Final Mend (17 page)

“What about justice, Detective?”

The detective lifted one brow as he put his knuckle on the desk, on top of the file folder. She knew she was aggravating him, but she knew his kind and knew playing nice wasn't going to get her anywhere. She damn sure wasn't going to play the type of game Lillian would play.

“Brandon Inman's murder will have justice, but not by sharing anything we know with you. So if you'll be so kind to leave us to do our job, we damn sure don't need some woman PI sniffing around and impeding our investigation.”

“I don't see a ring,” Winona said. If he wasn't going to give her anything, one more joust wouldn't hurt.

“Well, you can see your way out.”

• • •

Winona knocked on the door to Brandon's next-door neighbor's home, intending to ask questions about what Ms. Davenport might have seen or heard the day he was killed. She clenched her fists, repressing any sign that might reveal nervousness as she waited for the elderly woman, widowed and retired, to open the door. She only knew that information about Ms. Davenport by the Internet research she'd done while waiting to speak to Detective Rogers.

That was about the only thing she'd gained from visiting the police station: having enough time to do some research on the neighbors. Once she left the station, she'd headed to the district attorney's office, but they wouldn't tell her anything either. She didn't even get to talk to a prosecutor and wondered if the detective had already called and warned them.

She prayed something panned out here and she could go back with news that would make Jake sleep easier at night, but she didn't hold out much hope. She knew how harsh reality was and Jake knew it, too; he'd already suffered way too many tragedies in his life.

The door opened and a slim, short-haired woman, about five-foot-two with hair the color of a tarnished nickel, poked her head out, keeping the door as a shield in front of her.

The woman peered at Winona. “Can I help you?”

“Hi, I'm Winona Wall.” She extended the business card she'd found in the bottom of her purse, thankful it hadn't completely crumpled. If the woman took it and kept it, she'd have a hard time the next time she needed to flash the card. She hadn't had a use for one in more than six months. “Private investigator,” she added.

Ms. Davenport flicked her eyes to the card but didn't take it. “Yes, ma'am?”

“I wanted to question you about the death of the man who lived next door.”

“Brandon Inman?”

“Yes. Did you know him?”

“Yes. Well, I knew of him. He was such a polite young man. And so was his daughter. So young and sweet.”

“I have a few questions about what happened the night he was killed.”

“I've already talked to the police and quite frankly, I've been scared ever since it happened.”

“You have?” Winona drawled, hoping the woman would offer some insight.

Ms. Davenport continued to use the door as a barrier. “How do I know you are who you say you are? I don't feel comfortable with you here.”

“I won't take much of your time and we can talk right here on the porch. I'm trying to help the police and other family members and just have a few questions.”

The woman peered behind Winona, studying the streets. “He was such a nice young man, and I had a break-in at my house just a few days before it happened. Lola down the street did, too. And so did Carl and his wife. But we weren't home when it happened, and only my jewelry was taken. I think Carl said his gun was stolen.”

Winona didn't take much time to process this information for fear the woman would close the door on her. “Did you notice any unusual lurkers around?”

“Well, this neighborhood has so many new people coming and going. A lot of growth. A new house is being built on every corner of every street. So it'd be hard to say for sure, but no. Like I told the police, nothing really stood out to me, save for the day I came home and my door was half open and things were out of place. I called Carl to see if he would mind checking out things for me, and he'd told me he and his wife had already been robbed. So I called the police. I've had friends stay with me ever since, and I've got a new alarm system.”

“Have you heard anything unusual? Any talk around the neighborhood? Anything at all that might give you the creeps?”

“This whole situation gives me the creeps. But then, I know Mr. Inman was involved with a lot of athletes and celebrities. And I heard he liked to help people who really aren't of good reputation. I'm just glad his daughter was found safely.”

“Yes, me too, Ms. Davenport.” Winona studied the squiggles on her notepad, a few questions she'd jotted down that she didn't want to forget. She wasn't getting anywhere with this woman and knew when it was time to head elsewhere. “Okay. Well, thanks for taking the time to talk to me.”

The woman squinted at her. “This whole neighborhood will rest easier when this person is caught.”

“Absolutely. And that's why I'm here. Uh, Ms. Davenport, sometimes the smallest clues net the biggest results. Something you might not think is a big deal could solve the case. So if you remember anything, I'd like you to have my number.” Winona extended the card. She'd just have to deal with not having another one to offer the family across the street.

As luck would have it, the woman didn't take the card, and didn't respond as she slammed the door in her face.

Turning away, Winona strolled across the street. She glanced at her notes. Carl and Cyndi Baker. The police hadn't told her of any burglaries or any investigations of burglaries happening in the same neighborhood when she'd questioned them this morning. It irked her that they'd left out that piece of information, but then again they hadn't been willing to give her any information. The investigator assigned to the case was young, arrogant, and portended he had way too many things to do to complicate his time with a woman.
We're doing everything we can.

Although she hadn't told him who hired her, he'd acted offended that anyone would question his expertise and for anyone in the family to hire a private investigator.

Winona stepped up to the sidewalk on the other side of the street and noticed a woman alight from a van. “Winona Wall?” she called as she rushed forward. She was tall and lanky, with cropped blonde hair and alabaster skin. Winona paused, wondering if this woman would offer the miracle she'd been praying for. Maybe she lived in the area and had heard about Winona questioning neighbors and was here to tell her what she knew.

“Yes?”

The woman thrust a microphone in Winona's face, and suddenly a man with a camera jumped out of the van and charged forward. Winona stepped back, her pulse dulling to a slow throb. Why hadn't she been more aware of her surroundings?

“Is it true you are investigating Brandon Inman's murder?”

