Page 95 of Luck of the Devil
His brow shot up in mock surprise. “You expect me to believe you prefer my way of handling it to Deveraux’s by-the-books approach?”
“Were either of the two cases we worked together by the books?” I countered. “I could have turned you in for the Sylvester brothers’ murders and I wouldn’t have been held accountable.” I drew a breath. “I’ll be honest, at the time, I didn’t understand why I didn’t turn you in, but I was never tempted to report you. And you and I both know we violated quite a few rules while investigating Hugo Burton’s disappearance.”
He cocked his head, his face still a mask of indifference. “Much to your reluctance.”
“But I stayed anyway,” I said, then my tone softened as the truth sunk in. “I stayed.”
At the time, I’d told myself I was cutting corners to solve the case, but if I were totally honest, that wasn’t the only reason.
Something flashed in his eyes that looked remarkably like panic, but it was gone just as quickly. He stood. “It’s been a long-ass day. I’m goin’ to bed. The guest bedroom is the one in the front.”
I stood too. “Do you believe me?”
“Do I have reason not to?” he countered, one brow cocked.
“I have no intention of betraying you, James,” I said solemnly.
He gave me a sad smile, then shook his head. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” And with that, he turned and walked down the short hall.
I stayed in place until I heard the soft click of his door, wondering what he’d meant and why it scared him.
Chapter 25
The guest bedroom was nice but sparsely furnished. After I went into the bathroom to get ready for bed, I refilled my glass of water and saw the pill bottle on the counter.
I hadn’t properly thanked him for getting it, and I was grateful. Monitoring the pills would hopefully be safer than sneaking swigs of alcohol. The temptation to drink would probably never go away. If I could get through withdrawal without caving, then maybe I had a shot at sobriety.
One thing was certain: I didn’t want to go back to the place where I’d been. Even if James tossed me out on my ass in the morning.
Despite the remarkably comfortable mattress, I didn’t sleep well. Partly because I’d slept so much in the car, but mostly because of how James and I had left things. He hadn’t kicked me out or turned his back on me, but I almost wished he had. My guilt might be easier to deal with. Maybe he was only putting up with me because he wanted to see this case through, and once we were done, we were done.
If so, I’d brought it upon myself.
I had a million excuses for why I’d called Deveraux, but the bottom line was I hadn’t trusted James. He’d told me not to trust him, and I’d taken him at his word.
While I regretted what I’d done, I couldn’t change it. All I could do was own it. If James couldn’t forgive me, then I’d have to find a way to accept it.
Since I was up at the crack of dawn, I got up and made a pot of coffee, then took a cup onto James’s porch and enjoyed the view of the woods surrounding the house. A single lane asphalt road cut through the trees and curved out of sight. I had no idea how far we were from a road, but it was obvious James enjoyed his privacy.
The thought cut deep.
I wondered again how many people he’d brought here. I suspected not many, and after what he likely saw as my betrayal, I doubted I’d ever be here again.
I brought my mother’s laptop onto the porch and looked up Dale Ambrose. The accident had happened long enough ago that it took some digging to find it, and even then, there was nothing but a quick mention in the Jackson Creek newspaper. The report said he’d lost control of his car and driven off the bridge into the river. There was no mention of witnesses, so I opened my PI websites and did some digging to find the police report. It had been a cursory investigation. The report said a witness had seen the back end of the car sticking out of the river, but no one had seen the vehicle go in. There hadn’t been an autopsy, and the case had quickly been closed. It was a very tidy way to get rid of someone. Especially since the Jackson Creek police were known for their laziness.
The question was why the Jackson Creek police had investigated the case given it was outside of their jurisdiction. I considered asking Louise, but she likely hadn’t been in the department long enough to know. Detective Jones, who’d met with me about the Burton case, was next on my list. While he’d likely been around long enough to know the history of the Lone County Sheriff’s Department’s history with the Jackson Creek police, there was a good chance he hadn’t been employed by them that far back. Still, it was possible. The accident had happened about twenty-four years ago, and I’d pegged him to be in his early forties.
A quick glance at the clock on the laptop confirmed it was too early to call him without looking suspicious, so I put it on my mental list to follow up on later.
Next, I searched my father’s name, but there were multiple pages of listings to sort through. He’d been mayor of Jackson Creek for several years, and he’d been active in the community before that. After searching for nearly an hour, I didn’t find anything suspicious. If he’d been involved in something shady, he’d covered his tracks. However, Google searches rarely provided evidence in an investigation. At most, it might point to a door to open. The best sources were people closest to the suspect, but it would be a challenge to talk to his friends and business associates without raising red flags.
I looked up the hours of my mother’s bank, but it occurred to me there was a good chance the safe deposit box wasn’t at her regular bank. That would make it harder for me to track down, but if my father was really after the information, it would make it harder for him too.
I tried to put myself in my mother’s head. If James and I were right, she hadn’t wanted me to know anything unless I started asking questions about her death or disappearance. Somehow, she’d intuited I would go to her sister, which meant she must have had a plan for me to access the box.
Safe deposit boxes had signature cards—the signature of the people who were allowed access to the box, and I knew I hadn’t signed one. But if she’d left me a key, she must have made some kind of arrangement for me to get in it. The only legal way I could get in was if she’d changed her will.
James and I hadn’t found anything about the will or the box in her house, and there hadn’t been anything on her computer. Where would she have kept that information?
