A tap on her front door drew her thoughts away from the idea and announced her father had decided to pay an unscheduled visit. He was the only visitor who tapped. Jack banged. The man didn’t like to wait. Impatience exuded from him. Matt had a rapid staccato knock that reflected his optimistic attitude and utter certainty that whomever he was visiting would be happy to see him. Anyone else, usually a door-to-door salesperson or religious advocate, used the doorbell—which thankfully didn’t work.
Finley checked the time on her cell. She loved her dad, but this would have to be a short visit. Her trip to Riverbend was all about timing.
She opened the door and smiled. Seeing her father nearly always made her happy—even when she was on a tight schedule. The only exception was when the Judge had sent him to plead on her behalf.
He held up a small paper bag. “I have bagels.”
She hugged him. “Come on in. I’ll make coffee.” She loved the person who’d created single-serving coffee pods. Fast and close enough to brewed to keep her taste buds happy.
When they were settled at the small metal table that had been in the backyard when Derrick bought the house and was given new life as their dining table, her dad passed around the bagels and condiments.
“Your mother says you’re working on the Legard case.” He said this while spreading cream cheese on his bagel. A packet of strawberry jam waited close by to join the cream cheese. Her dad never ate cream cheese without strawberry jam. Routine was his middle name.
Finley dipped a finger into her little tub of cream cheese, licked it off, and then took a bite of bagel. She no longer had a routine. Go with the flow, or fight against it—anything else was basically irrelevant. That was her current motto. “Jack is representing the daughters.”
Her dad nodded slowly, then bit into his bagel.
He and the Judge had discussed the news. Not that Finley was surprised. They’d been married more than half their lives—they talked about everything. The question was, Why had he shown up this morning, bagels in hand? Not that she actually needed to ask. The answer was easy. The Judge had something to say about the case and Finley’s involvement.
“She doesn’t want me on the case,” Finley said, going straight to the most likely point. No doubt the Judge had been privy to the discussion between the unholy trinity.
He frowned innocently. “She didn’t say anything to suggest as much to me.”
Maybe she hadn’t. Then again, her dad worked particularly hard not to take sides. “She probably thinks the case will be too stressful.”
“She does worry about you,” he agreed. “We both do. Especially . . .” One shoulder lifted in a hesitant shrug. “When things happen.”
Aha, the Judge had heard about the convenience store shooting. “It could have happened to anyone,” Finley said without preface. “Nashville is a big city. Robberies happen on a regular basis. It was just my turn to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Statistics. No one could avoid them unless they stayed home twenty-four seven, and even then, criminals broke into private homes all the time. A perfectly logical explanation.
The thought of her missing hairbrush poked at her. She remembered using it last night. But it was nowhere to be found this morning. The towel she’d thrown on the floor after her shower was spread across the rim of the tub. Her discarded clothes were in the hamper. Maybe she’d done those things and forgotten. She’d been tired and distracted last night. Wouldn’t be the first time she’d forgotten something.
Yet, it felt wrong. As if muscle memory were denying any such activities.
Her dad placed his half-eaten bagel on the napkin in front of him and sat silent for a moment. Finley’s senses went on high alert.
“She saw the security video, Fin. She—we—were terrified by what happened.”
Not good. “You saw it, too, I guess.” Great. Graves was at the top of her shit list now for sure.
Her dad nodded. Emotion shining in his eyes. “She showed it to me.”
Appetite gone, Finley pushed the remainder of her bagel away. “It was a snap decision,” she said, going for gentle but not quite making it. “It was an attempt to distract the guy, and it worked. Most likely saved my life as well as the clerk’s.”
Relief flashed in his eyes. “I told her you probably knew exactly what you were doing.”
She reached across the table and grasped his hand. “I knew exactly what I was doing. Trust me.” Did that make her a killer? Maybe. No guilt. The memory of the bastard’s face so close to hers as he growled cruel words flashed. She blinked it away.