“But you’re not a divorce attorney.”
“She wanted guidance from someone who wasn’t looking at how much they might gain from the case. She was unhappy. She felt she was being emotionally abused by him and her daughters. She wanted out, but she wasn’t sure how to make that happen without losing everything.”
Finley understood exactly where this was going. “She made you believe she needed someone. A protector and savior. That she’d never gone down that road before.”
He nodded. “I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.”
“How did it end?”
“Her husband was murdered, and we just kind of moved apart. She was busy putting the pieces of her life back together, and I was busy trying to rebuild my career. We had a thing, and then it was over.”
A rock settled in Finley’s stomach. She didn’t have to tell him this sounded very much like a motive for murder.
Except this was Jack. He wasn’t a murderer.
“Make sure it stays that way,” Finley warned. As brilliant as Jack was, he could still be a sucker for a woman in distress.
“Since you’re here,” Jack said, dragging her attention back to the present, “Nita sent me the scoop on what she’s dug up on Olivia Legard’s life out in Cali.”
“I’m guessing it’s not as cut and dried as we were anticipating,” Finley suggested.
“Did you really expect it would be?” He headed across the room, yanked back the plastic divider, and stepped into his office.
“That would be a no,” Finley said as she followed. Nothing else about this case had been—why hold out hope now?
Focusing on the wall behind his desk, she surveyed the case board Jack had developed. Headshots of all the players were taped to the wall. He’d created a timeline much the same way a detective would. Dozens of colorful sticky notes were scattered around each photo. His notes. On his wall back at the office were certificates and photos—the artful display of his credentials for clients to see. Here, he pieced together his working scenarios and theories. Like her, Jack had a mind that didn’t stop when he left the office.
He paused at the eight-by-ten of Olivia and tapped the first of about a dozen notes around her image. “We have her college roommate.” He glanced at Finley. “Nita tracked her down in record time. I think you’re rubbing off on her.”
Finley tugged the note from the wall. Holly Thompson. Her address and other pertinent info were listed beneath her name. “She lives in Seattle now?”
Jack nodded. “She’s a high school teacher there.”
“If she’s willing to talk,” Finley offered, “we could use more info on Olivia. Since Cecelia has been here all along, putting together her story has been fairly easy.” Like the identity of her best friend at the time of her father’s murder and the fact that she had been basically housebound right here at home since the murder.
“What we don’t have,” Jack said, “is a handle on Olivia’s life around the time of her father’s murder and in the years since.”
“Other than her college transcript and a few notes from various professors who considered her delightful and bordering on brilliant.” Finley considered the photo of the woman who had bleached her hair blonde so she no longer looked like her twin at first glance. “According to Bethany, Olivia was a loner. Cherry mentioned the same.”
“If we’re lucky,” Jack suggested, “her roommate might have some details about her and her friends at the university. Who knows? Maybe Olivia talked about the murder and her family at some point over the years.”
“I’ll get in touch. See what she’s willing to share.” Face-to-face worked better in these types of interviews, but Finley could start with a phone convo.
In the end, Finley noted, the twins not only lost their father when he was murdered—they lost each other.
Or had they pushed each other away because one or the other was guilty?
15
8:30 p.m.
Drake Motel
Murfreesboro Pike
Nashville
Jack had insisted Finley stay and have dinner with him. He was actually an excellent cook. They hadn’t talked about the case any further. A break was in order. He promised he would not call or visit Sophia Legard without Finley.
For now, the bourbon had stayed in the bottle.
Finley climbed into her Subaru and pulled out of the parking lot. She’d made it half a block before her cell rang.
Matt.
“Hey, thanks for getting back to me.”