Secrets Never Die (Morgan Dane #5)(55)

“Now I’m intrigued.”

“I was hoping you would be.”

She smiled. “How is Joe Martin involved?”

“His daughter, Tina, is the missing boy’s mother.”

Olivia’s mouth formed an O. “That certainly does make the case interesting, especially since Joe was released from prison recently.”

“You know?”

“Yes.” She crossed her arms and leaned on the counter. “So why are you here?”

“I want to talk to someone who knows where Joe Martin is and what he’s doing now that he’s out. I know it’s been a long time, but I was hoping you might be able to point me in the right direction.”

She snorted. “You can’t be serious.”

“Martin threatened his daughter. Now he’s out of jail, and her husband was murdered and her son has gone missing. Do you still have any contacts that might help? I’m just looking for a lead here.”

Olivia’s crow’s-feet deepened. “Twenty-five years is a long time in drug-dealer years. They don’t have long life expectancies. I would bet most of the young men I interviewed for that article are dead. In fact, I know some of them are.”

Disappointment filled Sharp. He set down the mug. “Thanks anyway.”

“But I have kept in contact with people on the periphery of that life. If Martin returned to Newark, someone will know.” She set her mug in the sink. “Let me make a few calls. I’ll let you know if I’m successful.”

“When will I hear from you?” Sharp pretended he was only anxious about the case, but he actually enjoyed her company. She was smart, confident, and had a quick sense of humor.

“Tomorrow morning at the latest. Give me tonight.”

“Thank you.” In the meantime, Sharp would return to the background files, murder board, and case reports. He could also stop and check on Jenny for Lance, letting him concentrate on the case.

She smiled, the upturn of her mouth just a little wicked as she walked him back to the front door. “You will owe me quite a few favors. Eventually, I’m going to ask for payback.”

Sharp opened the door and glanced over his shoulder at her. “As you wish.”

The last thing he heard as she closed the door was a burst of laughter.





Chapter Twenty-Two

The Nelson house was nothing like Morgan expected. Rylee’s street could have been a Hollywood set for suburban America. The traditional two-story was well maintained, from its clean white siding to its freshly painted, deep-green shutters. The shrubs were trimmed, the lawn was mowed, and flowers lined the stone walkway that led to a wide front porch.

A gray minivan sat in the driveway, and the front door stood open.

Morgan could see through the screen into what appeared to be a living room. “Someone is here.”

Lance parked in front of the house, and they got out of the Jeep. Morgan led the way to the front porch and knocked on the wooden edge of the screen door. A young man of about twenty came to the door.

He frowned. “Can I help you?” His tone suggested suspicion.

Morgan introduced them and offered him her card. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

He ignored the card. “Questions about what?”

“We’re looking for Evan Meade,” she said.

“I don’t know where Evan Meade is.” He moved backward and reached for the wooden door as if to close it.

Lance stepped forward. “Does Rylee?”

The young man stopped and squinted at them through the screen. “Why would my sister know where Evan Meade is? We only know his name from the news.”

“Rylee knows Evan.” Morgan sensed deep distrust. “We’re not the police. I’m a private attorney working for Evan’s mother. She wants to find her son. She’s terrified something has happened to him. Surely you can understand that.”

The young man hesitated, then exhaled and nodded once. “OK.” He glanced over his shoulder and scanned the room behind him before he opened the screen door.

“Thank you.” Morgan stepped over the threshold into a painfully neat living room that smelled of fresh furniture polish. The furniture was old-fashioned and worn but clean. A soft blue sofa and flowered wing chair faced a TV in the corner of the room.

“I’m Rylee’s brother, Trevor. Please sit down.” Trevor gestured to the sofa.

Morgan perched on the edge. A spring poked her in the butt.

Lance sat next to her. “We were hoping to speak with Rylee’s parents.”

Trevor settled in the wing chair, his arms crossed over his body. “Our parents died in a car accident last year.”

“We’re so sorry for your loss,” Morgan said.

Trevor’s eyes misted. His throat shifted as he swallowed and regained control. “We’re lucky. Mom and Dad were savers, not spenders. They had life insurance policies. We could stay in the house.”

Morgan sensed there was much more to the story . . . and that Trevor was desperate. “But something else happened?”

His eyes filled with doubt, as well as the yearning to have someone on his side.

“The responsibility of your sister’s well-being must seem overwhelming at times,” she said. “And you must feel very much alone.”