Page 42 of Griffin
"This might seem random, but have you been following the influencer murder case?"
"The Roxi Carhill murder? Yeah, it's the only thing that comes up on my news feed. I guess they went straight to the boyfriend, but he had an alibi. When you put yourself out there like that, you know, those influencers are like celebrities. She was a looker too. Probably had a few stalkers and obsessed fans just waiting for the right opportunity."
"Right. About that." I pulled out my phone. "My dad has a new office manager. Shay is amazing, but she is married to this total nightmare. He's abusive. A real dick. He drives a big rig, so he leaves a lot and that has sort of been her salvation. He also follows pretty influencers. Stares at his phone a lot, apparently. Another thing that helps her survive."
Adams shook his head. "Man, I love putting away assholes like that."
"Yep. Well, he got home early from a job, a week early, and Shay was dumping out his bag to do laundry, and this was in the clothes." I showed him the photo of the bandana. He read the text below it.
Adams looked at me. "Well, shit."
"Yeah. Shit."
"It doesn't necessarily mean anything. Maybe he decided to buy a bandana because sweat was getting in his eyes. Or maybe he found it at a roadside stop or maybe?—"
"Or maybe this asshole killed Roxi Carhill." My words took the color out of his face. Adams had to deal with the occasional brawl, something that usually involved a Stone, or nasty traffic accident, but I was sure he'd never chased down a killer.
Adams rubbed his chin in thought. "Not sure if it's enough to bring him in for questioning. I better call some of the higher-ups and see how to proceed with this. I know they've got a big team on the case. Send me the photo, and I'll get the ball rolling. Is his wife safe?"
"I wouldn't bet on that, but I'm going to find out."
"Fin, don't get yourself in trouble. Let the officials take care of this."
I stared back at him with a raised brow.
Adams shook his head. "Right. I'm talking to a Stone. You know, the name really works for you guys cuz sometimes it's like talking to a stone wall. Just don't get hurt or hurt anybody. And yes, as I said that I realized how stupid that sounded too."
I patted the countertop. "Thanks, Adams." I turned to leave.
"Hey, Fin, this woman, she's more than just an office manager, isn't she?"
"You're getting real good at this detective stuff, Adams. They ought to promote you." That left him with a smile. I walked out to the truck and pulled out my phone. "I need an update, or I'm coming over there." I texted.
"He's out working on his truck right now, so I'm fine. I'll keep you posted."
"I'll be waiting."
TWENTY-EIGHT
SHAY
Tate was out at the truck, and I had a few minutes to grab and bag evidence. I'd gone into full amateur detective mode. If Tate killed Roxi, then I wanted to be the person to bring the bastard down. He'd made my life hell for the past few years, and it would give me no small amount of pleasure to be the one to send him off to prison for the rest of his life. I'd be free, and I'd also feel a nice bit of satisfaction knowing the rest of his days would be as miserable as mine had been. He'd finally learn what it was like to be a prisoner, and I couldn't have wished it on a more deserving person.
I'd been checking my phone every few minutes to keep on top of any updates on the case. No one else had been arrested yet. I was sure after they'd jumped so quickly on Toby, the police were stepping back and taking their time to make sure they didn't make another mistake. It was one of those cases where every arrest, every piece of evidence, every turn in a certain direction would be blasted across the internet, and it wouldn't look good for them to grab the wrong person twice.
Tate came inside. "I'm borrowing your car. Need to get a part," he said. I heard him grab my keys off the hook and walk out. I waited for him to drive off and then I put part two of my sleuth plan into place. I pulled on a pair of knit gloves, so I wouldn't mess up any fingerprints or, worse, add mine to the mix. I was already having exciting visions of police swarmed around his truck collecting forensic evidence.
The chill had burned off, and a nice fall day had popped out from the earlier clouds. Tate's tools were strewn along the driveway, and the hood was still up. I hurried across and hoisted myself up into the driver's side. I scrunched up my nose at the smell. It was a Tate smell, his mix of aftershave and his occasional cigar and the foul odor that just naturally occurred around the man. He kept his truck cab fairly neat. There were two candy bar wrappers sitting on the passenger seat, and a water thermos was jammed down next to the driver's seat. I wasn't sure what I was looking for. I hoped something alarming and wonderfully criminal would jump out at me. I twisted around and climbed into his sleeping quarters. His blanket had been rolled up, and it sat on top of his pillow. A silver gum wrapper glittered in the sunlight coming through the back window of the truck. I picked it up and smelled it. Cinnamon. It was Tate's favorite kind of gum. I set it back down where I found it.
The truck wobbled and the driver's door flew open. I nearly fell off the seat. "What the fuck are you doing?" Tate barked.
"Nothing. I just haven't sat up here in a long time. Remember when you used to take me on rides?" I worked hard and added in a little chuckle, but it came out like a frog's croak.
"Get out," he said in a deadly quiet tone.
My entire body started shaking. I pulled the gloves off and shoved them into my pocket, hoping he wouldn't notice. Climbing down from the seat took all my concentration. I missed the step twice and nearly fell. And Tate wouldn't do anything to stop that fall.
My feet reached the ground. My eyes darted around to see if there was an escape route, but Tate was right in front of me. He would have grabbed my arm if I dashed in either direction. I continued with the playing it cool act and forced a smile.
