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“Right,” he said. “So can we come in for a couple of minutes?”
“Sure.” Mitch stepped back, allowing them passage in. “Would you like a beer?”
“Soda would be great, if you have it,” Deckard said, buying them time. He’d drink the soda nice and slow.
“Harper, how about you?” Mitch asked.
“I’m good, but thanks.”
He smiled, then led them through the oversized foyer, down a short hall, and out into the open kitchen and living space.
Clearly, Mitch was faring far better than the tiny apartment he stayed in right after his conviction was vacated. Deckard took asharp inhale, trying to simmer the anger coursing through him. It’d all been an act. The tears shed over the loss of Anne, the disappointment over his wife leaving him, the poor man starting over from scratch with his reputation shot. He’d probably moved into this house shortly after they officially parted ways.
He scanned the space while Mitch rummaged in the fridge. His gaze centered on the photographs lining the bookshelf. He took a step closer, one in particular catching his eye. One taken of Mitch, Councilman Markowitz, and the man Randy had identified as taking the bloody shirt from the life-preserver box.
Mitch turned around and handed Deckard his soda. “You like the pictures?”
“I just noticed this one. I think I had seen it before when I was working your case.”
“Right,” Mitch said, strolling toward it.
“Are those Masonic rings?” Deckard asked.
“Yep. One of the oldest societies in our country, founded long before our country began,” Mitch explained.
“Right. I recognize the councilman, but this guy I can’t place.”
“Just another lodge member.”
“Ah.” Mitch could blow off telling him about the third man. It didn’t matter. They knew who he was, and if the picture was taken before Mitch went to prison, it meant the three knew each other before, and regardless of how Mitch played it off, the three were tight. Tight enough for the man to kidnap Randy’s sister and hold her hostage until Randy pulled the shirt from evidence and handed it over to him on Mitch’s behalf.
“You should drink your soda before it gets warm,” Mitch said.
“Sure,” Deckard said, opening the can. “So are you back to running your real estate development company?” he asked.
“Yep.” Mitch twisted the cap off his beer.
“You must be doing well. I mean, look at this place.”
“The company is doing well. We’re building a brand-new community off Taylor Avenue,” he said, leading them to a round table in the corner with a large diorama on it. “Here’s the design.”
“Impressive,” Deckard said. “But wasn’t this supposed to have been built a while ago? I think right around the time you went to jail.”
Mitch rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re running behind schedule because of my time in jail, but it’s coming.” He shifted his gaze from Deckard to Harper. “What do you think, Harper?”
“Very nice. In fact,” she said, “I believe I read about this planned community in the news.”
Mitch smiled. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Your friend, Councilman Markowitz. Isn’t he the one who did all that lobbying for it?”
“I believe so,” Mitch said, stepping away from the diorama.
“How many other communities have you planned with him?” Deckard asked.
“What?” Mitch swiped his nose. “I haven’t built anything with the councilman.”
“Really?” Deckard said. “Then I wonder why he and your backers helped get you out of prison?”
