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“The nosy one.” Matt opened another beer.
Finley nodded. “She mentioned that while I was in the hospital, there were people poking around my house.”
Matt frowned. “Did she mean the cops? The forensic guys?”
“This was after the cops had finished. She said it was after the yellow tape was taken down.”
“Did she have descriptions?” He sipped his beer.
“No. They were careful,” she said. “She had told me a couple of months ago about seeing Derrick digging around in the backyard—before I moved in. But when I did some digging around back there, the only thing I found was a dog—presumably a family pet—that someone had buried.”
“You were digging around in your backyard?” His expression said this conversation had his concern mounting.
“Not recently. It was before. Back in the summer. I thought I’d find something, so I dug around like a total maniac, and I found the dog’s remains.” Wait. There was something else she hadn’t told him about. “And the other night—the night you took care of me—I had found a plastic baggie filled with photos of me from before Derrick and I met.” She pointed to the cushion she was sitting on. “Inside the cushion.”
“Like stalker photos?”
“Exactly like stalker photos.” As much as she wanted to relieve herself of guilt at the idea that Derrick had been watching her for some reason, and now it turns out that reason might possibly have been that he was working for Dempsey—a stretch but entirely feasible—she still couldn’t turn off the guilt. If in fact Dempsey had hired Derrick to get close to her, it would have been because of the case against his son. Any way she looked at it, it was still about her and what she was doing.
Finley forced herself to breathe, then downed more wine.
“I’m not liking the sound of any aspect of this.” Matt threw back a slug of his beer. “So Roberts told you last night that back when you were in the hospital—afterthatnight—she saw strangers searching or whatever around your house. Maybe inside as well.”
Finley nodded. “Technically she didn’t sayinside, but once they were in the backyard, they could have come inside the house. It’s not like the locks are great.”
“Which means only one thing,” Matt offered. “They were looking for something. This was Derrick’s house. Had to be something—other than stalker photos—they presumed he might have stashed here.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.” She just hadn’t been able to look into the possibility last night, and today she’d been out of town.
“We should take a closer look.” Matt shot to his feet. “You have flashlights?”
Finley was confident it would be pointless, but what the hell. “I have one. And my phone, of course.”
“I’ve got one in my trunk. I’ll be right back.”
Finley was exhausted, and yet she felt giddy. The backyard was a dead end—this she knew from experience—but if Matt was game, so was she. As exhausted as she was, she needed to burn off some of these emotions.
He returned, flashlight in hand. “Let’s do this.”
Finley downed the rest of the wine in her glass. “Fortification.”
Matt did the same with his beer. “What you said.”
They laughed together, and Finley felt the first ebb of calm. Whatever happened, Matt and Jack would be with her every step of the way.
If you let them.
God, she hated that voice.
“We’ll go with a grid pattern,” Matt suggested, “the same way we would if we were looking for evidence at a crime scene.”
“We are looking for evidence,” she reminded him. “And this was once a crime scene.”
“You’re right. Let’s get to it.”
North to south, east to west, they covered the yard twice. They found exactly nothing. No indication anyone had done any digging beyond fading signs of Finley’s previous efforts. No indication anyone had left anything or taken anything. Finley imagined her neighbor was glued to her window, watching the beams of light bob.
“What about the garage?” Matt asked.
