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She scoffed. “Don’t worry. I stopped trusting Ray Johnson the moment he opened his mouth. Maybe even before.”
Her father smiled sadly. “I should have known you would see through him.”
“Who was the PI?” She was still waiting for info from Downey on the private investigator. Maybe her father could point her in the right direction.
“Jerry ...” He squinted with the effort to recall. “Bauer. Jerry Bauer. He has an office downtown, if he hasn’t retired.”
“I’ll talk to him. See if he came up with anything on Lucy’s case.” Finley hugged her dad. “Sorry for putting you through this. I’m sure it was painful.”
He hugged her tight. Drew back and looked her in the eye. “Just promise me you’ll watch your step with the Johnsons.”
She patted his chest. “I always do.”
Finley thought of something else her father might be able to help her with. “Did Lucy ever talk about a boyfriend? She was a senior in high school. Surely there was a guy in her life.”
Her father’s expression closed again. He shook his head. “Not that I can recall.”
Had he not looked away. Had he not visibly tensed beneath her touch, Finley might have believed he was telling her the truth.
But he wasn’t.
Her father was lying.
7
Bauer Investigations
Church Street, Nashville, 4:25 p.m.
Almost two hours later Finley was still reeling to some degree after the conversation with her father. Though she had pretty much convinced herself there would be a logical and acceptable answer to his avoidance of her final question, she wouldn’t be able to rest easy until she knew the why and how of it. For the moment, she had to set it aside and move on.
There was a considerable amount she still didn’t know about Lucy Cagle and her famous mother. Until she had a good handle on those two women, it would be difficult to fully interpret the events surrounding Cagle’s murder and how—if at all—Ray or Ian Johnson played into it. She’d spent a good deal of the past two hours looking into Louise Cagle. Where she grew up, went to college, and so forth. Louise’s maiden name had been Peters. She’d grown up in Knoxville. Unfortunately, as if Louise had vanished into thin air, all information ended thirteen years ago. Hopefully the PI would have something more.
Finley stared up at the thirty-one stories of stone, steel, and glass that was the Fifth Third Center of downtown Nashville. The skyscraper was called the Center Stage for downtown, even though it had lost its standing as the tallest building years ago. Connecting the arts and business district with a range of tenants from legal and financial tohealth care and hotels—not to mention a few popular restaurants—it remained a much-desired location. Obviously Bauer Investigations was not your typical middle-of-the-road PI shop. She shouldn’t have expected less, considering the client thirteen years ago had been Louise Cagle. Cagle would have wanted only the best for finding her daughter’s killer. A quick Google search and a few calls to sources had confirmed the conclusion. Jerry Bauer was top of the heap.
Inside, the sprawling stone-and-marble lobby was accented with classic wood details. Not shabby at all. Clients and employees hurried across the space, several with cell phones attached to ears and others hastily checking their watches to ensure they weren’t late. Finley scanned the directory and then headed for the bank of lavish elevators. Inside, she selected the number and readied for the ascent to the eighteenth floor.
Once the doors opened again, she stepped off the car and walked along the corridor until she found the suite marked as Bauer Investigations. No doubt he had clicked a few keys to find out who she was. Anyone who kept up with the Dempsey case would certainly know the name Finley O’Sullivan.
She entered the suite, stepping into a small lobby complete with a few upholstered chairs, a table adorned with fresh flowers, and a neat stack of brochures about the firm. The reception desk was unattended. She glanced around and, with nothing else to do, opted to take a seat. She smoothed a hand over her black trouser legs and adjusted the matching jacket. A nondescript black suit was her go-to work wardrobe. Easy to accessorize and always in fashion. Ponytails and little or no makeup kept her life simple. Over the past year, she’d cultivated a great appreciation for simplicity.
Half a minute later, an older man appeared. The photo he used on his website was at least a decade old. Still, he cut quite an imposing figure.
“Ms.O’Sullivan.” He walked toward her, extended his hand. “I’m Jerry Bauer.”
Finley stood, gave his hand a shake. “Thank you for making time in your schedule for me.”
He smiled. “I always have time for the Judge’s daughter.”
He did know who she was. Maybe good since he seemed to be a friend of her mother’s. Maybe bad since he would know she worked for Jack.
And that her father had been on his investigative radar thirteen years ago.
“Join me in my office,” he offered.
She followed him into the corridor beyond the lobby and through the only open door. He indicated the chairs that fronted his desk while he skirted around to the other side.
“What brings you to see me, Ms.O’Sullivan?”
