Justice Delayed (Memphis Cold Case #1)(87)

“I hope we find Jillian, but with only a town and a post office box, I have my doubts,” Maggie said.

Andi flipped the mirror up. She did too. “I’ve done some checking, and I didn’t find any trace of her anywhere except for a Facebook account that had no posts, no photos, nothing—except a city on the other side of the state from where she lives. It’s almost like it’s a plant.”

“I think she’s hiding from someone,” Maggie said.

“So do I. And I think she holds the key to this whole case,” Andi said as her phone rang. The hospital. Her mind automatically went to her dad, ratcheting up her heart rate. “Hello?”

“It’s me, Chloe.”

Andi’s heart slowed as her muscles relaxed. “How are you?”

“Better. They’re moving me to a safe house today.”

“That’s great.”

“Um . . . I really need to see you before I leave. I . . . I did something really bad.”

“Oh, Chloe, I’m sorry, but I’m on I-40 and an hour away from Memphis. But it can’t be that bad. Can it wait until I get back?”

“I’ll be gone.” She sounded close to tears.

“Can you just tell me?”

“I’ll try. You see, I . . .” Silence followed, then a deep sigh came through the phone. “I can’t do it. Just be careful and I’m sorry.” The line went dead.

“That was strange,” Andi said.

“Who was that?”

“A runaway I tried to help and ended up getting her shot.” Andi dialed Treece’s number. When she answered, Andi said, “Can you go to the hospital and talk to Chloe? She just called and wanted to tell me something in person, but I’m too far away from Memphis to turn around and come back, and she’s being transferred to a safe house later today.”

“I planned to visit her this morning.”

“Good. See if you can get her to talk about it.”

“Will do. Are you all right now?”

“I’m fine.” She was still disappointed in Will.

“I talked with Will. He hates what happened, and he wrapped the sculpture really carefully before he left with it. X-raying won’t damage it.”

“I don’t want to discuss him. He had no right accusing Stephanie of smuggling. She wasn’t the only flight attendant living in the house.”

“That’s just it. He believes they all might have been involved.”

“You’re kidding.” She glanced to her left. “Even Maggie?”

“No, only the flight attendants. Did you know they all flew internationally?”

She did. What if Will had been right? The man who broke into her apartment was looking for diamonds, and in spite of what she’d said to Will, no one but Stephanie could have put the diamonds in the sculpture.

Was it possible her sister really was a smuggler?



David surveyed the ceramic studio. A fireplace took up most of one wall, and a sofa sat near it. A worktable was in the center of the room, under the light. A potter’s wheel was positioned near the door, and in a small adjacent room were five-gallon buckets. Glazes, he suspected. Dried up, for sure.

Dust coated everything, and had even before the crime scene unit dusted for fingerprints. He was told they’d gotten good photos of shoe prints, but that was all. The burglar hadn’t thought about the dust from years of neglect and hadn’t seen the footprints he left behind in the dark, although they would have to be separated from the ones left yesterday.

“This was my great-grandparents’ first home,” Brad said, standing beside him. “And the only reason my dad didn’t tear it down after Stephanie died out here.”

That explained why there was a fireplace in such a small building. David tapped the mantel, looking for a hidden compartment, but it sounded solid. He turned around.

“Where do you want to start?” Brad asked.

“File cabinet, I suppose, unless you know of any place your sister might hide something.”

“I wasn’t into clay—too busy playing sports—but Andi was out here all the time. Let me call and see if she’s remembered if Stephanie had any secret hiding places.”

David wandered over to the file cabinet and opened a drawer. Nothing but glaze recipes, invoices . . . He closed it and opened another.

“Andi didn’t remember any secret places,” Brad said, “but she’ll call back if she does.”

“Any word on whether any evidence was recovered at her apartment this morning?”

“Just like here, no fingerprints. Oh, and by the way, if my mom happens to come out here, she hasn’t been told about Andi’s breakin. Or any other details of this case.”

David gave him a thumbs-up. “Did anyone other than your grandparents live here before it was turned into a ceramic studio?”

“Mom and Dad. They lived in it while our house was being built. Personally, I thought it was a waste of a good apartment for my sister to use it for a pottery studio. But Dad didn’t want to go to the expense of putting in heat and air—it’s cooled with fans and heated by the fireplace. Not that it bothered Stephanie.”

David laughed, then turned and caught Brad staring at the fireplace, an expression of wistfulness on his face.