“The part I’m having trouble with,” her boss said, “is why was Henderson’s widow so convinced the woman was having an affair with her husband if it was really Legard?”
“Cherry may have lied about that as well. It’s entirely possible she was involved with both.”
“We may have no choice but to see what Mr. Inglewood believes happened.”
“Maybe.”
For now, Finley wanted some answers from Olivia Legard.
The hotel lobby was surprisingly deserted as they walked through to the bank of elevators. During the ride up, Jack said, “Wallace turned in his resignation today.”
“Why?” The guy was barely out of law school when Jack gave him a job. Paid him way too much in Finley’s opinion.
“Said he’s moving to Alabama with his new fiancée. Apparently, her folks live in the Birmingham area and the two of them have decided to relocate.”
“Do you have anyone else on your radar?”
“Why would I need anyone else? I have you.”
The elevator stopped, the doors slid open, and Finley still hadn’t decided exactly how to respond.
They exited the car and headed toward Olivia’s room. A housekeeping cart was parked in the corridor, and Olivia’s door was open.
Jack made a face. “If she’s not answering her phone and she’s not here, we’ve got a real problem, Fin.”
“Tell me about it.”
They walked past the room. The door was ajar, and housekeeping was inside. Seemed late in the day for housekeeping rounds, but this may have been a busier-than-usual checkout day.
Finley paused. “Go back to the lobby and wait for me. I’m going in there.”
“I’ll be at the bar. I need a Pepsi.”
“Order one for me too.”
As Finley walked back to Olivia’s door, she took out her cell and focused on the screen, then walked inside.
“I’m almost finished,” a female voice said.
“No problem.” Finley kept her face turned downward. The room was a suite, so she left the housekeeper to her work in the sitting room and disappeared into the bedroom. She’d learned a long time ago if you did a good job of acting like you were supposed to be somewhere, people generally believed it. Most people assumed most other people were doing what they were supposed to be doing.
The bedroom was empty. No big surprise.
Bed was made. Finley checked the nightstands. Both were empty. On the right side of the bed, a phone charger lay on the bedside table. She moved to the dresser and picked through the items in the drawers. Underwear. Feminine products. Every item was arranged carefully. Undergarments folded precisely and stacked in neat rows. The closet was the same. Each dress, blouse, and pair of slacks hung on its hanger the exact same distance from the garment hanging next to it.
“Can you say too much time on her hands?” Finley mumbled.
Two pairs of flats, three sets of heels, and one pair of sneakers lined the closet floor. Most were sandals. She crouched down and checked inside the sneakers. Mud smeared on her palm. She turned the pair over. Muddy.
She hummed a curious note. “Where have you been in the mud, Olivia?”
Finley thought of Cecelia showing up at her house and then disappearing. Had she gotten mud on these sneakers at Finley’s house and then put them here to frame Olivia? Finley couldn’t remember what kind of shoes she had been wearing. Or maybe Olivia had taken a walk in Finley’s muddy backyard to make it look as if Cecelia was trying to frame her.
She closed the closet doors and checked the bathroom. Cosmetics and the usual bath products. Toothbrush was dry. Inside the shower and tub were dry. No dirty clothes strewed about. Didn’t seem as though Olivia had been back last night. At least not for long.
The door in the other room slammed, and Finley stilled. Hopefully the housekeeper had finished and left. If Olivia had returned, Finley would have some explaining to do.
To err on the safe side, she flushed the toilet and walked through the bedroom and into the sitting room. She’d dropped by to check on Olivia and realized she desperately needed to use the bathroom. Housekeeper was here, so Finley figured Olivia wouldn’t mind.
She needn’t have worried. She was alone.
“Where are you, Olivia?”
28
9:25 p.m.
The Murder House
Shelby Avenue
Nashville
When Finley pulled into her driveway, her headlights flashed over a figure standing on her front porch.
Olivia.
Finley wanted to storm up to the porch and rant at her, but since she’d had the opportunity to snoop in her room, she decided not to bother. She emerged from the car and rounded the hood.