Winona gave her a blank stare, dread paving a hole in her stomach. Reporters. It was a high-profile case, and Winona should be careful to remember that.

“Is it true Jacob Inman hired you to investigate his cousin's death?”

“And you are?” Winona managed to say through stiff vocal cords.

“Miranda Blakely, reporter with KJAK News 36. Are you, in fact, investigating the death of Brandon Inman?”

“Do you know anything about the death of Brandon Inman?” Winona asked, turning the questions over to the news reporter even though the tape was rolling and recording.

“Ms. Wall, weren't you involved in another investigation of a missing girl?”

Winona felt her face fall as her whole world came tumbling down. For a split second, she glared, only to whirl around and walk away, careful not to stomp to the truck and reveal the hurt and anger and confusion that streamed through her.

She didn't glance back at them but was sure they continued to record her walking to Jake's truck. No telling what they would say on the news about that tonight.

She wouldn't go to Carl Baker's house today. She wouldn't be going anywhere else except back to her hotel, and only after she knew no paparazzi followed her.

After Kayla's death, the local reporters had been relentless. The town had suffered tremendous shock and grief, and for weeks the news made sure that grief wouldn't be forgotten. The news had stayed mostly local. National had died down fairly quickly and though she'd learned to dodge newshounds, she'd never been severely accosted.

She was the one who really blamed herself. Some people even hailed her as a hero for finding the body when no one else could. Her emotional stability had suffered worse than her reputation.

She shouldn't have shown the reporter that it mattered, that it affected her in any way. In hindsight she'd probably be able to think of plenty of things to say to put that reporter in her place.

Right now, nothing came to mind.

• • •

Jake opened the door of the hotel room before Winona could slide the key in the lock. She knew by the look on his face that he had been worrying and fretting while waiting on her, and she tried to temper her emotions and keep her face neutral so as not to concern him. She didn't want him to read the panic she was feeling.

She'd left the scene feeling emotionally drained, clenching her fingers around the steering wheel during the whole drive and trying not to cry. Trying not to let the memories of her past get her down.

But when she saw Jake's face, expectant but patient, she almost broke.

She gave him a soft smile as she walked in, and he closed the door behind her. Her lips trembled, heat swelling behind her eyes as she took a steady breath. She dropped the keys and her purse on the table and was about to turn to him and tell him about her day when she noticed the empty bottles in the trash.

Her shoulders dropped, but she hitched them up again before facing him. After everything she'd been through today, all the waiting he had been through—neither one of them had texted or called to check on the other—she hadn't expected him to resort to drinking every bottle in the room and be so brazen about it.

His hands were shaking, but his eyes were bright, crisp. Maybe he was so good at being an alcoholic that it was easy for him to cover it up.

Jake held up his hands. “Before you say anything, I opened them all with the intention of pouring them all out. And I did pour them all out, watched them drain down the sink. The only part I imbibed on was from the stench. For a second I was tempted, but I promise I didn't drink a drop.”

“That's going to cost you a fortune.”

Jake shrugged. “I don't care.”

She looked away, feeling guilty for thinking he drank. Feeling guilty for running when she should have stayed. Feeling guilty for coming back with nothing.

“I visited with Ms. Davenport. Brandon's neighbor. And then I chickened out.”

His face scrunched, his eyes brushing across her as if she'd have the history of her day written across her face.

“What do you mean, you chickened out?”

“I ... was heading to see Mr. and Mrs. Baker when I was accosted by a reporter with KJAK news.” Winona closed her eyes. “She ... she brought up my past investigation.”

“What does your past investigation have to do with anything?” Jake snapped.

She met his gaze, lowered her eyes. She felt like she had failed him. She should have gone to Carl Baker's house. Should have ignored the newscaster and gone on about her business. She shouldn't have been browbeaten into running away. Then again, the last thing she wanted was the media to follow her to Carl's house and give him problems.

Who would have called the media? How would they have known she was there? She wondered if Lillian hadn't called them in an attempt to stir the pot and keep herself out of the limelight. Someone at the police station was likely the culprit. They could find anything they wanted about Winona easily enough, and then call the news to make her life miserable. Maybe someone thought she was impeding on their investigation, so they'd impede hers.

“People will find anything to make anything out of anything,” Winona rambled. “You know that. She's going to try to discredit me because of what happened with my past. I shouldn't have given up so easily.” Her words trailed, and she wondered if she'd meant this case or the last case she'd dealt with.

“What right does she have to accost you like that? I'll go back with you. I'll tell her how it is.”

“No. No, you can't risk that. You ... you.” Winona dropped into a chair, swallowing tears. “That isn't going to help anything.”

Jake dropped to his knees in front of her and braced his hands on her chin, lifting her gaze to his. His thumb stroked her jaw. “I don't care who tries to discredit you. I know who you are. You know who you are. I'm sorry you had to deal with that. Sorry this case has brought back bad memories. But you have to learn to ignore the media. They can be …” His voice trailed and he shook his head, glancing away as his eyes glazed.

“It's not my first time to deal with them,” Winona said, watching his jaw clench. She had to tell him the rest of what she'd learned. “Ms. Davenport told me there had been some burglaries in the neighborhood that week.”

His gaze snapped to her, sharpening. He dropped his hand. “The police didn't say anything about that.”

“No, they didn't. I plan on talking to the investigator about that, but he wasn't exactly friendly when I talked to him today.”

He lowered his head, blinked slowly. His chest rose and fell as he took a long breath. He stood. “I'd like to go to the police station with you.”

“How about we plan to go in the morning?” she said. She'd already spent half of the morning there waiting before visiting Brandon's neighborhood. It had gotten her nowhere and she was afraid tomorrow's visit would net the same result.