Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead(Finlay Donovan #2)(41)

Ramón gave her a heavy dose of side-eye. “It was nice meeting you, Finlay. And watch out for this one,” he said, inclining his head toward his cousin. “She’s a bad influence.”

“Goodbye, Ramón,” she said pointedly.

Javi winked at her. “I’ll wait in my van for a few minutes, just in case you need me.”

Vero watched him from the corner of her eye as he walked to the van, her gaze drifting down to his backside before turning away.

“What’s the story with you two?” I asked.

“There is no story.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“He’s my cousin’s best friend. It was a long time ago.”

“So there is a story,” I said as Vero bent to grab the handle of the metal door. “I don’t get it. Why don’t you want me to get to know your cousin or his friend? Or, for that matter, anyone else in your family.”

“There’s nothing to know,” she said, putting her shoulder into the door. “A little help, please?”

The track had rusted stuck, and we both grunted as we struggled to open it. “What was all that about somebody looking for you?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said through her teeth as she pushed. “My cousin’s just being dramatic.” The door made a horrible shriek as we dragged it open.

Vero dusted off her hands and froze.

“Finlay?” I followed her stare into the open garage and went still beside her. “Do you remember that night we went to dig up Harris,” she asked, “and I told you that keeping a chest freezer in a garage was probably a bad idea?”

“Uh-huh,” I said.

“I think I should tell you … my feelings on the matter haven’t changed.”

The storage unit was empty, except for one thing.

My gaze followed the orange extension cord deep into the shadowy recess of the garage, where a chest freezer hummed quietly in the corner.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, my breath a little thin. “It’s hunting season. Steven goes shooting with a lot of his clients … you know … like playing golf, but with a gun. The freezer’s probably full of deer meat he couldn’t fit in his freezer at home.”

“And he keeps it in a storage unit in some Podunk town in West Virginia?”

“Sure.” I swallowed.

“Then you can check it.” She pushed me toward the freezer.

Steeling myself, I crossed the dusty concrete in three quick strides. The chest looked perfectly normal. Shiny and white, all except for a long scratch and a dent on one side, and a bright orange clearance sticker from a used appliance shop that no one had bothered to remove.

Vero peeked over my shoulder as I lifted the lid.

“See?” I exhaled pure relief at the parcels wrapped in butcher paper inside. “Venison.” Grabbing the package closest to the top, I held it aloft for Vero to see. The tape peeled away from the ice-crusted brown paper, and the contents fell back into the freezer with a muffled thud.

Vero and I lurched, our chests rising and falling fast.

“That’s not venison, Finlay!” Vero wrung her hands, wiping them up and down the leg of her jeans as if she’d been the one to touch it. “That’s a head. And it didn’t belong to a deer!”

“I can see that!” I was pretty sure I was going to puke.

“Whose is it?”

The features were blue, discolored by frost and distorted by rigor mortis. And yet, I had the horrible feeling I’d seen the same face before. I leaned closer, my head angled away, sneaking another reluctant glance out of the corner of my eye. The man’s frozen salt-and-pepper bangs had parted, revealing wide, sightless eyes, and a dark mole stared back at me from his frost-dulled cheek.

“I recognize him,” I said into the back of my hand. Because vomiting on the dead guy was probably a bad idea. “He was in the photo I took from Bree’s desk.”

“Why is he in pieces in your ex-husband’s storage unit?”

“I don’t know!”

“You don’t think…” Vero and I locked eyes. I thought back to the day I returned the photo to Bree. How she had hardly looked at it before turning it facedown beside her. Had Steven rented this storage unit, or had Bree rented it for herself and billed it to the farm?

“What are you doing?” Vero asked in a strangled voice as I reached for my phone.

“I’m calling Steven.”

“You can’t do that! We can’t tell anybody! They’ll want to know how we knew it was here!”

“We can’t just leave it!” A wave of panic washed over me. My finger hovered over Steven’s number. Vero was right. There had to be a way to figure out for certain who this man was, and more importantly, who’d put him here.

Vero’s shoulders relaxed as I shoved the phone back in my pocket. She swatted at my hands as I reached for hers instead. “Stay here,” I said, taking her phone as I left the garage.

“Finlay! Where are you going?” she hissed as I followed the signs for the rental office. I paused in front of the office door, rubbing my hands on my pant legs, the ghost of a chill still seeping through my fingers where they’d touched the dead man’s head. Drawing in a deep breath, I pushed the door open.