Rich Blood (Jason Rich #1)(29)

“Mr. Rich?” the deputy asked.

“Yes, sir,” Jason said, standing as the officer veered to the side. Behind him, a female guard escorted a woman in an orange jumpsuit with shackles on her hands and feet into the room. The woman was crying and looking down at the floor. The cuffs on her hands were removed, but her feet remained chained together.

“Deputy Anderson,” the male cop said, pointing at the female officer, “will be standing outside the door. Just knock a few times when you’re done.”

“OK,” Jason said. Then the officers exited the room, and the door slammed shut.

For at least five seconds, the only sounds in the room were their breathing. Finally, Jason reached out and touched her hand.

“Jana?”

She had crossed her arms tight to her chest and was shivering.

“Jana, look at me,” Jason said, finding his voice.

She straightened and pushed her blonde hair out of her face. Her crystal-blue eyes, the whites red from crying, pierced his own. She looked both sad and angry. “Where’ve you been?”

“I got here as soon—”

“I’ve been calling for days. I left three messages. I called that bitch partner of yours, and she was no help at all. You need to fire her.”

“Great to see you too, sis,” he said, turning and taking a seat at the table. “Please, sit down.”

Jana huffed but did as he asked. “What the hell, J. J.? Why did it take you so long—”

“I’ve been in rehab,” Jason interrupted, figuring he’d get right to it. “Ninety days at the Perdido Addiction Center. I didn’t have access to my phone until yesterday afternoon.”

She gazed at him and wiped her tear-streaked eyes. “Well, I didn’t know that. Are you . . . better?”

“To be honest, I have no idea,” Jason said. “I was about to have a drink within an hour of discharge, and then I listened to your message.”

A tiny smile played on her lips. “So I saved your ass again.”

Jason pondered whether his sister had ever saved his ass but decided not to argue.

“Well . . .” She slammed her palms down on the table and set her jaw. “Now I need you to save mine.”





22


Almost an hour later, Jason stared at his notebook, which was now full of writing. His sister continued to talk, but he was only half listening. She’d pretty much said the same thing over and over again in ten-minute intervals.

She didn’t kill Braxton.

Yes, she took out $15,000 from her and Braxton’s joint account the day before his murder, but that was because she was afraid that Braxton was going to cut her off. He’d been threatening to do so for months, and she couldn’t risk not having any money.

She barely knew Waylon Pike. He’d done some work at their house. He’d worked for several families on Buck Island, in fact. Quiet, unassuming guy. She thought he might have a learning disability and had no idea why he’d make up such horrible lies about her. She didn’t give Pike any money other than a few hundred bucks here and there for making repairs to their boathouse and home. As far as she knew, the $15,000 was in an envelope in a shoebox in the back of her car.

Where was her car? She didn’t know. Probably impounded by the sheriff’s office. “If the money’s not there, I want you to file a lawsuit against the county. I want it filed by the end of the day. I want to sue Waylon Pike too.”

It was a rant, Jason knew. He’d met several people, men and women, during his group sessions at the PAC who would go on and on about all their misfortunes, continually saying the same thing over and over again until the therapist mercifully cut them off and tried to redirect them to the main issue: their alcohol and drug problem.

Jason attempted to do the same thing here. “Jana, I understand that you have a lot to get off your chest, but I need you to answer some basic questions.”

“OK,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Shoot.”

“Where were you the night of the Fourth of July?”

“I was at Fire by the Lake. I wanted a nice spot to view the fireworks and have a couple of drinks.”

“Who were you with?”

“By myself. I spoke with the bartender. His name’s Keith, I think. Maybe Kenny. He’s nice, and I’ve seen him there numerous times.”

“What were you doing drinking alone?”

“I didn’t want to be at home. Braxton’s been cheating on me for years. He’s screwing his nurse anesthetist, Colleen. He’s turned the girls against me, brainwashed them into thinking I’m crazy. All I wanted was to have a few drinks.”

“When did you leave?”

“About nine.”

“Then?”

“Are you going to take my case?”

“I don’t know. Why does that matter?”

“Is this conversation privileged?”

“Yes. It’s a consult. I’m your attorney for the limited purpose of this meeting. Everything you tell me is protected by the attorney-client privilege.” He paused. “What happened next?”

“I drove to a strip mall about a quarter mile down Highway 69. I parked and a man got inside.”

“Waylon Pike?”