Page 143 of You Betrayed Me (The Cahills 3)

She shook her head.

“Did you see her afterward?”

“The next day at work, and she acted like nothing had happened, y’know?” She rotated the glass once more, and Rivers noted her fingernails were chewed, polish gone at the tips. “Anyway, I told Bruce, and he said to forget it, that it was nothing, that she was upset. You know like when someone gets mad and says, ‘I could kill him,’ but it’s just because they’re upset; they’re not going to kill anyone.”

Mendoza eyed her.

Andie added, “So I didn’t say anything, just kept it to myself, like Bruce said.” She looked miserable. “But now . . . But now she’s been gone over a week, and I saw on the news that the police were asking for help, there’s even a ‘Find Megan’ group on Facebook and Instagram and whatever. So I thought maybe I should tell you.” Her face crumpled.

“You were right,” Mendoza said.

“But it’s off the record, right?”

Rivers asked, “Did she and James fight often?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it ever physical?” he pushed. “Did she come in with bruises or—”

“No! Nothing like that. She’s the one with the temper.”

Rivers wondered about that.

“Was there anything else she said or did that was odd in the days leading up to her disappearance?”

Andie shook her head. “Not really. She was maybe a little tenser than usual, but with Megan, it’s kinda hard to tell. Like I said, she’s pretty emotional.” She checked the clock over the revolving pie case in the corner and sucked in her breath. “Oh, darn. I gotta go.” She started gathering her coat. “I’m gonna be late, and Doctor McEwen has himself a little fit if you’re, like, more than thirty seconds late.”

“If you think of anything else, call me,” Mendoza said, but Andie was already sliding out of the booth and race-walking to the glass doors.

“Don’t count on it.” Rivers reached for his wallet and paid for the three drinks, noting that Andie hadn’t taken so much as a sip of hers. He wondered about her, and about her boyfriend who wanted her to avoid the law. That was the trouble with this case, he thought as they walked outside to the blast of raw wind blowing across the parking lot. The more answers he found, the more questions that arose. It was beyond being idled or stalled. It felt like actual backpedaling.

He slid behind the wheel and flicked the starter, his Jeep’s engine roaring to life. He needed to get back to the essence of it all, he figured, as Mendoza buckled up, and that was:

Who would benefit most if Megan Travers were out of the picture? That person was the key to it all.

Sophia Russo was the first person who came to mind. With Megan out of the picture, she could be the center of James Cahill’s attention.

What about Rebecca Travers? Sure, she seemed interested in what had happened to her sister, but was it just an act? She and her sister had been at odds often enough, and Megan had stolen Mr. Wonderful—James Cahill—away from her.

He pulled out of the lot and headed back to the station.

Jennifer Korpi was another ex who was connected with Cahill and, despite her protestations, didn’t seem over him.

Or was this whole scorned-woman thing overrated?

According to Andie, Megan thought James Cahill was capable of doing her bodily harm. If anything happens to me, it’s James, his fault.

Was he a murderer? One with an accomplice? So that he could suffer an attack, but survive, and whoever was involved with him would take care of Megan—follow her? Chase her down? Did that hang together?

Charity Spritz had been in San Francisco when she’d been murdered. What had she dug up? Maybe something about the Cahill family? Something someone didn’t want anyone to find out?

Or had it been about Megan? She and Rebecca had grown up in the area. He wondered again what Charity Spritz had known, what she’d been doing in San Francisco, and what, if anything, her death had to do with the mystery surrounding Megan Travers.

If Rivers was a betting man—and he was—he’d put his badge on the line, wagering that the two cases were linked. But then, that was an easy bet. Charity Spritz had been onto something in San Francisco, something that had gotten her killed.

CHAPTER 37

At noon, Rivers counted three news vans in the parking lot and twice that many reporters gathering around the steps to the Sheriff ’s Department. Rebecca Travers, pale-faced but determined, stood next to the public information officer, Roxy O’Grady. Travers was speaking into the microphone, making a plea for her sister’s safe return, and all eyes were on her as a cold wind blew, rattling the chains of the flagpole and rushing through the branches of the bare shrubbery surrounding the brick building.

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