Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead(Finlay Donovan #2)(39)

CHAPTER 19


My sister pulled off her coat on Saturday morning and stared at me across my foyer as if I’d sprouted a second head.

“Let me get this straight. You want me to babysit your babysitter.”

“No. Sort of.” I peered through the sidelights as Aimee’s SUV passed the house. We’d agreed that it might be better if she parked on the next block so Mrs. Haggerty wouldn’t have a record of her being here. I didn’t trust Steven or his attorney not to exploit the all-seeing eye of the neighborhood watch for the express purpose of making my life difficult.

Vero was waiting for me in her Charger at the playground down the street. Aimee and Vero had met before, a month ago, when we’d infiltrated her workplace at Macy’s in a misguided sting operation that involved Vero pretending to be a cop and asking a lot of murder-y questions while I’d hidden behind a rack of clothes. Given Aimee’s innocence, I was pretty sure Aimee wouldn’t react well to seeing Vero in my house. “Aimee is an old friend of Theresa’s,” I explained. “She and the kids spent a lot of time together while Theresa and Steven were engaged, and I promised Delia her Aunt Aimee could visit. Except I have somewhere I really need to be.”

“And you don’t trust her to be alone with the kids.”

Aimee crossed the yard wearing comfy-looking sweatpants and an old pair of sneakers. She had a DVD in one hand and a grocery bag in the other. Nothing about her reminded me of Theresa, and I wondered if maybe I’d been overreacting when I’d asked my sister to come. I pulled the curtain closed and turned to my sister. “It’s not that I think she would do anything wrong. It’s just—”

“She’s Theresa’s friend. I get it.” Georgia set her hands on her hips, assuming a very cop-like pose. “How do you want me to roll? Street-side surveillance or up close and personal?”

The doorbell rang. “Up close is fine. She’s bringing a movie and snacks. You can stay and hang out. Just … don’t mention Theresa or the trial in front of the kids.”

Delia came tearing into the foyer, a blinding pink blur, the second I opened the door. Zach’s eyes flew open wide. “MeeMee!” he screamed and leapt into her arms. The children were all over her, squealing and hanging from her legs, peeking into her grocery bag and reaching for the video. After a quick round of introductions over the ruckus, Georgia relieved Aimee of her grocery bag, and Delia and Zach dragged Aimee off to the playroom.

I bit my lip, listening to her dote on them in the next room. “I feel a little silly, asking you to stay,” I said to my sister. “If you have other things you’d rather be doing—”

Georgia made a dismissive sound. “Are you kidding? Who doesn’t want to make Rice Krispie Treats and watch…” She snuck a peek at the DVD. “… Trolls World Tour?” She grimaced.

“You’re the best, Georgia,” I said, wrapping her in a hug. “I’m sorry for all the names I called you last week.”

She patted my back. “Thanks. I think.”

I grabbed my purse and coat and dashed out to meet Vero, locking the door behind me.



* * *



Vero handed me her phone as we drove. I scrolled through the photos she’d taken of Steven’s books.

“I don’t see a passcode for the storage unit on any of these invoices.”

“I called the place. They use padlocks.”

“Maybe we should pull over and find a hardware store. We can probably get one of those bolt cutter things. Or maybe a hacksaw.”

Vero shook her head. “Then someone will know we broke in. We don’t want to be too obvious.”

“How else do you plan to get in? Flash your boobs and ask the guy behind the counter for the key?”

She rolled her eyes at me. “After my brief conversation on the phone with Phyllis today, I doubt she’d be impressed. But don’t worry. I’ve got another way in.”

An hour later, Vero slowed, easing the Charger onto the crumbling shoulder of a rural road and turning in to a gravel parking lot. A high chain-link fence bordered the property, surrounding a small brick house with a neon OPEN sign in the window and several rows of run-down storage garages. Vero parked the Charger just outside the fence.

“What are we waiting for?” I asked when she slumped in her seat, checking her phone.

She shot off a quick text message. A notification pinged, and she glanced up at her rearview mirror. “That.”

A white panel van pulled alongside us. The window rolled down. The passenger dragged his mirrored sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, his dark eyes twinkling as he smirked at us over the rims. “You owe me big-time, V.”

“You lost that bet, fair and square. All I did was cash in.”

“Yeah, well, if I start hearing banjos, I’m outta here.” His eyes skated to me. Then past me to the rows of storage garages behind us. He looked vaguely familiar, though I couldn’t place why. “What’s the unit number?” he asked.

“Seventy-three.”

“Give us a minute to scope it out.” The passenger slid his glasses back in place as the driver pulled forward and parked in front of us.

“Who’s that?” I asked as the two men got out of the van, both close in age to Vero if a bit older.