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“What is it?” Lia asked.
He turned to show her the iron statue that was cast in the shape of Lady Justice. It was around eight inches tall and surprisingly heavy.
“It looks like an old-fashioned doorstop,” he told her. “My grandfather had one.” He held up the object, eyeing it with the expertise of a stunt driver. “This would be the perfect size and weight to wedge against the gas pedal.”
Lia grimaced. Was she picturing the killer leaning over the brutally murdered judge to arrange the doorstop? It was a disturbing image.
“Should we drop it off at the sheriff’s office?”
“Nope. I’m taking this with us.”
“Isn’t it evidence?”
“Probably, but who’s going to care?”
She glanced around the garage that had been left open to the elements. It felt as if the memory of Judge Armstrong was being swept away by the brutal wind.
“No one,” she admitted.
“Besides, if we leave it here, there’s a chance it might be stolen.” He continued his list of reasons to keep the doorstop. “And if we take it to the sheriff’s office, it’s going to end up in the nearest trash can. Even if Erickson wasn’t involved in the death of the judge, he’s doing his damnedest to cover it up.”
“Okay,” she conceded, a visible shiver racing through her body. “Are you done? We should probably move along before anyone notices us poking around.”
Kaden led her out of the garage without hesitation. There was nothing left to see there. And it was obviously upsetting to Lia to stand in the spot where a man she’d known her whole life was killed. Hell, it was upsetting to him.
His years in Hollywood were filled with special effects that had included graphic accidents and death scenes. But seeing an actor pretending to be dead was nothing at all like seeing a real corpse.
Pulling out of the drive, Kaden headed away from the grimly silent house.
“We don’t have tangible proof,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the doorstop he’d placed on the back seat. “But I’m one hundred percent certain the judge was murdered.”
“I agree. But why?”
It was a question that had plagued Kaden during his long, restless night. He’d only been able to come up with two plausible explanations.
“Either he has a connection to Vanna’s disappearance. Or he was a witness to whoever ran over Drew Hurst.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened at his mention of Drew. “I didn’t even think about that. It’s certainly possible he saw who hit Drew. And if he did, he would have confronted that person. He wasn’t the sort of man to turn a blind eye.”
Kaden grimaced, a frustration that was becoming all too familiar churning through him.
“I feel like I’m lost in a whiteout. Everything is obscured, but I keep stumbling forward, hoping to find a pathway. It’s no wonder my brother became obsessed with this mystery.”
She sent him a sympathetic smile. “Maybe Ryan Burke can give us some answers.”
“You’ll have to direct me to the plant. I found it yesterday by a back road.”
“Turn right at the corner and drive until you reach the cemetery, then you’ll take a left.”
He slowed the Jeep without stepping on the break and made a wide turn around the corner. The streets hadn’t been cleared. Probably because there would be more snow before they could get it all plowed.
“Were you close to your brother?”
Lia’s question blindsided him, and Kaden clenched the steering wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white.
“Not in the way most brothers are.” His voice was harsh, but he couldn’t help that. “Darren was several years older than me and he spent most of his time with his nose stuck in a book.”
“Not your style?”
