The Last Lie Told (Finley O’Sullivan, #1)(35)
Siniard had eyes on the competition. No surprise there. He hadn’t achieved the reputation he had by sitting back and allowing the other side to get one or more steps ahead of him.
Siniard wouldn’t want Jack or his people anywhere near Riverbend.
Nothing he could do about her visiting the firm’s own client. If their client passed along some sort of info about Holmes, there was nothing Siniard could do about that either.
For now, Finley’s top priority was finding the mystery woman—Alisha Arrington.
13
1:28 p.m.
Inglewood Residence
Morning Glory Court
Brentwood
An invitation from Mrs. Elton Inglewood, formerly Cherry Prescott, waylaid Finley’s hunt for Alisha Arrington. Braking to a stop at the towering iron gates, Finley pressed the intercom button and provided her name. The gates slowly glided open, and she rolled forward. The Inglewood home defined the term modern mansion. Twelve or fifteen thousand feet at least. Two acres on a cul-de-sac in an exclusive neighborhood. The hand-cut-limestone house was more palace than home.
“My, my. You’ve come a long way, baby.” This was Finley’s first up-close look at the place. Last time she hadn’t gotten past the gate. The dense landscape made seeing the house from the street all but impossible.
Her cell buzzed deep in her bag. She shifted into park and dug for it.
Boss. She accepted the call. “Hey, Jack.”
“You headed back to the office?”
“I was, but I got a call from Prescott’s personal assistant saying she was available to meet with me. I just pulled into her drive.” Finley made a long, low whistle. “Talk about moving up in the world.”
Jack grunted. “Gotta give the girl credit. She didn’t give up on what she wanted.”
This was true. “I’m surprised she bothered to call me back.”
“Technically she didn’t. Her assistant did.”
“You’ve got me there. So what’s up?”
“Look, Fin . . .”
His hesitation had her bracing for bad news.
“You remember Lori Ann—she’s been a clerk at city hall since God was a baby?”
“And God and everybody knows her,” Finley said in answer to his question.
“She called and passed along a rumor she overheard.”
“About?” Finley prodded.
“You.”
She was certainly Miss Popular lately.
“Some sort of issue has cropped up in Derrick’s murder investigation, and your name was mentioned.”
“Yeah. I heard.” A cold feeling slinked through her insides. “I am—was—his wife. My name coming up in a discussion about him isn’t surprising.” No need to mention Matt’s visit. Jack worried too much as it was.
“I don’t know, kid. Lori Ann didn’t hear the details, but it sounded to her as if the thinking is that you’re not giving the whole story. We both know that’s not the case, but it sounds like someone is determined to cast you in a bad light, Fin. We need to find out what the hell is going on. You should talk to the Judge and demand to know what she knows.”
Finley took a breath. “First, we both know this is some sort of witch hunt. Briggs has a bug up his ass about me, and evidently he’s determined to take me down for . . .” She shrugged. “For whatever. Particularly since I’m working on this case with you. As for talking to the Judge—”
“I’d be at her door now if she’d speak to me, but you know she won’t. It has to be you.”
“I’ll see what I can find out, but no promises where the Judge is concerned.” Finley swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. It was only a matter of time before someone figured out there was more to the story than what she’d provided. Or maybe Dempsey was behind this turn of events. He was no fool. One of his former lackeys was dead, and Finley had been at the scene. A reaction was to be expected.
“We can’t let this slip through the cracks, Fin, or we’ll be playing catch-up when the shit hits the fan, and it’s smelling like that’s about to happen.”
“I’ll call you after my meeting.” She ended the connection before she said too much. She hated keeping things from Jack, but she refused to drag him into this. He’d worked hard to make his comeback. She would not be the reason he went down again.
Before exiting the car, she put through a call to Matt. If something more than what he’d already shared was brewing, he had to have heard. The call went to his voice mail. Matt spent most of his time in meetings, and callbacks were the norm. She left a message.
Shoving her phone into her bag, she took a big breath, then climbed out and headed for the front door. She pressed the doorbell and listened to the chime echoing inside. A few seconds later the door opened. Cherry Prescott Inglewood stood in the open doorway, dressed to the nines in a designer sheath with super-high-heeled shoes. Her makeup was flawless, her smile picture perfect, and her blonde shoulder-length hair impeccably coiffed.
“Please come in, Ms. O’Sullivan.”
“Thank you for seeing me.”
Cherry showed her to the second room on the right, a generous-size sitting room. Like the woman, the furnishings and decor were elegant. The difference between Cherry’s house and the Legard mansion was a subtle sense of hominess. The lived-in feeling. The people who lived here actually lived here.