toward the door that led from the garage into the mudroom. “To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t mind taking a catnap first if you don’t mind waiting.”
Another indication of the toll the radiation was taking. As far as he could recall, Nan had never once slept during the day in all the years she’d mothered him.
“I’m good with that. I can catch up on emails and texts while you rest. We’ll nuke our food whenever you’re ready.”
“If you’re hungry you could always nibble on one of those blueberry muffins you brought home from your coffee shop date on Saturday.”
“It was a business meeting, not a date. Probably our last one.”
