Page 38 of Final Vendetta

“I prefer to conduct my own investigation and ask my own questions.” He gritted a smile, then shifted his attention back to Imogene, arching an expectant brow.

“They were all taken years ago, except for one.”

“This one?” He pointed to the more recent photo we discovered on Imogene’s bookshelf.

“Yes.”

“It was taken on the beach in front of this house?” Myers pressed.

Imogene nodded.

“Do you know when exactly?”

She squinted, studying the photo. “I can’t be sure. It could have been any time over the past three weeks. I don’t have my sling on, which I stopped wearing all the time a few weeks ago. There’s nothing that stands out about our clothes to indicate a specific date. Truthfully, the days have sort of blended together lately.” She returned her gaze to Agent Myers. “I’m sorry I’m not more helpful.”

“Not at all.” He gave her a smile that felt borderline condescending. “And the rest of the photos were taken years ago?”

She nodded once more. “Except they’ve been altered.”

“You told the local detective that the original photos featured Samuel Tate, but in these, he’s been replaced with Mr. Saint.” He looked my way.

“That’s correct.”

“Do you know why someone would do that?”

She shook her head, parting her lips.

“Isn’t it your job to figure out the motives behind a criminal’s behavior?” I chimed in.

“It is. But considering you both mentioned to the local police that you suspect William Pierce is responsible for this, it seems a reasonable question given Ms. Prescott’s close relationship to him.” Myers returned his attention to Imogene. “Any idea why he might not only return these photos to your bookshelf after you’d taken them down, but also alter them to replace Samuel Tate’s image with Mr. Saint’s?”

Imogene hadn’t told the investigators the truth last night. To be honest, I was actually surprised by how convincing she sounded. But there was something different about Agent Myers.

Almost like he already knew the truth.

But how?

“I can’t possibly try to rationalize Liam’s actions,” she said finally. “I’ve realized I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.”

“Did Mr. Pierce have access to your townhouse?” he asked, his voice smooth and controlled as he steered the conversation.

“He…he did at one point,” Imogene answered. “But I changed the code a few weeks ago.”

Myers arched a brow, clearly intrigued. “Can I ask why?”

She swallowed, choosing her words carefully. “My dog, Ollie…he was poisoned. Just a little over a week before the crash.”

“Did you report this incident?”

Imogene’s shoulders tensed, and I knew she was struggling to maintain composure. “I didn’t think it was necessary. There was no proof anyone had broken in. It’s possible my dog could have consumed the antifreeze when we were out for a walk, but I changed the code, just to be safe.”

Myers looked back at me, and I could see the silent calculation in his eyes, as if he was trying to put a convoluted puzzle together without all the pieces.

Finally, he tucked his notepad away and pushed to stand.

“I’ll let you get on with your day.” He looked from me to Imogene. “If you think of anything else, make sure to call.”

I escorted him to the front door, the tension in the air thickening with every step.

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