Page 41 of Luck of the Devil
I considered it. “Or she packed to be gone for a lengthy period of time just in case she needed to be gone longer, but hoped to be back before Friday.”
We were both silent for a few moments, mulling over the various possibilities.
“You think she was going to her parents’ house?” Malcolm asked breaking the silence.
I shook my head. “Not unless she was planning to surprise them. I didn’t see their number in her call log.”
So where had she been going? The navigational app on her phone might have been able to tell us her planned destination, but she had an older phone. One that wasn’t waterproof.
“Wait,” I said. “Her phone wasn’t in her purse.”
He stared at me for a moment. “You think the sheriff’s office still has it?”
“Maybe. The phone would have been dead once it became submerged. They wouldn’t have been able to get anything from it. They might try to see if they can get anything from the SIM card, but it’s highly unlikely to give them much beyond the phone number and the carrier. That’s if the river sediment didn’t already corrode the metal.” I glanced at the suitcase. “But if I were working the case, I’d take the phone anyway. You never know what you might get.”
“If the sheriff’s department didn’t take the phone, then someone else did?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Or they gave it to my father.” I gestured to the suitcase and purse. “They gave him this.”
“And if he kept the phone … if it’s not waterproof, it’s worthless.” His face darkened. “That seems suspicious.”
“Agreed.”
We were silent again, me trying to come up with a logical explanation for why my father would keep my mother’s phone and came up with nothing. It seemed far more likely the person who’d killed her took it. But why? What could she have on it that they would want?
“Harper,” Malcolm said in a gentle tone. “Go take a shower.”
I gaped at him in surprise.
“I’ll repack all of this, you go shower so we can get on the road to Jonesboro.” When I didn’t move, he lifted a brow. “Fair warning, I’m taking a shower too. Let me know which one you plan to use so I can use the other.”
“I’ll shower in my apartment.”
He gave me a curt nod, then I headed up the stairs to my apartment.
Chapter 12
I emerged from the bathroom about fifteen minutes later—my partially blow-dried hair still damp—then headed into the house wearing a pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt. I’d spent several minutes deciding what to wear, which was unusual for me. Dress pants and a button down would have made me look too much like a cop. I could have worn a dress, but I didn’t have anything casual. So, I’d decided to wear the jeans for a casual touch and dress them up a little with the button down. I grabbed a tweed blazer I’d only worn once before and headed to the house.
When I opened the kitchen door, Malcolm stood in front of the stove, his back to me, wearing jeans and a gray thermal shirt. The smell of bacon made my stomach growl, then churn with nausea.
“You’re cooking breakfast?” I asked in disbelief.
“You think I’m incapable of frying bacon and making eggs?”
“I know you’re perfectly capable; you made me breakfast last week. I just didn’t expect you to do it today. I thought we were in a hurry.”
“I’m hungry and I found bacon and eggs in your mother’s fridge. She obviously won’t be needing them.”
My stomach dropped at the reminder. “True.”
“Besides,” he said, turning back to the stove, “you need to eat. It’ll help with your withdrawal.”
He had a point, but admitting I was going through withdrawal was a still sore subject. “How much longer until it’s ready? If it’s ten minutes or so, I could check in with a couple of neighbors.” Then I added, “That is, if you trust me to talk to them without you.”
“I trust you,” he said without turning around. “And you’ve got about ten minutes, but I’ll keep it warm if you take longer.”
I gave him one last look, unable to ignore the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders and biceps, then practically ran out of the house.
