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“The football player turned killer turned preacher.” She placed it with the other books she’d suggested, then studied the remaining four titles. “Yeah, I’d start with these because they all happened here, in New Orleans. The others are from other places in the country.”
Montoya was nodding. “Okay. So now, tell me about the guy who found your dog.”
“What about him?”
“He was here at the house before you, right?”
“No, he was at the park.”
“But he could have followed you?”
“I guess,” she said. “But I don’t think so.”
“Why wouldn’t he give you his name?”
“I don’t know.”
Montoya frowned. “The only reason I can think of for him to keep his name from you is that he had something to hide.”
“Or he just didn’t want to get involved.”
“He already was. He put the dog on a makeshift leash and waited for you.” He felt his eyes narrow. “It’s a little off.” More than a little, he thought as he heard the screech of tires on the street, an engine shut off, and the sharp rap of knuckles on the front door. He glanced over his shoulder. “I think your dad has arrived.”
He was right. Through the sidelight he saw Bentz pacing back and forth on the front porch, one hand raking fingers through his hair.
“Here we go,” she said under her breath as she headed into the foyer.
Kristi let Bentz into the house and he grabbed her, holding her tight. “That’s it,” he said. “You’re coming home with me. You can live with Olivia, Ginny, and me until we get this whole thing sorted out.”
Though she had collapsed into his arms, she extracted herself and shook her head. “No, Dad, that’s not gonna work. This is my home.”
“And it’s not safe.” Bentz didn’t bother hiding his worry. “Obviously.” Then he spied the dog, seated at the edge of the sectional, his tail wagging wildly, his eyes fixed on Bentz. “Don’t tell me this is your guard dog.”
“Sit down, Dad,” she suggested, heading back to the kitchen, her father following.
After Bentz took a seat next to Montoya at the island and she’d deposited two glasses of water that they hadn’t requested in front of them, Kristi went through the whole story about the lost dog, the stranger with the belt as a leash, the fact that the electricity had been turned off, and discovering the card in the flowers, one more time. As Kristi explained what happened Bentz’s eyes grew darker, his lips compressed, and the faint lines in his forehead became more pronounced. He let her speak, then peppered his daughter with questions:
Why had she left the door open behind her?
Who had left the flowers?
Was she sure nothing was missing?
Why the hell didn’t she demand the name of the stranger who had “found” her dog?
Did she trust the tech who had set up the new security system? Could he have planted the flowers? Did the vase say where the delivery had come from?
Had she gotten any weird calls?
What had she seen on her app for the security system?
And on and on.
To Kristi’s credit, she handled her father’s near-inquisition without freaking out. In fact, the more questions Bentz threw at her, the stronger and more quick to answer she appeared to become, and when he tried to throw a little blame her way, she responded sharply.
“What were you thinking, leaving the door wide open?”
“I wasn’t, okay? I was worried about the dog. It was his first day. My mistake. It won’t happen again.”
