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Sam breathed through the abrupt surge of anger. “Did he touch you?”
“No, sir. Most of us know to stay out of his way and not to let him get us alone.”
“When was this?” Goddard asked.
Devon stared at her clenched hands. “A week ago. I should have said something. Mr. Benny’s family might have finally taken his collection somewhere safer and Mr. Frankie might still be alive.” She looked up, her eyes filled with tears. “Mr. Frankie found out, didn’t he? Because he used to be a cop. It’s all over the center now. Everyone knows he used to be a homicide lieutenant. He had to have found out about someone planning to steal Mr. Benny’s coins. I might as well have killed him myself.”
Sam took her hands again. “Devon, listen to me. I never want to hear you say those words again. I know what you meant, but someone else might not.” He glanced at Goddard and Devon paled.
“I know what she meant, too,” Goddard said wryly. “But Dr. Sam’s right, Miss Jones. This was not your fault. Although I do have to ask—why didn’t you tell Carla or Vanessa that Crawford had asked about the coins?”
“Because they would have told Miss Evans and it would have come back on me. They could leave, but I still had to work here, and I couldn’t cross him.”
“It’s all right,” Sam said softly. “Crawford was an authority figure, and it sounds like you had every reason to fear him.”
Devon looked up at them, misery in her eyes. “One of the nursing assistants reported him to Miss Evans for touching her—you know—inappropriately. Evans said she’d take care of it, but then the girl got let go. I can’t lose this job. It’s feeding my daughter. Please don’t tell Miss Evans that I said anything about Mr. Crawford. Please.”
Sam found himself glad that Crawford was dead. The man was a grade-A asshole. Sounded like Miss Evans wasn’t any better. Sam had thought her cold, but not complicit.
Maybe I don’t read people as well as I thought. “I’ll make a note of our conversation, Devon. If Miss Evans tries to retaliate, I’ll speak on your behalf.”
“I’ll also record this in my report,” Goddard said. “But back to Crawford’s question about the coins. Which day last week and what time? Details could be important.”
She took out her phone, scrolled for a moment, then said, “Wednesday. My mom took Mila to the pediatrician because I had to work. I remember being so scared, because if I lost my job…” She shuddered, then sighed. “I’m sorry. That’s not what you asked. Mr. Crawford talked to me in the afternoon, after my break. So…three thirty or so.” Her shoulders drooped, her lips tilting in a sad smile. “I ran outside to…I don’t know. Get away. Try to calm down. Try to figure out what I could do—if anything. And I ran into Mr. Frankie. He was coming back inside from the parking lot. He stopped and asked me if I was okay. If Mila was sick again, but I was so upset that I couldn’t answer him. He…He put his hands on my shoulders and told me to breathe. He breathed with me until the world stopped spinning around. Then he asked if he could call anyone for me.”
“Did you tell him about what Crawford said?” Sam asked gently.
“No. I should have.” Her eyes filled with tears. “If I’d told him, maybe he would still be alive.”
Goddard’s frown had returned. “Did Mr. Frankie normally leave during the week?”
“Sometimes, but usually he left on the weekends.” Her gaze sharpened. “Why? Is this related to his murder?”
“We don’t know,” Sam said honestly. But maybe. He wondered if Kit and Connor had finally gained access to the server with all the entry gate records on it. They’d be able to see when Frankie had left the property and when he’d returned. He made a mental note to share this information with them in the event the IT guy hadn’t been able to break through the server’s encryption. Wherever Frankie had gone could be a critical clue.
“Thank you for your help, Miss Jones.” Goddard gave Devon one of his cards. “If you remember anything else that might help, please call me.”
She took the card hesitantly. “So you believe me?”
“I can’t say,” Goddard said. “It doesn’t mean that I don’t,” he stressed when Devon’s eyes widened in resurrected fear. “It just means that I can’t comment right now. Do you plan to go out of town anytime soon?”
“I have a two-year-old who catches every germ at daycare and I don’t have an extra penny. I’d be deep in debt if it weren’t for Miss Georgia helping me with the doctor bills. I’m disclosing that so you don’t think I stole from her, too.” Her shoulders sagged. “But to answer your question, no, I’m not going anywhere. I can’t.”
“Well, if you do,” Goddard said quietly, “just let me know, okay?”
She nodded, looking so fragile that Sam needed to give her a hug. He put his arm around her shoulder for a quick one before releasing her. “You know, I think you should ask Miss Georgia about those bills. She told you that it wasn’t her.”
“Well, yeah, but who else would—” She covered her mouth, her eyes filling with new tears. “Mr. Frankie. Oh. He did that for me? Why?”
Sam patted her shoulder. “He liked you a lot, and he did not suffer fools. I think that he knew you’d go on to do great things and hated to see you stressed out. I didn’t know about the bills, but Georgia mentioned it. I think it’s okay now for you to know who really helped. So just keep calm about all this coin business, and if you need to talk to someone, you have my number, right?”
She wiped at her eyes. “Thank you, Dr. Sam. Thank you so much.”
“Go take your break,” Sam said kindly.
She left Sam and Goddard in Nurse Janice’s office, pulling the door closed behind her.
“I don’t think she did it,” Goddard said bluntly. “But we can’t eliminate her yet.”
