Page 64 of Sinful Sorrow

“Ms. Hanes is Mason’s lawyer?”

“Yes, Chief.” He digs his hands into his pockets—not at all uniform appropriate—and settles back on his heels. “From the moment Kallie and I arrived at the station, the lawyer was here and waiting. The detectives have talked to her already, but Ms. Hanes is a bulldog, and she’s shut down every avenue of questioning.”

“Do the detectives think Kallie is responsible for Naomi’s murder?”

“I’m not sure. Kinda sounds like Mrs. Wallace is our perp. Maybe Kallie is innocent, and Ms. Hanes is just doing her job.”

“It’s interesting to me that Mason’s family has taken enough interest in the vic’s best friend that they would fund representation.” I bring my hand up and roll my bottom lip between my fingers. “Why? She wasn’t his girlfriend. She’s nothing to them.”

“I’d like to suspend this interview,” Archer announces for the record. “At three-forty-nine p.m., October fifteen. Mrs. Wallace, I can’t let you leave just yet, but I will remind you that you’re entitled to a lawyer. And if you can’t afford one, I can get someone sent in to help you. Meanwhile,” he taps the glass, so I jump when the action startles me, “Officer Clay can get you both something to drink. Maybe a snack, if you’re hungry.”

“That’s me.” Clay dips his chin in farewell and trudges toward the door. “I’ll be around after, Doctor Mayet. It was a pleasure to see you.”

“Yeah. Thanks. You too.” I watch the next room through glass, its thickness indiscernible to me, and wait for the detectives to switch out with Officer Clay.

I pay particular attention to the part where Clay leans in close and snitches on me to Archer.

Proven, of course, the moment Archer’s eyes swing to the glass and burn me through the pane. Then I roll my eyes and turn to the door, waiting and prepared as the duo charge through their door, walk the few feet of hallway, and then burst through to where I’m standing.

“What are you doing here?” Archer looks me up and down, his gaze hungry and yet, concerned. He stays four feet back, his hands fisted by his sides. But only until Fletch follows him in and closes the door.

The second we’re shut in with privacy, he closes the gap between us, placing his hand on the side of my neck and his thumb in the gap between my collarbones: the suprasternal notch. Not that he’d ever know those words. He wraps his fingers all the way around to touch my cervical spine. Then he pulls me in, rough and handsy, until our chests clash. “You’re pissing me off a lot today, babe.”

Smiling, I fold my arms around his body and rest my hands on his back. “Not my intention. You’re overly sensitive today?”

“Just dealing with a few things all at once. Starting with my best friend’s life exploding, and ending with the knowledge Copeland’s brush with the mafia is getting a little less… historical.”

“I’m still here,” Fletch murmurs, pulling out a chair lining the back wall and dropping with a thud. “Talking about me is rude. Typically, gossip should be had when I’m not in the room. Ya know, for my dignity’s sake.”

“The fact Tim followed you and Aubs to the bay today says a lot.” Archer pulls back, only to cup my jaw and study my eyes. “This city’s about to explode. And I have no fucking clue where to stash you until it all blows over.”

“Don’t stash me. And don’t stress so much.” I step onto my toes and press a kiss to his lips. “Talk to me about Kallie.”

Instantly, he looks toward the glass, while on the other side, Mrs. Wallace continues to sob and Clay sets Styrofoam cups of water on the table. Then he drags his attention back to me. “You mean Patricia?”

“No. I heard that bit already. I’m more interested in Kallie Redmon. You mentioned tension between her and Naomi. Now Mason’s family is footing the bill for legal rep, even though everyone is pretty confident Kallie isn’t our perp.”

“Kallie and Brent have broken up.” Fletch drapes himself across his chair, legs wide, arms dangling. Completely limp and done. “We pulled Kallie in to talk to us today. Within ten minutes of her getting into Clay’s car, cops were called because Mason and Brent were throwing hands in the street outside the Morgan house.”

“Turns out Kallie has a thing for Mason,” Archer continues. “Has for a while. And she fits the Morgan family prerequisites. Now that Naomi is out of the picture, I guess she’s making her move.”

“Jesus.” My heart gives a heavy, painful splat. “Naomi’s body isn’t even cold yet. I thought everyone said Mason and Naomi were solid?”

“They were! Mason isn’t reciprocal,” Fletch inserts. “But that doesn’t mean Brent hasn’t gone ballistic over it all. She pulls the pin on their relationship and spills her reasons why, so then he turns up at his best friend’s house to duke it out. The guys throw a few jabs. Cops arrive and break it up. No one was arrested, since neither is pressing charges.”

“But I guess now that the poor, pregnant, and financially unviable Naomi Wallace is no longer an issue, Mr. and Mrs. Morgan are endorsing the pairing they want for their son. And since we’re in the middle of a murder investigation, they’re paying for legal representation to keep their brood mare out of prison. An investment, I suppose, for the future.”

“Despicable behavior,” I snarl. “Their grandchild is dead, and they’re shopping for a bride for their son?”

“Doesn’t make them guilty of a crime, Delicious. But it makes them assholes all the same. Naomi and Mason were never gonna have a happy ending unless Mason put space between them and his family. Essentially, writing them off and going limited to non-contact. But now that issue is resolved. Seems Morgan had the forethought to step in early and protect his future assets.”

“Is it possible Kallie stole Wallace’s credit card, bought the knife, swapped it for the prop, and returned the card?” I ask. “Maybe Patricia isn’t who you’re looking for.”

“I think we’re looking for someone who did exactly that. But it wasn’t Kallie.” Grunting, Fletch sits up in his chair and slumps forward. “Or at least, that’s what I think. We’re looking for a young female. Young, being the stickler here that exonerates both moms: Mrs. Wallace isn’t responsible for this, despite her card being the one that purchased the weapon.”

“And though pinning this on Mrs. Morgan would feel good for my bitter, dark soul,” Archer continues, “there’s no way she could pass as a teen. Doesn’t matter how much she spends on Botox, she’s too old to pretend otherwise.”

“So we have a bogey?” I question. “Not Kallie. Not a mom, despite the motive laid right there at our feet. But someone who had access to Patricia’s credit card?”

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