“Yes, ma’am.”
“You got your notes still?”
“They’re at home, but I sure do.”
“Go. Get them and leave them on my desk,” I order, turning before he can reply.
“Need me?” Bekah appears in her door seconds before I’m about to shout her name.
“Bekah.” I focus on her. “Find Penny Prescott and Mallory Chandler. I want to know if Lena and Daniel Westwood are connected. I want to know if they so much as pissed in the same goddamned sandbox when they were four years old. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“From now on, all other cases are on the back burner until this is solved.” I reach behind me and grab Drake’s shirt. “You. Come with me.”
“Kinky.”
“Bite me.”
“Still kinky.”
Without turning, I snatch his handcuffs and storm toward the basement. Drake simply laughs and turns the light on when we reach the top of the stairs.
I’m glad he can laugh.
I’m still stuck on the fact that I have two dead people who were once under my watch.
Drake takes his handcuffs back before I unlock the drawer the Santiago-Westwood file should be stored in and flick through each brown envelope, my heart stuttering each time I read a name that isn’t the one I’m desperate for.
The drawer clangs when I slam it shut. I fall against the filing cabinet, dropping my forehead to it. The metal is cold against my skin, but the feeling doesn’t last long as my emotions take over.
I feel exposed. Frustrated. Violated.
And real fucking mad.
I slam my foot into the bottom drawer, denting it, and shove off it. “Fuck! It’s gone!”
My fingers sink into my hair, and I tug hard, as if the sting on my scalp can take away the cluster of clashing sensations fighting for dominance in my body. Unbidden tears burn the backs of my eyes.
Drake starts to say my name, but I shake my head and take the basement steps two by two. Thank God for my boots.
“Grecia.” I stop in her doorway. “I need you to check the January-to-March flash sticks for the Santiago-Westwood file.”
She has the drawer open before I’ve turned around.
That’s why I pay her.
When I get up to my office, there are records for both Lena and Daniel sitting there plus Mike’s notes on the case. He covered enough pivotal surveillance ops for me that I know there’s good stuff in his notes. Attached to the top of Marshall’s findings is a note saying the Santiago-Westwood case is missing from the database, but he’s doing his best to recover it.
Right now, I’m not holding out much hope.
“How did Daniel die?” I ask Drake, perched on the edge of my desk.
“Same way as Lena. He ingested hemlock leaves and was tortured as the poison took hold. Again, no idea where the torture took place or where he was kept till he was dumped in your car, but a salad was found at his apartment laced with the leaves.” Drake picks up Marsh’s findings on Daniel with one eyebrow arched high. “Do I wanna know how he got all this?”
“If you have to ask me that, then the answer is probably no.” I skim Mike’s notes. Finding nothing, I switch it for Lena’s records. “Okay.”
I walk to my standing whiteboard. I grab a pen and draw a line down the middle. On one side, I write “LENA” and, the on other, “DANIEL.”
“What are you doing?”
“Similarities. I’m a visual person.” I glance over my shoulder. “I’m going to read out parts I think are important for Lena and tell me if they match with Daniel. All right?”
“I’ll read Daniel and you tell me if they match. My case.”
“Fine. Okay. Whatever. Go.” I sigh and uncap my pen.
“School. Daniel stayed in town his whole life.”
“Elementary, middle, and high?”
“Yep.”
“Lena, too.” So they grew up together. “College?”
“Austin.”
“Lena went to Houston,” I muse.
Together, we run through every place they could have coincided until my phone rings.
“Hold on. Noelle Bond,” I say, lifting the receiver to my ear.
“Lena’s mom is on the other line,” Grecia babbles. “No files on the hard drives.”
“Shit. Okay. Switch her over.” I cover the receiver and relay the information to Drake.
He frowns as Lena’s mom comes on the line.
“Ms. Bond?” a hesitant voice says.
“Mrs. Young. I’m so glad you called,” I say honestly.
“I’m sorry for the delay. My husband and I went to stay with friends for a couple of days after, you know.” Her breath hitches. “How can I help you, my dear?”
“Your daughter’s husband came to see me the day after Lena’s body was found and hired me to find the person who did this—”
“Ryan! Ha! That no-good asshole. Excuse my language.”
My eyes widen at Drake. “Please don’t worry, ma’am. I was hoping you could tell me how their relationship was. It’s always beneficial to hear an outsider’s point of view.”
“It was…shaky at best. Lena was worried about how stable their marriage was given how their relationship started.”
“Understandable.”
“Ryan didn’t like how social she was. She dedicated her life to her store, and he hated that she spent a lot of time there. He also accused her of cheating on him more than once, which only added to her suspicions.”
“Really? Mr. Perkins unfortunately didn’t relay that information to me. Please don’t take this the wrong way, ma’am, but was there any truth to the accusations?”
Drake’s eyes narrow, and he moves to sit on my desk.
“Ryan’s? Of course not!” She gasps. “It was darn ridiculous. Lena and Daniel have been best friends since they were five.”
“I’m sorry. Did you just say Daniel?” I scramble for a piece of paper, and Drake leans in. I hit the speaker button.
“I did, dear.”
“Daniel who?”
“Westwood. He must be devastated.”
I draw in a sharp breath and stare at Drake.
“Ms. Bond, are you there?”
“Yes. Yes, I am. I’m sorry, ma’am. What were you saying?”
“Just that Daniel must be hurting right now. Do you know how I could contact him?”
“Mrs. Young?” Drake takes over as I lean back in my seat and cover my mouth with my hand. “This is Detective Drake Nash. I’m the lead detective on your daughter’s case, and I’m working with Ms. Bond on some aspects.”
“Oh, Detective. It’s nice to finally speak to you.”
Apparently, I’m not the only one who hasn’t spoken to her family.
“And you, ma’am. I’m afraid I have some news about Daniel.”
“Oh no,” she whispers through the line.
“I’m afraid Daniel’s body was found yesterday, and I have reason to believe that the murders are connected.” He pauses as she cries out. “I understand this is a real hard time for you, but it would help me and, indeed, Ms. Bond if you could come into the Holly Woods PD tomorrow morning so we can talk.”
“Of…of course,” she sobs. “I can be there at ten. Th-thank you for your call, Ms. Bond.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Young. Both times,” I reply softly as Drake hangs up. “Well, shit.”
“Shit indeed.” Drake looks out the window at the spring sunshine breaking through the trees then back to me. “I think I need to have a word with Ryan Perkins.”
Sometimes, the obvious things are ignored because the finer details get in the way.
Like a much-needed girls’ night with my best friend and sister-in-law has been ignored because of the whole “dead body” thing.
Tonight, we’re at my place, which means copious amounts of sugar and swooning over Sean Connery in Goldfinger.
Yes, yes, I still pretend I’m Pussy Galore. Don’t freakin’ judge me.
She had great hair.
Alison, my sister-in-law, snaps her fingers in front of my face. “I have enough of this case from my husband. I don’t want it from you when I’m shaking up margaritas.” She wiggles the cocktail shaker in front of my face to make her point.
I hold my hands up. “All right, all right. I’ll try to stop thinking about it. Besides, I have my alarm system now.”