Justice Delayed (Memphis Cold Case #1)(31)

“So-so.” Treece winced as she picked up the mahogany angel. “It hasn’t stopped me from working on this.”

“It’s beautiful,” Andi said. “How did it go with Reggie last night?”

“Okay.” Then Treece shrugged. “At least he didn’t say I told you so, but he thought it. How’s your arm?”

“Barely a scratch.” She wouldn’t admit to Treece how sore it was, not when Treece had been hurt much worse. Even though her arm wasn’t broken, she’d jammed her elbow and pulled muscles in her shoulder. Evidently, Treece had a high tolerance for pain or she wouldn’t be working on anything. “Look, I’m sorry—”

“Like I said last night, I offered to go with you—I wasn’t about to let you go alone.”

She should never have told her where she was going. “Brad said I only did it to get the attention of a bigger market.” He was partially right about that. She cupped the mug in her hands, letting the heat soothe her frazzled nerves.

Still, her mind whirled with the day’s activity. With Treece out, Andi was left to meet alone with their producer later this morning. If he noticed the bandage on her arm, he’d probably send her home as well. She shifted her gaze and stared out the kitchen window. Heavy clouds hung in the sky, matching her mood.

“Your brother shouldn’t have said that.”

Treece’s soft voice brought Andi back to earth. Heat flushed her cheeks. “I have to admit that the possibility of producers in Atlanta or Dallas seeing the story crossed my mind.”

She shifted her gaze to her friend, who was still in her housecoat. The right sleeve hung limp, and Andi fixated on the white sling. “Nothing like this will ever happen again.”

Treece laughed. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. You wanted a story. You just need to temper that with common sense and learn to accept help from others.”

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d needed help with anything. “You may be right about the common sense part, but if I know how to do something, I like to do it my way.”

“Andi, that’s your problem. You’re too capable. You leave everyone else out of the equation, including God.” Treece poured mineral oil on a soft cloth. “Do you ever even pray about your decisions?”

“Sure.” Usually after she got into trouble.

“But do you ever listen to what God tells you? Or are your prayers more like, ‘God, I’m climbing over this fence to video this poor dog. You want to come with me?’”

“Look, God is busy with people who need help.” She stopped short of saying he was too busy to bother with her. That would set her friend off for sure.

“I can read your mind. You think you don’t need help.” Treece concentrated on rubbing the oil into the wood. “One of these days you’re going to learn that you’re not God.”

“I don’t think I’m God.” Her face grew hot when Treece rolled her eyes. “Okay, maybe sometimes I get a little impatient waiting for him to act.”

“A little?” Her friend laughed and set the wooden angel down.

Pain pinched Andi’s shoulder and she flexed it. “I have an appointment with the producer this morning to talk to him about a couple of things.”

“Have you decided what story we’re going to work on for our cold case documentary?”

“I’m rolling one around in my head. Do you have any preference?” She wasn’t quite ready to tell anyone, not even Treece, that she wanted to do a story on Stephanie’s murder.

“No, you’re good at coming up with the ideas.” Her friend handed her a ponytail band. “Would you . . .” She gestured to her long hair. “I can’t do anything with my left hand.”

Andi jumped up. “Sure.”

She smoothed her friend’s curly black hair with her hand. “Do you want it all in the band? Or maybe a strand or two framing—”

“All of it. I’m too old to be in a beauty contest.”

“You’re only thirty-two,” Andi retorted.

“Which is ten years too old. Besides, been there, done that.”

With her classic looks and creamy brown skin, Treece could still give those young contestants a run for their money.

“Will seems quiet lately,” Treece said.

“Yeah.” Andi twisted the band around her friend’s hair, then picked up Tuesday’s edition of the newspaper and slipped it out of the sleeve. “He’s stressed about Jimmy’s execution.”

She turned to the second page and pointed to the story she’d read in Will’s car Tuesday night. “It’s set for Sunday night at eleven fifty-nine.”

“How do you feel about that? We never got a chance to talk about what you learned at the prison.”

Andi stared at the newspaper. “I don’t think Jimmy killed Stephanie.”



Will looked away from his computer screen and shrugged his shoulders to work out the kinks. He’d arrived at his desk at seven and spent the last hour and a half running down phone numbers for the list of people Jimmy had given him.

The last hour he’d concentrated on Jillian Bennett, but now that he’d obtained her married name from the alumni office at the university, he was searching Facebook for Jillian Knight. If he didn’t find something this time, he’d give up the search and move on.