Cherry stared at the photo for a moment, then nodded. “That’s her. Definitely.”
Wow. “Her father is the Davidson County district attorney,” Finley explained, more than a little stunned. “You’re sure about this?”
Cherry made a scoffing sound. “Oh yes. I’m certain—and I’m also certain he had no clue what his daughter was up to. Drugs, crazy sex parties. She and Cecelia were constantly trying to outdo each other with some challenge.”
“What sort of challenges?”
She shrugged. “Like sneaking into stranger’s homes and watching them. God only knows what all they did. I’m talking insanely wild. Once Lance said something like ‘serial killers in the making.’” Cherry winced. “He was probably kidding.”
But was he?
Bethany Briggs. No wonder Finley’s former boss was so concerned about this case. His daughter had been best friends with one of the potential suspects.
Finley removed a card from her bag and passed it to the other woman. “Please call me if you think of anything else that might help sort out this business.”
“Of course.”
They were nearly to the door when a boy rushed in, sending Cherry back a step.
“Slow down, sweetie,” she chided.
“Mom! Wait until you see—” He stopped. Stared at Finley.
Finley smiled as Cherry introduced her son. He did resemble the multitude of Elton Inglewood images plastered all over the net. But was that because Cherry had suggested it? Suggestion was a powerful influencer.
Checking out Inglewood’s airtight alibi went on Finley’s agenda. Right behind Bethany Briggs and Alisha Arrington.
14
3:05 p.m.
Inglewood Residence
Morning Glory Court
Brentwood
“Damn it.” Finley gripped her cell tighter as the call to Jack went to voice mail. She needed to talk to him. “Jack, call me as soon as you get this message. We need to talk.”
She tossed her cell into the passenger seat and braked outside the gate of the Inglewood home before easing onto the street. The revelation about Legard’s affair with Cherry was definitely a huge twist in the optics of this case. No question. But the idea that the darling Bethany Briggs, who’d graduated from Vanderbilt with her nursing degree so she could dedicate her life to helping others, had been such a wild teenager gave Finley inordinate satisfaction.
How many times had she heard DA Briggs boast about his only child and how brilliant she was? She was going to be a doctor—a surgeon no less. But then she’d spent a summer in some third world country volunteering with Doctors Without Borders and realized what the world really needed was more nurses.
Bethany this and Bethany that.
Finley had read Bethany’s engagement announcement in the Tennessean a couple of months ago. She hadn’t become a surgeon herself, but she’d snagged herself one for a fiancé. Finley felt certain the DA was immensely proud.
Since Briggs had so loved to brag, Finley knew exactly where to look for Bethany. She worked at Vanderbilt hospital, and she lived on Acklen Park Drive in one of the glamorous condos on the corner at Long Boulevard, mere walking distance from the hospital. Finley opted to try her residence first. Finding her at the hospital would be a little more complicated in light of the increasingly tight security measures. She mentally ran through the list of her contacts in the medical field, particularly anyone who worked at Vanderbilt, in the event going to the hospital was her only option.
By the time she reached the ultramodern building where Bethany lived, Finley had come up with three good contacts employed at Vanderbilt. If the former wild child was not home, Finley would call in some markers. A good lawyer—or investigator—was always happy to do favors. When people owed you one thing or another, they were easier to manipulate. Sounded illicit, but it was the nature of the beast. Information was power.
Thankfully there were only four units in the building. She started at the top, ringing buzzers.
“It’s me,” Finley said, using her jolliest tone. “I’m here!”
“Who is this?” came the stern response.
“Bethany?” Finley asked, going for puzzled.
No response.
On to the next buzzer.
“Hello?”
Older voice. Definitely not Bethany’s. Finley decided to go for a more direct approach this time. “Is Bethany home?”
Silence.
Well, hell.
“She is not. May I leave her a message?”
Didn’t really sound like Bethany’s mother. When Finley didn’t immediately respond, the woman tacked on, “I’m her housekeeper. I can leave her a note for you.”