Hold On (The 'Burg #6)(137)

“Nothin’ to say about those shots since I’m a goddamned idiot. Heard that shit. Just laid there. Just laid there while someone was shootin’ my sister outside my goddamned house.”

“If you haven’t heard the sound of gunshots before, it isn’t unusual that you wouldn’t immediately know what they were,” Mike assured.

“I shoulda known,” she retorted.

“Because the company Wendy kept?” Mike pressed.

“Because the company Wendy kept,” Marscha spat.

“Outside the gunshots,” Garrett cut in. “Did you see anything? Hear anything?”

She looked to him. “I heard bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Four times. I heard ’em all. They were loud. Woke up laid there. Then it hit me, got up, went to the window, looked outside. Saw Wendy’s car, the lights on, nothin’ else. She’d been out all night. Didn’t tell me where she was or when she was comin’ home. Just told me yesterday she was goin’ out and then she left. Saw her car and it finally hit me what those sounds were. Ran out there. Saw her sittin’ there, starin’. Car was on. She was in it. Just sittin’ there, bleedin’ and starin’.”

Marscha Derian was now shaking.

Garrett edged slightly closer, urging carefully, “Think you should sit down now, ma’am.”

She needed no further encouragement. She shuffled back until her calves hit the couch and she plopped onto it.

Garrett looked toward the entryway and saw Ellen there. She nodded.

A friend was on the way.

“We’re sorry to make you go through this,” Mike said. “But we have to get all this down.”

Marscha was staring at the carpet. At Mike’s words, she slowly tipped her head back and looked at him.

She was losing focus. The pain was pushing through. It was going to hit any second.

They needed to get everything they could before she succumbed.

“At this point, what did you do?” Mike asked.

“Stupid,” she whispered.

“What was stupid?” Mike pressed.

“I turned off her car,” Marscha answered.

Fuck.

“Did you touch anything else?” Garrett asked.

Her head slowly swiveled his way and then she shook it.

“Ran inside, called nine-one-one,” she told him.

“You go back out?” Garrett queried.

She shook her head again. “The operator kept me on the line. Told me to stay inside.”

“Good,” Garrett muttered.

Mike took over. “Is there someone in particular she was associating with that you have concerns about?”

“That’d be a long list,” she shared. “Though, most recent, even though he’d ended things with her a week ago or whatever, is Jaden Cutler.”

Again, Garrett’s spine shot straight, but this time his stomach also turned just as Mike’s gaze cut to him.

It took a lot, he tried, but he didn’t succeed in keeping the harsh out of his voice when he turned back to Marscha and asked, “Jaden Cutler?”

She was way too far gone to process the harsh in his voice.

“Most recent dickhead douchebag * loser that Wendy associated with. Also the worst of the lot. Totally. And it was him that broke up with her. Kicked her ass out. She was livin’ with me but also livin’ in hope he’d take her back. Can you believe that shit?”

“Outside of disliking him, do you have any reason to believe he was a danger to your sister?” Mike asked.

“He’s just a danger,” she declared. “Mean as a snake when he’s in a bad mood. Up his own ass, thinkin’ he’s God’s gift when he is not. Man doesn’t work, but he’s got money. How is that? How do you not have a job and have money?” she asked.

“I know several ways, Ms. Derian, but do you know this Jaden Cutler was involved in anything that might lead to what happened to Wendy this morning?” Mike pushed. “Did she say anything to you? Did you hear her say anything to anyone else, for instance, on the phone? Did Cutler say anything in your presence?”

“No. But you got the experience I got with Wendy and her parade of losers, you just know.”

She had nothing.

Fuck.

“Did Wendy ever talk to you about Cutler, his acquaintances, or the people they spent time with?” Garrett asked, hoping like f*ck she’d mentioned Carlito Gutierrez.

She hadn’t.

“No,” Marscha stated and tossed out a hand in irritation. “This is all I was to my sister—a crash pad when she ditched one of her losers, or when one of her losers beat her up or cheated on her and she thought she’d teach him a lesson by takin’ off only to go back, or when one of them decided it was time to move on so they dumped her. She was dumped, she didn’t take a lot of time finding a replacement because, apparently, she couldn’t exist without a healthy dose of * in her life.”

Garrett braced when she finished her litany and instantly looked to the front window.

It was going hit.

Now.

“Guess she couldn’t,” Marscha whispered. “Couldn’t live without it. Couldn’t live with it.”

It was then the tear fell. Just one, down her cheek to hit her pajama top.

Then she dropped forward. Face in her knees, her back bucked in a way that looked painful, and her sob tore through the room with such force, it felt like a physical thing.