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She bent down to scoop up the old candy bar wrappers and crushed soda cans. A half dozen crumpled drawings lay scattered about. She could picture Jason at his architect’s desk, T-square in hand, drawing in that slow, deliberate way he had.
She dropped to her knees and smoothed out one of the pictures. Unlike the blueprints, it was the front elevation of a house. A cabin, really. Cute and rustic.
The other pages were more versions of the same, each slightly different, as if he couldn’t quite get the final details to his liking. She stacked the half-finished drawings, then pressed the pile to her chest. They might be the last things he worked on.
Still holding the oversized pages, she headed out into the hangar.
Bridger was on a ladder next to the Mustang. He pulled his head out of the P51’s open cockpit. “Find something?”
“Nothing important.” Except to her. “Just some architectural drawings.”
He pointed at the papers. “Look at the back. That’s Jay’s writing.”
She turned the stack so she could see. Her brother had scrawled a name.Rosalind.
It was clearly Jason’s writing, though much more hurried and jagged than his normal, precise printing. She could feel his haste.
She ran a finger over the name. The grooves from the pencil dug deep. He’d been rushing. She rubbed them again. Was he worried when he wrote it? Afraid? Or maybe hurt?
Jay wasn’t a trained architect, but he had a knack for design. Could Rosalind be a woman he’d been hoping to impress?
Her throat tightened. Would her fierce, loyal protector of a brother ever have a love of his own?
Bridger held out a hand for the papers. “Looks like he was in a hurry.” He rifled through the other pages, but that was the only word. “No phone number or email or anything. Weird.”
At least they had something to check out. “I wish we had access to his online accounts. We could check his address book.”
“I’ve already got somebody working on that,” Bridger admitted. “She’s the best of the best, but she hasn’t made any progress yet.” He jerked a thumb toward the massive tool chest, half hidden behind the P51. “I’m gonna check those drawers, then we can call it a night.”
She couldn’t stand the thought of spending another second in that office. Besides, she’d been through every inch of the place. “I’ll help.”
They were down to the last row of drawers when Bridger’s phone beeped.
He grinned when he saw the caller and set the phone on the toolbox so Jane could join in the video call. “It’s our tech guru. I bet she’s got something.”
A smiling blonde woman filled the screen. “Boy, do I.” She tipped her cute, pointed chin at Jane. “I’m Paige. Good to finally meet you. The Jay-man said lots of good things about you over the years.”
For some stupid reason, the unexpected compliment threatened to make her cry, so she concentrated on the other woman. Even over a screen, Paige radiated a mischievous energy. Jane liked her immediately.
The woman leaned closer to the camera. “So. I have news.”
Bridger held up a hand. “I asked Paige to run background checks on the pertinent suspects,” he told Jane.
“And that would include?”
Bridger shoved his hands in the pockets of his tech pants. “A bunch of contacts from his old position, and here in town: Billy Peckham. Randall Dressler. Your pastor.”
She blinked hard. “You suspect Pastor Zack of doing this himself?”
“It’s a possibility. Even you admitted he was in a huge hurry to get out the door that morning.”
Jane hugged herself. Bridger wasn’t wrong. This was getting ugly. She wanted out from under all this deception.
Paige spoke again. “This is just a first-level pass, but I’d say we’ve got at least one clear suspect.”
A copy of a psych report from Meadow Hills Hospital replaced her image on the screen. Jane and Bridger leaned in to look.
The subject was Billy Peckham.
