The Last Lie Told (Finley O’Sullivan, #1)(51)

“She trusts me.”

“Does she? She had an affair with you. Is this about trust or about malleability? She called, and you came right back to her aid as if five years hadn’t passed. As if,” Finley emphasized, “the two of you hadn’t drifted apart.”

The next thirty seconds were filled with mumbled curse words. Mostly aimed at the possibility that Finley was right.

She was. No question. Sophia was counting on Jack to believe whatever story she gave him.

“She and I are going to have a serious discussion.”

“Not without me,” Finley warned.

“See if you can get a meeting. Now. Right now. The three of us.”

Most of the trip back to Nashville was spent with Finley calling Sophia’s cell and home number as well as Cecelia’s and Olivia’s cells. No one answered. Jack was so furious at their client he drove straight to the Legard mansion. There was no answer at the gate.

With him even more disgusted and still as mad as hell, he drove back to the Drake. Finley decided not to mention what she’d discovered about Derrick or the second warning from what was no doubt a Holmes follower. Jack had enough on his plate. He was teetering on the edge, and she wasn’t about to be the reason he stumbled.

“You okay?” she asked when he made no move to get out of the vehicle.

“I fucked this one up, Fin. Didn’t see what was coming. I feel like I’ve walked into a setup, but the endgame is unclear. I’d prefer you step away from the case and let me finish this one alone.”

“What?” She laughed. “You think anything about this case could damage my reputation any worse than it already is?”

“Fin.”

“Forget it. We’re in this together, Jack.” She reached for her door. “So don’t go messing around with Jim Beam. I need you.”

He nodded and reached for his door.

They were two of a kind all right. Broken and too damned hardheaded to admit defeat.





18


5:00 p.m.


The Murder House

Shelby Avenue

Nashville

Finley drove back to Shelby Avenue. She parked in the drive and stared at the murder house. For the first time since she’d moved in, she didn’t feel at home. And she felt utterly alone.

She pressed her forehead against the steering wheel. Jack wasn’t the only one who’d stepped in it. She’d missed something with Derrick. How was that possible? Her entire career had been based on her ability to read people and anticipate their actions to some degree.

Stop.

She lifted her head, stared at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Just because Derrick wasn’t completely honest with her about the house didn’t make their life together something bad or not real. The Judge had ensured he was intimidated by her family. Probably by Finley’s career. Maybe he’d been trying to prove he had skills.

Even when you’re in one of those big meetings with all those big shots, remember no one loves you the way I do.

She closed her eyes. He’d said that to her more than once.

Reaching for her door, she decided then and there that she would give Derrick the benefit of the doubt until it was no longer possible to do so. He wasn’t here to defend himself. The least she could do was give him the benefit of the doubt.

Innocent until proven guilty.

She emerged, closed the car door, and was about to turn toward the house when she saw the lady next door. She stopped. Stared. How long had she lived in the neighborhood? She was the only person along this block well beyond childbearing age. The rest were young couples. Yuppies.

The woman stared right back at Finley. Apparently, some of her flowers required watering more than once a day. Maybe she’d gotten tired earlier and was finishing the job now. She wasn’t exactly a spring chicken.

Before Finley could question her intent, she was walking across the street. The woman continued to stare at her as if she’d expected Finley would do exactly that.

“Hi.” Finley stood on the sidewalk at the edge of her yard. “I just realized I’ve never introduced myself.”

“I know who you are.”

This close Finley could see that the woman was sixty plus. No makeup. Well-worn jeans and a tee proclaiming I’d Rather Be Gardening.

“Your name is . . . ?” Finley asked, not put off by her unfriendly attitude. Finley had never been particularly friendly to her. She hadn’t even thanked her for calling 911 that night. Couldn’t even remember her name.

“Helen Roberts.”

“Have you lived in the neighborhood long?”

“Thirty-five years. My husband bought this place when we married. Been here ever since. He passed a couple years ago.” Her fingers relaxed on the nozzle, and the spray of water stopped.

“My husband bought this house for us.” She gestured to the murder house.

“Yeah. I watched him unload his stuff. I didn’t realize he was married until you showed up a few weeks later.”

Finley blinked. Still didn’t want to believe any of that story. “Did you ever talk to him?”

Helen stared at her for a long while. “Nope. I talked to the man who owned it before. Ted. He worked on my kitchen sink once.”

“Were you surprised when Mr. Walker sold the place?”