Page 23 of Secrets Along the Shore
It seemedwrong to go to work. It felt disrespectful to engage in the routine of life when Sophia’s body lay in the morgue, her death unsolved. I knew that Reuben and Dickson and the entire force were putting all their efforts into solving her murder, but it didn’t make me feel any better.
Thetap tap tapof Elsie’s computer keyboard sounded in my ears as I sat frozen in my desk chair staring at my monitor. The chickens were quiet in their clucking today. Lisa was on the show floor talking about gas fireplaces to customers in the middle of a new home build. I don’t know where the other two were, but probably somewhere gossiping while they pretended to work.
So here I sat. Contemplating snakes, murder, and crime scenes, andbattling between my desire to pull back inside of myself and tune it all out, or continuing on my current trajectory.
I reached for my coffee thermos and took a sip, remembering early in the morning when I’d stopped at the coffee shop to fill it on the way to work.
“It’s not your responsibility.” Livia had tried to encourage me this morning when I’d stopped by the coffee shop on my way to work. “You’ve been through enough, Noa, you don’t have any obligation to place yourself back into the middle of an investigation that has nothing to do with you.”
“Reuben thinks it does.” I’d taken a sip of coffee and burned my tongue.
“Reuben thinks everything is related to your case.” Livia had given me another one of her brutally honest but super kind, chocolate-eyed stares. She had more than proven her friendship to me, and I was grateful for it. Even now, when she wasn’t beside me, Livia was unknowingly helping me refocus.
Now, I repositioned my thermos back on the desk and determined to pay attention to my job. I studied the scheduling program, trying to fathom why Mr. Archer had his office ladies scheduling the installers job sites when we had literally no idea how long each project took.
But such was the case. And somehow—big surprise—the job of scheduling landed in my lap because I had the gumption to actuallyaskthe guys their opinion on the matter.
Like now. Someone—probably Lisa—had scheduled the same crew to install a fireplace and air conditioning unit on the same day in two separate counties.
I shoved away the constant nagging awareness of Sophia’s murder only forty-eight hours ago, and I snatched the two job orders and hiked my way to the warehouse. If I was lucky, one of the crew chiefs would be there and could settle once and for all if those two jobs could actually be completed in a day.
I wasn’t prepared for the sweltering heat that assaulted my face and even less so for the warehouse to be so empty. My tennis shoes didn’t make a sound on the concrete floor as I maneuvered down the aisles stocked floor to ceiling with boxes of single-, double-, and triple-wall stovepipe. One aisle alone had pallets with air conditioning units on them, and the shelves above them had piping and who knew what else that was necessary for installing one of those beasts.
I’d thought I’d at least run into Alan, the warehouse manager. He was a nice guy in his forties, divorced, quiet, and a hard worker. So it was unusual for him not to be around.
“Alan?” My voice echoed off the metal rafters.
He had probably gone out back for a smoke. The guys did that as often as they took coffee breaks and bathroom breaks. I made my way to the back entrance, the door was slightly ajar. I’d planned to open it fully and step through, but voices stopped me. No. Honestly? It was my curiosity that stopped me. Because one of the voices I didn’t recognize.
“Seriously, man. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Alan said.
“I’ve got no alibi.” The unknown voice perked my ears.
I stood frozen at the door, clutching the job orders in my hand.
“Listen. Don’t panic. You’ve got nothing to hide.”
“They’ve got me under a microscope. I just spent the last six hours being interrogated!”
I sagged against the warehouse wall, its metal cool against my shoulder.
This had to be about Sophia’s murder. Reuben hadn’t told me of any suspects in the case, but apparently, they had at least one. It wouldn’t surprise me if it was Dereck, Sophia’s boyfriend.
“Did you get a lawyer?” Alan pressed.
“Why do I need a lawyer? I’m not guilty of anything!” Desperation saturated the other man’s voice.
“Always get a lawyer,” Alan said.
He wasn’t wrong. Every TV crime show taught you that.
“I can’t afford a lawyer. And if I get a lawyer then I look guilty!”
“No, you look smart!” I heard what sounded like athwackof a hand against a solid object—or one guy casually slugging another guy’s arm. “Dereck, think about it. Think it through, man.”
Dereck. I was right.
“If you didn’t do anything, then you want to make sure you’re not coerced into a confession.”
