Finley was counting on her making an in-person attempt. Hopefully right away.
Less than half an hour later, Keaton left her house and hit Interstate 24 all the way to Nashville. Finley followed, keeping a safe distance. Keaton drove to Sylvan Park Lane, parked in front of a neat little bungalow, and went to the door. After a couple of knocks the door opened, and she went inside.
Finley had called Jack during the drive and given him an update. Unless the status had changed in the last half hour, there was still no news on the search for the twins or for Cherry. Finley was more convinced than ever that Cherry was in this up to her eyeballs.
The sister connection could be nothing. A waste of time. But Finley couldn’t ignore it. She thought of all the female followers that had flocked after Holmes. Several had criminal records. Others didn’t. Most were attractive.
But the only one on Finley’s radar was Cherry Prescott Inglewood. She was the right age. She didn’t have the same startling blue eyes as Holmes, but her eyes were definitely blue. Really dark, but blue nonetheless. The rub was that her background search showed her parents were still alive, and there was nothing that suggested she had been adopted. With a private adoption and basically a newborn, it was possible she might not be aware she’d been adopted. Either way, Finley intended to confirm the identity of the sister.
Her cell vibrated on the console. She glanced at the screen.
Matt.
“Hey.” Was she supposed to have called him back on something? Sleep deprivation was scrambling her brain. “Did I forget to call you back?”
“No. No. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. With Cherry Inglewood missing and the twins MIA, I was worried about you. I heard you were questioned downtown.”
Finley leaned fully against the seat. Too damned tired. “Apparently I was the last person besides her husband to talk to Cherry before she disappeared.”
“You believe she’s more a part of this case than you first thought?”
“I do. I tracked down the neighbors of Holmes’s biological parents. Looks like their deaths weren’t as cut and dried as the case file showed.” She shared the details the Wrights had claimed and the news about the little sister as well as her own thoughts regarding her identity.
“Could Inglewood really be the sister?” Matt asked.
“I can’t be sure, but it makes sense. She may have been the mystery woman who visited him. The Alisha Arrington.”
“Keep me posted. I have a dinner meeting tonight, but I want to hear from you when you get home.”
“You got it.”
The call ended, and her full attention shifted to the house across the street. She had googled the address but didn’t find much. The place was a new build. She’d searched Cherry’s parents. Both were still alive and listed as living in the Hermitage area. Maybe this had nothing to do with Cherry. Then again, if Finley was right and Lance Legard had been bothering Cherry, she certainly could have asked her brother to take care of the situation.
Finally Keaton exited the house and hurried back to her car. Her face looked red as if she was angry. She got into her car and zoomed away. Yeah, probably angry. Finley considered following her, but she needed to know who lived in this house . . . who Penelope Keaton had just quarreled with.
Finley was out of the car and walking toward the house before she could overanalyze the situation. She knocked on the door. It flew inward, and a woman glowered at her, then blinked in surprise.
“Can . . .” She shook her head. “Can I help you?”
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes red from crying. So there had been an exchange of some sort.
“My name is Finley O’Sullivan. I’m an investigator.” She stared directly at the woman. “I need to know who you are and why Penelope Keaton came to see you.”
“I can’t talk about this!” The woman’s face crumpled, and she burst into tears, her body slowly sliding down the doorframe to the floor. “My daughter is missing. Oh my God, she’s missing.”
There was her answer. Had to be Cherry’s mother, no matter that this wasn’t listed as her address. Finley crouched down next to her. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I might be able to help.”
The story flowed out of the woman in great gasping chunks. Her name was Elly Prescott. She and her husband hadn’t been able to have children. They’d lived in Winchester decades ago; her husband had been an ER doctor. Officer Keaton was aware of their situation. One night he had come to them with a newborn little girl. He told them the mother had died of a drug overdose and the father was unknown. He hated to see the baby go into foster care. Elly’s husband and Keaton had made a deal. Cherry was that little girl. Now Keaton’s wife was back to say she needed to reveal what had happened to the baby unless Elly was willing to pay her for her silence. The Keatons had come to them for money time and again over the years. It was never enough. But the Prescotts were so afraid of losing their daughter that they did whatever necessary. Even after they moved from Winchester to Hermitage and then to Nashville, the blackmail continued. It seemed they couldn’t escape or hide from Penelope Keaton. And now Cherry was missing. Elly had been instructed to stay home in case Cherry contacted her. Elly’s husband was with Elton and their son, Brantley.