Not One of Us(70)

“Does Mimi know you bought a baby?”

Aunt Tressie whipped around. “We didn’t buy Jackson. We paid for a private adoption.”

“Which the police are looking into.”

Her face paled, and her knuckles whitened on the take-out bag.

“Does Mimi know about this?” I asked again. “Who else knows?”

“There’s nothing to know because nothing happened.” Her eyes dropped to my hands. “Now give me back my coffee.”

My aunt had no shame. Her callous selfishness infuriated me. I held my arm out straight to the side and let go of the cup. Milky mocha liquid splashed on the pavement and formed a puddle.

Tressie raised her voice, high pitched and full of angst, amber notes glowing like molten lava. “What are you doing, Jori?”

She turned to the employees, widening her eyes as though frightened. One of them started to make their way over to where we stood.

Tressie faced me again, a smug smile on her thick lips. “Don’t ever come back here. I’m going to put you on my restricted visitors list.”

“I’m heartbroken. By the way, I let a deputy know you’ve got an extortion scheme running with your ex. Are you extorting money from Uncle Buddy too?”

“I’m not extorting anyone. And if my brother wants to slip his poor little sister a bit of cash from time to time, that’s no one else’s business but our own. Because family is family. We help each other.”

“Old lady, you better stay away from us. You got that? If you ever take Zach again, I’ll—”

“Is there a problem, ladies?” A tall, burly man who looked to be in his midthirties came to stand by Tressie.

“My niece was just leaving,” Tressie simpered. “Weren’t you, dear?”

“You betcha.” I conjured a fake smile. “We’ve both said everything we have to say to each other.”





Chapter 28


TEGAN


“About to break the Strickland murder?” Sinclair asked the moment I stepped in the office. “It’s been several days, and no one’s been arrested yet.” He made a tsking sound.

“Just the Strickland case?” Mullins snickered. “Hell, our superstar’s about to break every unsolved murder that’s ever happened here in Enigma. News report at ten tonight.”

“Jealousy isn’t a good look on y’all,” I chided as I slid into my seat. “We really should get partitions put up in this place. I need a private cubicle so I don’t have to see you clowns.”

“You’d still hear us,” Haywood said.

“But I could pretend not to.”

I entered my computer password and, while I waited for the monitor to light up, checked a stack of papers in my inbox. Who knew being in law enforcement meant dealing with so much paperwork? It certainly wasn’t how I envisioned my career while at the police academy learning how to shoot weapons and struggling through physical agility tests.

My three coworkers began speculating on the cost of converting our office to individual cubicles. Haywood suggested putting in a request to Oliver. I knew they wouldn’t follow through with the idea; they loved jawing back and forth with each other too much.

From outside the open window came the sounds of sawing and hammering. The city maintenance staff was hard at work finishing the final construction for the Blessing of the Fleet events that would start tomorrow. Even getting to our parking lot this morning had been a trial as I weaved around vendor setups and volunteers setting up water stations for the runners in the annual 5K race.

“How are we supposed to get any work done around here?” Haywood mumbled.

Sinclair rolled his eyes. “Close the damn window and turn on the AC for starters. Duh.”

I tuned them out and scribbled a list of my daily to-dos. One, reinterview Eddie Yeager; two, email the courthouse for a list of—

Oliver burst into the room, looking more intense than usual. “Carter Holt’s been shot,” he announced without preamble. “He’s in critical condition.” He pointed at me. “Let’s go.”

“Goddammit,” Sinclair swore, banging a fist on his desk. I jumped out of my chair without bothering to shut down the computer and followed Oliver out to the cruiser.

“Any more details?” I asked, buckling into my seat.

“Report just came in from Enigma PD. He was found in his car at five thirty-six a.m. on Gilmore Road, slumped over the wheel, bleeding and unconscious. He’d been shot once in the chest.”

“Who found him?”

“A local driving to work at a bakery. She called it in. Officers and EMTs responded less than five minutes later.”

Shot in the chest. That sounded dire. Much as Holt and I had taken an immediate dislike to one another, his shooting hit me hard. It was a brutal reminder of what could happen to me on the job at any time. Even though my ex-husband and I couldn’t stand to be in each other’s company, I had to admit he was a good father. Our twins would always have a loving home with him if need be. I never would have accepted this job without that assurance. Still . . . I wanted to be around a long, long time. Time enough to at least see Luke and Linsey grown, employed in a solid job, and happily married with their own families.

At the emergency entrance, we ditched the cruiser and hurried to the ICU unit. There was no need to inquire which room was Holt’s. Four uniformed cops milled outside a door at the end of the hallway.