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Jackson Boulevard, Belle Meade, 4:10 p.m.
Her father opened the door and blinked. “Finley, what’re you doing here?”
Before this case, he would have been glad to see her any time she dropped by.
“Can we talk?” She knew the Judge wouldn’t be home yet, which was a good thing. Finley and her dad needed privacy for this one.
“Well, sure.” He backed up, opened the door wider. “Come in.”
She waited until he closed the door. “Why are you avoiding my and Detective Houser’s calls?”
More rapid blinking. “I don’t know what you mean?”
“I’ve called you twice today, and you haven’t called me back. Detective Houser said he had called you, and you haven’t called back. In fact, he tried to catch up with you yesterday. But you were leaving, so he followed you.”
Her father’s face fell. “He followed me?”
“You had lunch with Maureen Downey at the Five Points Diner, and then you drove to Johnson Development Group. I don’t really care why you were lunching with Downey, but I need to know why you would try to see Ray Johnson.”
His face flushed; his gaze couldn’t find a place to land. “I ... I don’t know what to say. Why would this detective be following me? And ... and I’ve been busy, or I would have called you back.”
Finley closed her eyes a second to clear her head. She couldn’t do that with her father looking at her as if she’d just slapped his face. She took a breath and forced her eyes open once more. He had never been too busy to return her calls before.
“Secrets can be dangerous, Dad. Do you comprehend that the secrets Derrick kept from me almost cost me my life? He was murdered because he was keeping secrets—working undercover for the DEA in a very dangerous assignment. Lucy Cagle was murdered. Secrets are protecting the identity of the person who killed her. Are you helping to keep those secrets?”
“I ...” He shook his head. “Fin, you must know that if I was aware of anything at all that would help your case, I would tell you. I’ve already told you about my and Lucy’s brief friendship.” He shrugged and threw his hands up in exasperation. “I mean I guess that’s what you would call it. We hardly knew each other, but she was a very sweet girl and—”
“Dad,” Finley snapped. “Why did you go to Ray Johnson’s office?”
His arms dropped to his sides. “He ... he has made an offer on some property in Belle Meade, and we’re ... we’re very concerned about his intentions. I was tasked with questioning him. He wasn’t in his office.” He shrugged again. “End of story.”
Finley nodded, no matter that her heart had dropped to her feet. “Okay. Thanks. I have to get to the hospital to visit my neighbor.”
She left. Couldn’t stay a second longer without risking that she would say something she could regret. Before she allowed herself to go there, she had to think ... to somehow figure this out.
Because her father was lying ...again.
21
Harpeth Hills Memory Gardens
Highway 100, Nashville, 4:30 p.m.
It was almost dark.
Finley didn’t care. She needed to think. She couldn’t go to the hospital just yet, and she damned sure couldn’t go home and face Matt. How could she tell him what her father was doing? He had lied to her, straight faced. He never did that. In her entire life she had never known him to lie until this case. Ever.
She got out of the Subaru. The streetlamps had already come on. The moon was big and bright. Time was short before it would be completely dark. She walked straight tohisspace. The place where her parents had buried her husband. She’d been in a damned coma at the time. She hadn’t come here until months later. She hadn’t been able, physically or mentally, to do it.
With ease, despite the looming darkness, she found the sleek black granite marker her mother had picked out for Derrick. Her knees went weak, and she eased down onto the grass. She brushed away the leaves gathered at the base of the headstone. Probably she should bring flowers more often. It wasn’t her thing. Her grandparents had died when she was little, and she vaguely remembered the Judge and her father takingflowers from time to time, but she didn’t remember a particular routine. She supposed they still did.
Routines weren’t Finley’s forte.
She drew in a deep breath, glanced around the ever-darkening landscape dotted with headstones and mausoleums. “I went to see Dempsey today.”
Her words made it sound as if she’d paid him a social call. The bastard’s warning echoed in her ears.
“I can’t decide if he’s still planning some sort of revenge or if he’s right and someone else is plotting a way to even the score. You pissed off a lot of people, Derrick.” She trailed her fingers across his name engraved in the cold stone. “But you were just doing your job. It would have been nice if you could have told me. Not that it matters. Really. Those few weeks together were amazing, and I don’t regret a second of our time together.”
