Justice Delayed (Memphis Cold Case #1)(3)

“And I have work to do in the pottery shop,” Stephanie said as she climbed out of the small car. Although as tired as she was, resting a bit tempted her, but she’d been commissioned to make a horse sculpture, and it waited.

At the shop door, Stephanie rummaged for the brass skeleton key in her purse, and it slipped from her hands. She tried to catch it but only succeeded in turning the purse upside down. With a huff, she knelt to gather the scattered items. Her fingers hovered over a soft velvet pouch.

Where had that come from? It wasn’t hers. Gingerly, she picked it up and peered inside at three dirty-looking pieces of glass. Stephanie closed her eyes and tamped down the nausea that rolled up from her stomach.

How had JD gotten the uncut diamonds in her purse? The window. When she’d gazed out the window at the Eiffel Tower. She ground her molars until pain shot to her ears. What if customs had gone through her purse?

She once more bent down and retrieved the key to the studio. Inside the darkened room, she sat at her worktable.

The police. Yes. That’s what she’d do. She’d go to them and explain everything, and she would take the journal where she’d documented every step of the smuggling process. But first she’d have to get it from her bedroom. She glanced toward the fireplace, where she’d hidden sheets torn from the middle of the journal. No, that was her ace in the hole. She rose to go get the journal, then sat back down.

JD had said he had friends in high places. He would deny everything and point out she was the one with the diamonds. What if they didn’t believe her?

She buried her face in her hands. She needed time to think. Wait. JD wouldn’t be home for a day or two. If she could just get some sleep, she could think more clearly. But she needed to hide the diamonds. She lifted her head, and the first thing she saw was the wrapped sculpture.

Stephanie dumped the three diamonds on her worktable and then unwrapped the half-finished horse sculpture. With deft hands, she pressed two of the diamonds between the wires supporting the belly and slid the third one between the withers, then smoothed clay over them. When she finished, she examined her work.

Perfect.





1


18 YEARS LATER

Andi Hollister flipped her wipers on high. It was a lousy night to be on I-240. The early April thunderstorms that swept across Arkansas earlier in the day were now taking dead aim on Memphis. A cloud had swallowed the setting sun, making it seem much later than six o’clock.

She took the airport exit and gripped the steering wheel as her Corolla hydroplaned, sending the car sliding toward the outside of the curve. A second later, the tires regained traction, and she blew out a breath. At least she’d lost all the traffic heading in to the FedEx Forum for the first game of the Final Four.

This was the first time in years that the University of Memphis Tigers had made it to the finals of March Madness. The town was crazy, traffic was crazy, and now the weather was crazy. Her cell phone played “Rainy Days and Mondays.” Treece. If Andi didn’t answer, Treece would call out the National Guard. She pressed the answer button on the steering wheel. “Hello, Ms. Rogers.”

“Where are you?” The drumming rain practically drowned out Treece’s voice.

“Almost to the airport.” The two of them had worked together since after college, when they both went to work for WLTZ as reporters, Andi reporting the weather and Treece the traffic.

Andi slowed as she approached the terminal, searching for the entry to the short-term parking garage. Lacey had said to wait for her at the Delta checkin area, that she would find her.

“I don’t feel good about this,” Treece said. “You don’t even know this woman or if she’s actually Lacey Wilson. It could be someone pretending to be your sister’s old roommate.”

Andi lowered her window, rain dripping off her car onto her arm as she punched the button for a parking ticket. She took the ticket the meter spit out. A dark SUV appeared in Andi’s mirror, almost on her bumper.

“Are you still there?” Treece asked.

“I’m trying to get into the short-term garage,” Andi said as the arm lifted and she pulled forward inside the garage. She followed the arrows to the fourth level, looking for a parking spot. “And I’m not in any danger—what could go wrong with a hundred TSA agents around?”

She spotted an empty space and wheeled into it.

“You have to ask that after the trouble you get into?”

“That was three months ago.” Treece was referring to when she ruptured a disc in her back while climbing a fence to video a pit bull chained outside in the cold weather with no shelter.

“I am not talking about three months ago, I’m talking about two weeks ago when I taped you interviewing that gang leader, and he lost his temper. If Reggie hadn’t insisted on coming with us—”

“Interviewing him seemed like a good idea at the time.” Until Treece’s cop boyfriend had to twist the gang leader’s arm behind his back after he blew his top and threatened her. The Memphis police lieutenant hadn’t liked Treece videoing Andi’s segments after that. “Even you thought it’d be a good story.”

“After that episode, my perspective is a little different. You have to be more careful.”

“I’m trying to change, but investigative reporting comes with risk. I hope you’re not thinking about changing fields,” Andi said.