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She tossed her cell into the passenger seat.
“Not holding my breath,” she muttered as she prepared to exit the parking lot.
Marsh Residence
Lemont Drive, Nashville, 5:30 p.m.
The neighborhood Marsh called home was a quiet one on Nashville’s far-east side. The houses were small, the yards even smaller. In the grand scheme of things, it was not a bad commute to anywhere around the city, and the housing prices were fairly reasonable, comparatively speaking.
Finley parked on the street. She didn’t spot any dogs, so she climbed out and headed for the front door. Inside, country music played loud enough to be heard through the walls. A press of the bell, and the volume inside immediately lowered.
The door flew inward, and Lena Marsh glared at Finley. She blinked, then made a face that suggested she was confused.
“Can I help you?”
“Ms.Marsh, I’m Finley O’Sullivan.”
Her look of confusion deepened. “I know who you are. Why are you here?” She glanced right to left. “I thought my neighbor was here to complain about my music again.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s an ongoing battle.”
“You won’t get any complaints from me. I love country music.” Finley flashed a smile. “I work with the Finnegan law firm, and I’m here to speak with you about Jarrod Grady.”
“How did you find out where I live?” She started to withdraw. “I don’t think I’m allowed to talk to you.”
“I understand your reluctance,” Finley assured her. “I can call Detective Ventura—the detective handling the case—and we can go to his office and talk if you’d prefer.” She shrugged. “Personally, I’d rather leave the cops out of this and just talk privately. Here on your home turf.”
“What makes you think I even knew him?” Marsh rallied a final counter. “Really, you people will go to any lengths to get what you want.”
Hmm. Did that mean she had something Finley wanted? “According to his wife, you and he were having an affair.”
Her face paled. “She’s lying.”
Except the woman’s expression and tone suggested she was the one lying.
“For now,” Finley went on, “Mr.Finnegan and I are attempting to determine whether we need to go to the police with this information. It may be irrelevant to the investigation. But we need to be sure. If you can help us come to that conclusion, then you have nothing to worry about.”
Marsh drew back, opening the door wider. “Yeah, okay. We can talk here.”
Finley stepped inside and waited while she closed her door.
Marsh gestured to the sofa in the small living room. “Have a seat.”
She crossed to the credenza, picked up the remote, and lowered the volume of her music a little more. Finley took a seat on the small sofa. It was more a love seat, considering the room wasn’t really large enough for the average full-size sofa. With no other space for additional chairs, Marsh perched on the edge of the same love seat at the opposite end from Finley.
Finley tugged her notepad and pen from her bag. “When did you first meet Jarrod Grady?”
“At a party. Dr.Mengesha’s wife’s birthday party back in May. He had just started working with the catering company.”
“The two of you started a relationship then,” Finley asked. She vaguely recalled Mengesha mentioning he’d thrown his wife a huge party for her sixtieth birthday back in the spring.
Marsh nodded. “We were both single. Why not?”
“When did the relationship end?” This was the more relevant question.
“When he got serious with Ms.Winthrop, we stopped.” She picked at the fabric on the arm of the beige mini sofa. “Then about a month ago we reconnected. It was an accident, and it only happened once. I haven’t seen him since.”
Her gaze remained fixed on the sofa or the floor, preventing Finley from analyzing her eyes and any tells that might appear in her expression. That alone was tell enough.
“You understand this makes you a suspect in his murder,” Finley said. No point beating around the bush.
