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Finley snapped back to attention. “You did?” She imagined that went over like a lead balloon. Her father—for whatever reasons he wasn’t sharing—was extremely sensitive about this case.
“He explained about the research Lucy was doing and how he was helping her.”
Deep inside a defense mechanism kicked into gear. Finley couldn’t have missed the doubt in Houser’s voice if she had tried. As certain as she was that her father wasn’t telling her everything, she was one hundred percent certain he had nothing to do with Lucy’s death.
“He said,” Houser went on, “he didn’t really know her mother beyond her public image.”
Now Finley was just pissed off. “Do you have reason tonotbelieve what he said?”
The hands that had been deep in his pockets now withdrew and braced on his hips as he glanced away from her and at the floor. “I can’t say that I didn’t believe him, but I noticed something yesterday that gave me pause.”
Finley went dead still, not even breathing. “I’m listening.”
Houser met her gaze with unmistakable reluctance. “I decided on an impromptu face-to-face visit with your father just before lunch yesterday.” He shrugged. “You know how it is.”
She knew exactly how it was. To speak in person was far more telling than a phone interview. To do so cold was even better. Houser thought her father was lying, and he wanted to confirm as much with a face-to-face meet.
“But when I turned onto his street for the visit, I spotted him driving away from the house.”
“You followed him.” Finley couldn’t keep the outrage out of her tone. She clamped down on her emotions, forced herself to hear him out.
Houser nodded. “I don’t know, it was just a hunch. A sudden itch I felt compelled to scratch.”
“Where did he go?” Finley’s throat felt dry. Her heart rate had started to steadily climb.
“To the Five Points Diner over on Woodland.”
“Okay.” Finley braced for the rest. Whatever he had to say, he wasn’t looking forward to the punch line or he wouldn’t be dragging it out so.
“He met Maureen Downey there.”
Finley frowned even as a trickle of relief had her breathing again. “I have no idea why he would meet with her. I wasn’t aware he knew her, personally or otherwise.”
“Well, that’s not the troubling part.”
So, it got worse. Shit. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“After they left the diner, your father drove to Ray Johnson’s office. He went inside but came right back out. Since Johnson’s car wasn’t around, I’m assuming he wasn’t in.”
Uncertainty and no small amount of fear chased Finley’s outrage away. Why the hell would her father visit Ray Johnson?
“You have any ideas on why he would lunch with Downey and then try to see Johnson?” Houser asked.
“I do not,” she stated, her words brittle, “but rest assured I will find out.”
“Thanks,” he said, “for giving me a heads-up on what you learned from Ian’s friends and Ray’s ex-wife. And for telling me about the house and showing me around.”
It was a struggle, but Finley somehow set worries about her father aside for a moment. “You can thank me by getting me that meeting with Dempsey.”
“I’m working on it.”
Barely able to hold herself back from rushing out of the house and to her car, Finley checked the time. “I should get going.”
“Me too. I have a one o’clock with the chief.”
Finley readied the alarm system and locked the door. As calmly as possible, she waved to Houser as he drove away.
Worry twisted in her gut like barbed wire. What the hell was her father doing?
