Page 95 of Concealed in Death

“Here’s to that,” he said and tapped his half to hers.

•••

The chocolate gave her a boost—especially with the coffee she pumped in after it—so she worked until midnight.

Spinning wheels, mostly, she admitted. Covering and recovering the same ground. But sometimes you spotted something when you backtracked.

Someone they knew. And most if not all of them knew each other. Some lived together, or ran together. Same basic turf.

If Sebastian was to be believed, he hadn’t forged Shelby’s docs. Say he told that straight, Eve thought as she propped up her feet to study the board.

Could she have done them herself, catching on to how Sebastian did forgeries? Picking it up, as he’d said, because she knew how to pay attention?

Possible. Possible.

Eve brought Shelby’s picture on screen, studied it.

Smart girl, tough girl, hard girl. But loyal. A born leader—and I bet you liked being in charge—who didn’t like the rules. Not with the do-gooders, not with the grifters. Wanted your own.

“And didn’t the place, the perfect place, drop into your lap when The Sanctuary pulled up stakes? That’s what plays. It plays. It’s familiar. It’s empty. You know it top to bottom.”

She rose, walked closer to the screen as Roarke stepped back in.

“I half expected to find you snoring at your desk.”

“Caffeine works. I don’t snore.” Eve pointed at the screen. “She’s the key.”

He turned to study the screen with her. “Which is she?”

“Shelby.”

“Ah, the leader, the one who walked out of the new facility with forged documents.”

“Exactly. She knew the ropes, had an agenda. And she had a connection with somebody who knew how to forge.”

“I don’t see why Sebastian would deny doing so, at this stage.”

“She could’ve done them herself, picked up the basics from him, just like he said. That would explain the misspellings, and the really bad attempt at forging Jones’s signature. That data came through from the analysis,” she added. “It’s way off from Nashville Jones’s signature.

“So...” Turning from the screen, she circled the board. “She’s learning, planning, and Bittmore drops the bountiful in The Sanctuary’s lap. Hey, kids, we’re moving to big, pretty new digs! Pack it up.”

“And she realized it’s just the right time.”

“Perfect time. Everybody’s going to be busy, running around, distracted. More, she’s smart enough to know what goes on, and what goes on is the old building’s going to be empty. At least for a bit while the bank gets its act together, and that’s already been hanging for months.”

“A lifetime at thirteen. Would she even think about that really?” Roarke wondered. “Opportunity’s there, grab it?”

“Yeah. Foreclosures, mortgages. Adult stuff. For her, it’s just perfect time, perfect place. She’ll get out, get in, set things up for her friends until she can get them out. Nice and tidy, with documentation so nobody comes hunting for them.”

“It worked for her—the getting out.”

“Yeah, it did. Did she have somebody inside, or outside? Did she use somebody? She’d have seen it that way, just another mark. And the mark turns. Maybe she lured him in, trading sex for whatever she needed or wanted. But that didn’t work out for her, because she was the mark all along.”

“Why kill her?”

“Need, desire, or a dozen more reasons. Iris had a secret, but I don’t see somebody like Shelby taking somebody like Iris into her confidence.”

“The killer?”

---