Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead(Finlay Donovan #2)(28)

I reread the post. There’s so much to do before Christmas, and so few days left to handle it all. “I think she’s hiring us both. Whoever handles Steven gets the money.” FedUp was increasing the stakes, winner takes all. Then adding a ticking clock by giving us a deadline. “She wants it done by Christmas.”

“That’s more than three weeks away.”

A new post appeared at the bottom of the thread.

EasyClean: @FedUp, I completely understand that time is of the essence. My preparations are already under way. You’ll hear from me soon.



Vero was right. Money was the biggest motivator of all. And if EasyClean thought she had a lot of money to lose, I had no doubt she’d work quickly. Which meant I had to be quicker. I had to figure out FedUp’s true identity and persuade her to call off the job.

Snapping the cap back on the marker, I considered the possible plotlines unfolding in front of me.

Three motives.

Three directions the story could go.

But only one setting they all had in common.

I rolled up the paper and got to my feet. “Get dressed. We’re going to the farm.”





CHAPTER 14


The last time Vero and I had driven this dirt road in the dark, we had three thousand feet of Cling Wrap, a flashlight, and a shovel in the trunk, along with a solid plan for moving a decomposing body. This time, I didn’t feel nearly as prepared.

“Give me your credit card,” Vero whispered. We’d parked her Charger in the shadows behind Steven’s trailer before we’d realized we had no way of getting in.

“Why my credit card? Why can’t you use one of yours?”

“I don’t have one.” She reached back, her hand open and waiting as I dug out my American Express card. I slapped it into her palm, angling my phone’s flashlight closer to the lock as she wedged the card between the door and the frame.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Of course I know what I’m doing. I saw it on YouTu—” The credit card snapped. Vero extracted what was left of it and held it up to the light.

I yanked it from her hand and jammed it back in my coat pocket. “There’s got to be another way in.”

“Short of busting a window?”

We’d already tried all the locks and the set of keys we’d found tucked in the visor of the run-down Ford Steven used as a farm truck. I knelt in the mulch by the door, shining my light over the mums and winter cabbages, searching for the missing piece of my credit card. This was pointless, maybe we should just …

My light glinted off the metal nozzle of a hose bib.

“What are you doing?” Vero asked as I stared at the front of the trailer, my light making a slow pass over the siding and trim. Steven had to have a key hidden out here somewhere; he always did. My ex-husband was no Boy Scout, but he was always prepared. His uncanny planning and organizational skills were how he managed to live with one woman while sleeping with another, sliding in and out of doors unnoticed. He always had an exit strategy.

And he always had a key.

My light landed on a concrete splash block under a downspout at the far corner of the trailer. When I lifted the edge, a glint of silver winked back at me from a depression in the mulch. “Thank you, Mrs. Haggerty,” I whispered. Vero raised an eyebrow as I wiped the key on my jeans. “Steven used to leave a key outside our house for Theresa when they were having an affair,” I explained as I slipped it in the lock. “Mrs. Haggerty saw her sneaking it from the splash block under our drain. He’s a creature of habit.”

“He’s a sleazeball is what he is.”

I stepped inside the darkened trailer. Vero bumped into my back as I froze beside a flashing red light on a keypad on the wall. “What’s that?” she asked as the red light and I blinked at each other.

“A security system.”

“You said he didn’t have a security system.”

My stomach took a nosedive as the light blinked faster. “Apparently, he has one now.”

“What do we do?” she asked, her popcorn breath hot on the back of my neck.

“We need a code to disarm it.”

“What’s the code?”

“How the hell do I know?”

“You knew where he kept the key!”

“That was different! We never had a security system in the house.”

“Did Theresa have one at her place?”

“No. Steven hated them.” Probably because they made it too hard to come and go without being tracked.

“Okay, think,” Vero said, pushing me toward the panel. “The codes for these things are usually four digits, right? What number would Steven pick?”

“I don’t know,” I sputtered as the red light sped up.

“Try the code to your garage door.”

I punched in the four-digit code to the garage door. The panel stopped flashing.

“Did it work?” Vero whispered. The only sound was the tick of the clock on the wall and the thermostat clicking on.

“I think so,” I said through a shaky exhale. I closed the door behind us. With my phone light held aloft, I cut a swath through the shadows to Bree’s old desk and switched on her lamp. The soft glow of the bulb felt brighter than it was, and I hoped no one could see it from the road. “Let’s get what we came for and get out of here. Steven’s accounting books are probably in his office. See what you can find in his desk. I’ll search the one out here for anything suspicious.”