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“No. Nothing like that. Seemed like she knew him. It’s just...” His face turned red. “Miss Hemmingway said I couldn’t help anymore so I was going to do it without her knowing.”
And how was he going to accomplish that without her hearing or seeing him? He wasn’t being completely honest, but now was not the time to read him the riot act or debate his motives. Time wasn’t on their side.
“He wore a suit. I saw that.”
“Is it this guy?” He opened his phone to the sketch Smoothy had sent of Garrick.
“I don’t know. A suit stood out. That’s why I remember his clothes.”
“Where did he walk her to?”
“Down the street a bit. To his car.” Milo’s eyes filled with moisture. “Was he a bad man? Did I mess up again? My dad was a bad man, and I didn’t help my mom. But... I thought they knew each other. She walked right beside him like it was all good.”
Join the Men Who Failed Bexley Hemmingway Club. No wonder the kid needed therapy.
“Did you get the make and model of the car?”
He pulled something from his back pocket. A soggy piece of paper, the ink smudged. This kid wrote down plate numbers. “This is excellent work, Milo.” He must have followed them to the car, and the weather kept Milo from being spotted.
He could hug this kid. Stalking had indeed paid off. Maybe Ty was getting a leg up. Maybe... He glanced up. No. It wasn’t divine help. It was nothing but a break, a coincidence.
He called Selah and gave her the plates to run. “I need this yesterday, Selah. You understand.”
“I hear ya, Ty.” Her keyboard clacked over the line. “Asa says you’re not coming back, and Owen’s being a stubborn but good friend sticking it out with you. Don’t be stupid, though, okay?”
“Selah, stupid is my middle name. You know this.”
Owen opened the door. “What’s going on?”
“This is Milo. Milo saw Garrick take Bexley.”
“How does he know it’s Garrick?”
Owen and Ty kept their eyes on the kid, who hadn’t bothered to leave. When this was over—if everything turned out okay—he’d have some kind of talk with him about stalking. “I know it’s Garrick, aka Smoothy, from the tattoo studio. The artist sent me the portrait. I know who was in the car. I just want another layer of proof to put a nail in his coffin.”
“Got it,” Selah said.
Ty put the phone next to his and Owen’s ears.
Here it comes.
“The car is registered to...”
“To?” Ty asked, drawing out the word. “Garrick Granger.”
“No,” Selah said. “Dalen Granger.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“What?” No. That couldn’t be right. The portrait of Smoothy was Garrick, not Dalen. Garrick had left the embedded logo on customers. Not Dalen. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Selah said.
He leaned against the door, the wind blowing rain on his face. “Are they in this together, O? Is Dalen setting up Garrick to take the fall? Or has Dalen been behind this from the beginning?”
“I don’t know, man.”
“Thanks, Selah.” He ended the call.
