“I think it’s someone more personal than that,” Arlo suggested.
“An Alisha Arrington visited him once a month from shortly after he arrived at Riverbend until a few months ago. She signed the log as his sister. You heard anything about her?”
He considered the name for a moment. “Doesn’t ring a bell, but I’ll ask around. If this is right, I’m guessing the woman has more to do with Charlie’s sudden change of heart than the Preacher, since he claims he has a family.”
Finley agreed. It made a certain sense in terms of the timing. Holmes had been silent all this time, and suddenly he was ready to tell the whole story. If the notoriety garnered him a book deal or something on that order, he could certainly support a family. Especially if this sister got tired of visiting him in prison, as it appeared she had. Maybe he needed to make an impression for her. Or, more likely, money.
“I need anything you can find on this family. Whatever you can get.” Anticipation burned across her nerve endings. This could be a significant break.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Any other rumors going around about Holmes?” she asked. “Maybe speculation about the Legard case?”
“Not so far, but I’ve got my ear to the ground.”
They talked about how he was doing, and he asked Finley to check in on his mother. Then the bell signaling the end of visitation sounded.
“See you soon,” he said as he got up to leave.
“Thanks, Arlo.”
That familiar urgency she felt when she was onto something was pulsing through her veins on a burst of adrenaline. This female visitor was important. Finley felt it all the way to her bones.
She checked in with Mickey via text. He’d had no luck hooking her up with the Preacher. Maybe tomorrow. At least she wasn’t leaving empty handed.
Beyond the exit doors the humidity met her like a wall of Jell-O. The parking lot was all but empty now. The shiny red sports car parked next to her dusty Subaru stood out like a sore thumb. As she hurried to her car, the driver’s door of the red car—a Porsche no less—opened. A man sporting dark sunglasses emerged.
“Ms. O’Sullivan, I’ve been waiting for you.”
Thirtyish. Dark skinned. Maybe Hispanic. Tall, dressed like a businessman. The sort who made an impression. Not someone she’d met before. She would remember.
She leveled a long look at him across the top of her car. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”
“My name is Xavier Stratford. Like you, I’m an investigator for a law firm.”
Now she got it. “You work for Siniard.”
“I do.”
“Then I suppose you’re here for the same reason as me.”
“I don’t think so.” He removed his sunglasses and leaned on her car. “You see, you can’t interview our client without our express permission. I certainly hope that’s not why you’re here.”
“Of course not. Why would I break the law? Have a nice day, Mr. Stratford.” With that she climbed into her car. Started the engine, turned the air-conditioning to full blast, and sped out of the parking spot, sending Mr. Stratford reeling back against his own car. She so disliked arrogance.
Siniard had eyes on the competition. No surprise there. He hadn’t achieved the reputation he had by sitting back and allowing the other side to get one or more steps ahead of him.
Siniard wouldn’t want Jack or his people anywhere near Riverbend.
Nothing he could do about her visiting the firm’s own client. If their client passed along some sort of info about Holmes, there was nothing Siniard could do about that either.
For now, Finley’s top priority was finding the mystery woman—Alisha Arrington.
13
1:28 p.m.
Inglewood Residence
Morning Glory Court
Brentwood
An invitation from Mrs. Elton Inglewood, formerly Cherry Prescott, waylaid Finley’s hunt for Alisha Arrington. Braking to a stop at the towering iron gates, Finley pressed the intercom button and provided her name. The gates slowly glided open, and she rolled forward. The Inglewood home defined the term modern mansion. Twelve or fifteen thousand feet at least. Two acres on a cul-de-sac in an exclusive neighborhood. The hand-cut-limestone house was more palace than home.
“My, my. You’ve come a long way, baby.” This was Finley’s first up-close look at the place. Last time she hadn’t gotten past the gate. The dense landscape made seeing the house from the street all but impossible.
Her cell buzzed deep in her bag. She shifted into park and dug for it.