Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(26)

“Lines up perfectly.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“We’ll see if his girlfriend can back it up.”

“He wouldn’t have given us her name otherwise.”

Callie glanced at Sean. “You’re saying he knew we were coming?”

“Probably. Guy’s an ex-con and he recently communicated with a murder victim.”

“I’ll talk to this girlfriend of his, see if she’ll corroborate his timeline,” Callie said. “Unless you want to do it?”

“She’s all yours.”

“Speaking of girlfriends, how’s it going with Brooke?”

“It’s not.”

“Why not? Did you ask her out yet?”

“She says she’s taking a break from men.” Sean popped the locks on his truck. The sooner he ended this conversation, the better.

“And?”

“And what?”

Callie laughed. “And don’t you want to know why?”

“Hell yeah. I’m working on it.”

“Ask her out again. See if she’ll open up to you. Maybe she’s on the rebound and you can be her shoulder to cry on.”

Something told him Brooke didn’t want a shoulder. Something also told him that the hard-sell approach wasn’t going to work with her. He had to be subtle. And patient.

The opposite of how he’d been last night when he’d practically begged her to come home with him.

A text landed on Sean’s phone as he slid into his truck. “Hey, here’s something from Jasper.” He read the message. “Someone found a knife near Samantha Bonner’s house.”

“Are you serious? What kind?”

“He doesn’t say. There’s no blood on it, though.”

“Who found it?”

“Mrs. Morton’s dog came across it when they were walking near the train tracks.”

Callie looked at Sean. “You think it’s the murder weapon?”

“Might be.”

“That would be huge.”

“Yep.”

“Why aren’t you excited?”

“I don’t get excited this early. It could be a steak knife, for all we know. We need to get it to Delphi for testing.” He checked the time. “Damn it. I can’t go right now. I’ve got an interview in ten minutes.”

“I can run it over there.”

“You mind?”

“Not at all. What else do I have to do this afternoon? It’s not like I’ve got some hot date to get ready for.”

“I can do it after my interview.”

“No, let me. You’ve got enough on your plate. I can take the lead on this one.”

Sean started up his truck. “Thanks. Let me know what you hear.”

“I will. And good luck.”

“With what?”

She rolled her eyes. “With Brooke. It’s only Saturday. The weekend is young.”

? ? ?

Farrah Saunders had changed out of her funeral clothes, and Sean almost didn’t recognize the social worker when she walked into Java House. She wore a camo-print jacket with jeans, and her curly blond hair was pulled back in a loose bun.

Sean stood up as she took a chair at the little table. “Coffee?”

“No, thank you.” She checked her watch. “I have to be on a fishing boat in an hour, so I need to make this quick.”

“That case, thanks for making the time, Ms. Saunders.”

Her expression told him she caught the sarcasm. “Call me Farrah. And it’s no problem.”

Sean watched her body language as she glanced around the coffee shop.

“Did you know Sam worked here?” he asked.

“She mentioned it once. She was a barista?”

“She’d been promoted to shift manager.”

Sean had picked this location as a sort of test. He wanted to get a read on how much this woman knew about Sam’s current life.

“I saw you at the funeral talking to Sam’s foster mom.” Sean flipped open his notebook. “Diane Jacobs. So, Sam went by the name of her birth mother, I’m guessing?”

“That’s right.”

“Were her birth parents married?”

Farrah watched him warily, but didn’t respond.

“This is public record. I can find all this out, but it would be a lot faster if you told me.”

Farrah started to respond, but the scream of a coffee grinder cut her off. She waited until the noise stopped. “Her birth mother was single. She never married.”

“Any other kids?”

“No. At least not that I’m aware of.”

“And when did Sam move in with the Jacobs family?”

“When she was fourteen.”

“Before that, did she always live with her birth mom?”

“No.”

“So . . . she lived with a relative? Another foster family?”

“She lived with her aunt for several years, but it didn’t work out.”

“Why not?”

Farrah watched him for a long moment. Then she leaned forward. “Look, Detective. An important part of my job is protecting my clients’ privacy.”