What I've Done (Morgan Dane #4)(43)

With decades of experience as an NYPD homicide detective, Grandpa had already proven that he hadn’t lost his mental edge when she’d asked him for help in other cases.

“It’ll be boring,” she added. “A whole evening of coverage from multiple cameras, and I’m not even sure what you’d be looking for.”

“Sounds perfect.” Grandpa loaded two plates with food.

Morgan summed up the case. “I’ll give you the videos and photos of the main players.”

“You want to look for someone spiking your client’s drink?” As usual, Grandpa cut to the chase.

“Yes. And any other interesting interactions. Arguments, who was chatting up whom, that sort of thing. I trust your judgment and your eye.”

“I’ll start on it after breakfast.” Grandpa attacked his eggs and toast with renewed zeal.

Morgan finished her food, feeling better after having delegated a monumental task. She fetched her grandfather’s laptop and the thumb drive containing the videos. He settled in the living room in his recliner just as the girls appeared in the doorway. In a few heartbeats, the house went from quiet haven to complete zoo. Morgan’s nanny, Gianna, fed the girls pancakes. While Gianna cleaned up the kitchen, Morgan herded them into their room to get dressed. Mia and Ava liked to coordinate outfits, but Sophie . . .

“Don’t I look colorful, Mommy?” Sophie twirled in the center of a giant pile of clothes she’d pulled from her drawers. She wore plaid leggings under a flowered dress. One sock was purple, the other red.

“Yes, you certainly do,” Morgan said. “Let’s get that hair combed.” Her youngest looked as if her hair had been styled with a leaf blower.

“No,” Sophie wailed, covering her head with both hands. “Gianna pwomised to make kitten ears.”

“OK. I’d be excited for that too.” Smiling, Morgan lifted her hands in surrender.

“Mommy, there’s something sticky in my hair,” Ava cried.

Morgan sniffed Ava’s hair. “It’s just a little syrup. Into the bathroom.”

She led the way into the next room. Kicking the step stool into place for Ava, Morgan rinsed most of the syrup out. “There. All gone.”

“Now my shirt is wet,” Ava said, near tears.

“It’ll dry before you get to school.” Morgan’s headache rapped on the backs of her eyes. “The bus will be here soon. Go get your shoes.”

Sniffing, Ava left the room, and Morgan mopped up the sink.

The dogs barked in the other room. Each yap felt like a gong between her temples.

“Is that the bus?” Morgan shouted.

“No. Just me.” Lance popped his head in the doorway. Sophie was riding him piggyback. “Rough morning?”

“Just a little.” She hung the wet towel over the shower-curtain rod. “I have to get the girls on the bus. Why are we always running late?”

He glanced down at her yoga pants and water-splotched sweatshirt.

“Why don’t you change? I’ve got this.” He called over his shoulder to Mia and Ava. “Grab your gear, girls. I’ll take you to the bus.” He leaned in to give Morgan a quick kiss. “Remember, after we interview Noah’s friend Isaac this morning, we’re visiting the crime scene. I wouldn’t wear anything fancy.”

Instead of heading to her room to change, Morgan walked out of the bathroom, leaned on the wall, and watched him contain the chaos. He handed Sophie off to Gianna, then gathered kids, coats, and school gear like a pro before herding her two older girls to the bus.

When the door closed behind him, Morgan changed into dark jeans, boots, and a sweater.

He was waiting in the foyer when she came out of her room.

“Ready?”

“Thank you for that.” Morgan couldn’t help but think how much easier mornings would be if he were always here.

Lance held her coat open for her. “I love the girls, and you are not feeling your best.”

“No, I am not.” She slid her arms into the coat sleeves.

“Morgan!” her grandfather called from the living room.

She poked her head into the room. “Yes?”

“One of these camera feeds is blank.” He looked up from his laptop. “And I don’t see one for the restroom hallway at all. I’m sure they have a camera in that area.”

She crossed the floor to stand at his side. “Which one is blank?”

“One that covers the tables alongside the dance floor”—he pointed to static on his computer screen—“which is where most of the patrons are drinking.”

“And the one that would have shown if someone slipped a substance into Haley’s drink.” The ache in Morgan’s head echoed. “We cannot get a break in this case.”





Chapter Nineteen

Lance followed the GPS directions to Isaac’s neighborhood. Worried, he glanced at Morgan, who was talking on her phone and rubbing her temple. It was only nine thirty in the morning, and she was already in pain.

She lowered her phone, irritation brightening her eyes. “The sheriff’s secretary says he’s too busy to speak with me. She suggested I set up an appointment to meet with him in a few weeks. If I need to discuss the case sooner than that, I should contact the prosecutor.” Morgan shoved her phone into her bag. “She implied that he’s prioritizing the Shannon Yates investigation.”