Page 59 of Justice Delayed

“Nothing.”

“What does that mean?” He should have sprung for a larger coffee. Maybe the extra caffeine would sharpen his brain and help to make sense of the information from Presley.

Presley smiled. “It means she studied our badges, gave a little half smile, folded her arms, and simply waited us out. It’s rare to come across anyone who could keep quiet for a solid hour. My partner, Belinda Carlisle, tried to engage her in girl talk, but Harman ignored her.”

Brogan considered what little information Presley had given him. “All you’ve told me is Melender’s reaction to visits from the FBI during her incarceration. If you don’t mind my asking, why did you want to meet with me?”

“I heard you were looking into the case.”

“So you said when you called me.” Brogan’s impression that this was a wild goose chase growing with every minute.

The other man regarded him steadily. “I’ve read the entire FB file of this case more than once because I thought justice hadn’t been served.”

“You think Melender’s innocent.”

“Despite the circumstantial evidence, my gut tells me that Melender Harman had nothing to do with whatever happened to that little boy.” The other man drained his coffee. “If I were looking into this again, I would start with the family.”

“You think someone in the Thompson household is behind Jesse’s disappearance?” Brogan wouldn’t be surprised if a relative—father, mother, sister, brother—harmed their own flesh and blood. He’d written too many stories over the years about the awful things family did to one another.

The former agent shook his head. “That I don’t know. What I do know is that Quentin is protecting someone. Whether it’s because that someone was directly involved with whatever happened to Jesse…” He let the thought trail off.

“That’s what you want me to find out.”

Presley stood, his gaze on Brogan. “I think it’s high time Ms. Harman had someone in her corner who will fight for her.”

ChapterTwenty-Four

As Melender entered the Trent home, she breathed in the aroma of fresh bread and chicken with a hint of rosemary and thyme. The scent took her back to her childhood, standing on a stool in front of the old wood-burning cook stove in Sudie’s kitchen to stir the simmering soup. Tears pressed her eyelids as a fierce longing for her grandmother’s warm embrace shuddered through her. In the kitchen, Mrs. Trent wiped her hands on a towel. A large pot bubbled on one of the burners and bread cooled on the counter.

“Melender, I thought you’d be gone all afternoon.” Mrs. Trent greeted her with a smile.

“We finished earlier than expected.” Melender left out that she’d spent the past forty-five minutes walking around the neighborhood to settle her thoughts about Brogan before entering the house. Now, to avoid more questions about her outing with Brogan, she redirected the conversation to safer ground. “Something smells good.”

“My grandmother’s chicken soup recipe, guaranteed to sooth away any sickness in one mouthful.” Mrs. Trent lifted the lid and stirred the pot’s contents with a long-handled wooden spoon.

Melender inhaled deeply. “Too bad it doesn’t provide a balm to the soul as well.”

Mrs. Trent replaced the lid and set the utensil on a cat-shaped spoon rest. “It’s been known to calm the mind.” She shot Melender a knowing glance. “Is my nephew giving you a hard time?”

Melender ducked her head at the straightforward question. How on earth did she answer that without revealing more than she wanted to?

“Ah, I can see by the look on your face he has.” Mrs. Trent chuckled as she wiped up a spill by the stove. “I’m not surprised. You’re as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof and Brogan, well, he’s as jumpy as a caged tiger.”

That was one way to sum up the situation. Curiosity compelled her to question Brogan’s aunt. “What has he told you?”

“About you?”

Melender nodded as she leaned against the counter.

“Not much, beyond the basic facts.” Mrs. Trent plugged in the electric kettle. “How about I make us a cup of tea?”

“That sounds lovely. Let me wash up first.” Melender ducked downstairs, glad for a few minutes to regain her composure. She had been so sure that catching Jared in a lie about the night Jesse disappeared would be enough evidence to propel a deeper look into the case. But now that she thought about it, Brogan was right. She needed hard proof that someone else committed the crime before law enforcement would take another look at the kidnapping.

When she came back upstairs, Mrs. Trent was pouring boiling water into a tea pot.

Not sure she was ready for a tête-à-tête with Brogan’s aunt but wanting to hear more about Brogan, Melender seized on a diversion. “I noticed you have a lot of what look like journals on the shelves of the bookcase at the foot of the stairs. Are those family writings?”

“Oh, no.” Mrs. Trent smiled as she set sugar and cream on the counter. “As you know, my husband’s work is collecting and studying American folk songs. That’s part of his collection of diaries written by Appalachian women.”

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