Justice Delayed (Memphis Cold Case #1)(5)

Mrs. Casey, the older woman who owned the house, occupied the first floor, and Andi and Treece lived in the two upstairs apartments. Instead of taking the outside stairs, Andi went through the back door on the main floor to pick up her mail that Mrs. Casey always placed on the hallway table.

Bill, bill, advertisement. She looked up as Treece peered over the bannister, a grin pasted on her face. “Don’t say ‘I told you so,’” Andi said.

Treece descended the steps, holding a pitcher in one hand. “I was thinking more along the lines that you must have been speeding to get here so quickly. You’re going to get caught one of these days.”

“Nah.” Andi shook her head and climbed the stairs. “But if I do, I’ll get Brad to fix it. Or Will.”

This time Treece laughed out loud, her dark eyes dancing. “You know that’s not happening. They might hover over you like mother hens, but neither of them has ever fixed one of your tickets.”

Andi gave her a sour look. They were mother hens, all right. Had been ever since she was diagnosed with a bad heart valve as a child. Her protectors, they called themselves. Guards, she’d called them, and their attitude hadn’t changed after her surgery, and had lasted even to this day. “What are you doing with the pitcher?”

“Mrs. Casey called from Nashville. She forgot to water her plants and asked if we would do it,” Treece said as she unlocked their landlord’s door. “If you’ll help me, it’ll be quicker.”

“Sure.” Andi followed her friend inside the apartment that was directly under Treece’s, where they found another pitcher and filled it with water. Fifteen minutes later the plants were watered, and she and Treece were climbing the stairs.

“I have the makings for a salad if you’d like it to go with your pizza,” Treece said.

“That sounds good,” Andi said as they topped the stairs and she walked to her door. “I think I’m going to change into something more comfortable. Do I need to bring over anything for the salad?”

“I don’t think so.” Her friend tilted her head. “Why do you think Lacey didn’t show?”

She hesitated with her hand on the door. Maybe she’d eat first, then come home and take a hot shower and go to bed. “I don’t know, but it sure wasn’t any fun driving to the airport.”

“Did you ever figure out who the person was that she mentioned on the phone?”

Lacey had rambled about someone. Andi tried to recall the name. “Do you remember who I said it was?”

Treece shook her head. “No. Only that you said she mentioned a name.”

“It was someone with initials . . .” She shrugged and trailed Treece into her apartment. Whenever they got together, whether it was for work or for social reasons, they always gravitated to Treece’s apartment. Maybe it was because she cooked, or because her apartment was more inviting.

She glanced around Treece’s living room. Their apartment layouts mirrored each other, but that’s where the similarity ended. Other than a couple of paintings, Andi’s walls were bare, and she certainly didn’t have knickknacks sitting around waiting to be dusted. The only pottery she owned was a sculpture her sister had been working on when she was murdered.

Treece, on the other hand, was a decorating maven. Bright paint covered the walls and bold fabric hung on the windows. African pottery, along with pieces from local artists, graced tables and bookcases. Andi really did need to make an effort to spruce things up over on her side.

She set her bag on the counter. “Where’s that pizza? I’m starving.”

Treece pointed to the top of the stove. “Microwave or oven?”

“Not the microwave,” Andi said, turning on the oven.

“While we wait for it to reheat, tell me more about this friend of your sister. You wouldn’t discuss her this morning, but I think you need to. Was she there the night Stephanie . . . ?”

Andi’s stomach curdled. She’d managed all day to push that night out of her mind. She’d been barely thirteen, and two days after the funeral, she’d had surgery to replace a heart valve.

Steph had been eight years older than Andi, and Andi idolized her big sister. Finding out who Steph was as an adult had been the reason for agreeing to meet Lacey at the airport. Not to discuss Stephanie’s death—the man who killed her sat on death row.

Andi turned around and slid the pizza into the oven. “I don’t remember. And I still don’t want to talk about it. Let it go. Okay?”

When she turned back around, her heart sank. Treece had that reporter gleam in her eyes that said she was not dropping the subject. Andi broke off a stalk of celery for her salad. Why did people always think they knew what was best for her? She sliced the celery in the wooden bowl with a rounded Ulu blade. She did not want to discuss Stephanie’s death.

“That celery isn’t your enemy,” Treece said. “What I can’t understand is why you won’t discuss your sister. You never back away from anything, except Stephanie’s death.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. My sister’s ex-boyfriend shot and killed her. My mom and I found Jimmy Shelton sitting by her body with the gun. He confessed, and Sunday night it will finally be over. What else is there to talk about?”

“For one thing, from what I read about the case on the internet, he recanted the confession. Said it was coerced.”