Home > Books > The Last Lie Told (Finley O’Sullivan, #1)(51)

The Last Lie Told (Finley O’Sullivan, #1)(51)

Author:Debra Webb

“Sorry it took so long. What’s up?”

She switched on her blinker for the next turn. “Jack got a call from a friend who says Briggs and Lawrence are suggesting there’s some issue related to me and Derrick’s case. I guess word is getting around. Have you heard anything else?”

“I’ve been in meetings all day, so no, I haven’t heard anything else. But believe me when I say I will find out.”

“Thanks. This is beginning to sound a little conspiratorial.” Finley had that uneasy feeling deep in her gut. This, whatever it was, was deepening, expanding.

“Damn straight it does. Anything else going on? You sound a little stressed.”

“Just the case. I keep finding all these new pieces, and they don’t want to fit neatly together.”

“Sounds to me as if the DA and the chief should be concerned about where the Legard investigation is going.”

“I don’t have anything concrete yet, but it’s stacking up to be a real shake-up.” She thought about how she’d felt things were out of place at home. “There is something else,” she confessed. “The weirdest thing happened this morning. I got up and my hairbrush was missing. The bathroom was tidied up. Not that I mind the tidying up—I just can’t remember doing it. I swear it’s like someone was in my house while I was asleep.”

She wanted to tell him about the man with the beard and sunglasses who worked for Dempsey who’d been watching her. To suggest that maybe he’d come into her house somehow, but she couldn’t without telling him the rest.

Not possible.

Not yet.

Matt was too ethical to understand her actions.

“Where are you now?”

That wasn’t exactly the response she’d expected. “I’m almost home, why?”

“Just stay in the car when you get there. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

The call ended, and she wanted to call him back and tell him she had plans for a long hot bath and some time to think but opted not to bother. Matt was very much like her. When he made up his mind to do something, he wasn’t likely to change it.

When she turned onto her block, a silver sedan parked at the curb in front of her house had her wondering what the hell now. She turned into her drive and parked. Matt had said not to go inside. She glanced at the other car. The driver’s side door had opened, and a man had exited. Not Montrose or anyone else she recognized.

Rather than sit there and wait for her visitor to walk up and knock on her window, she opened the door and got out. The man was youngish, maybe her age, tall, fit. Requisite suit. Gold shield hanging on his pocket.

Definitely a cop.

“Ms. O’Sullivan, I was hoping to catch you.”

Catch her? Had he been waiting for her? For how long? She was going to have to break down and get one of those doorbell monitors.

“Well, you’ve caught me. What can I do for you, Detective?”

He paused a few steps from where she stood. “I’m Eric Houser. I’ve been assigned to your husband’s case.”

The new guy. Okay. She extended her hand. He shook it. Firm shake. Dry palm. Snazzy dresser. Dark hair cut military short. Nice eyes. Attractive face. She thought of one of her grandmother’s sayings: Pretty is as pretty does.

“Let me know if I can help you in any way,” she offered. “It’s been a year. I’d really love to see progress on the investigation.”

“I understand.” He dipped his head in silent acknowledgment. “I know this is difficult for you, but at your convenience I’d like us to sit down and go over that night. Talk about the work that’s been done on the case so far. That sort of thing.”

“I’d invite you in,” she started, “but—”

“No, no.” He held up both hands, palms out. “I’m not here for that now.” He gave her a kind smile. “I wouldn’t ambush you by showing up out of the blue. I just wanted to introduce myself. We can talk whenever is good for you.”

Interesting strategy. He was good too. She would almost believe how kind and considerate he might be if not for the fact she knew her name was being bandied about in a negative way. Then again, he was the new guy. Maybe he wasn’t privy to what the old guard was up to.

“Monday sound okay to you?” she asked. “Ten o’clock?”

“Sure. That’d be great.”

“Your office?”

“If that’s comfortable for you.”

Give me a break. “Sure.”

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