What I've Done (Morgan Dane #4)(51)

“I haven’t finished watching all the tapes yet, but I wanted to call you with one bit of information,” Grandpa said. “Noah went to the bar twice. Each time he bought himself a beer and another drink made with cranberry juice, triple sec, and vodka. At one point, he also ordered nachos. I’m assuming the froufrou drinks were for the young lady. Anyway, they were doubles.”

“You’re sure?” Morgan asked.

“Yes,” Grandpa answered. “Two generous shots of vodka and one full shot of triple sec in each drink. They were ordered almost two hours apart. That’s the only interesting thing I’ve seen so far. But then, I can only see the bar and the dance floor. Mostly, people are dancing and having fun. Nothing unusual.”

“Thanks, Grandpa. Let me know if you notice anything else.”

“Will do.” Grandpa ended the call.

Lance pulled away from the curb. “I don’t even know what’s in a cosmo.”

“I drank them in college when I went out, but I don’t know exactly how they’re made. I’ll Google it.” Morgan searched for the drink recipe. “One shot of vodka and a half shot of triple sec shaken with ice and cranberry juice.”

“That sounds disgusting,” Lance said.

“They’re delicious, which is why they are dangerous. You can’t taste the alcohol. I haven’t had a cosmo in many years. One was always more than enough for me. But then most people have better alcohol tolerance than I do.”

“Kittens handle alcohol better than you,” Lance agreed.

“Haley thought she’d had two drinks, when she’d actually consumed four. That’s a total of six shots of alcohol. I’d have had a hangover, but even with my sad tolerance for alcohol, I doubt it would be enough to make me pass out, especially not if they were spread out over an entire evening and consumed with food.”

Lance’s fingers tightened on the wheel. Alcohol was the original date-rape drug. “But it’s enough to say that Noah was no choirboy.”





Chapter Twenty-Two

Sharp sat at his desk, typing his notes from their visit to the crime scene while the images were fresh in his head. He was trying to be positive, but the theory they’d come up with at the scene felt thin. He could see someone breaking into the house and stabbing Noah. But carrying Haley to the kitchen and standing her in the blood? That felt sick and depraved and, frankly, physically challenging. She might be small and light, but dead weight was difficult to manage. Haley had been naked and would have been slippery.

The longer he thought about it, the less likely the theory seemed. Morgan and Lance hadn’t shot his idea down completely, but he’d seen the skepticism on their faces.

What if the killer had simply taken blood from the scene and put it on Haley’s body? That would be another way to explain the smears on the floor. Nope. Still didn’t explain her footprints in the blood. By the time she wandered into the kitchen the following morning, the blood would have been dry. The cold air coming through the open door would have slowed drying time, but her footprints were left sometime during the night, likely within an hour or so of Noah’s death.

Morgan popped her head into his office. “I found no photos of the back door dead bolt in the files from the DA’s office. I have calls in to both the sheriff and prosecutor to see if they have pictures that were somehow left out of the evidence they sent. Neither the DA nor the sheriff will take my calls, so I doubt they’ll rush to respond. We don’t know if the sheriff overlooked the absence of blood on the dead bolt or not.”

“Bastards,” Sharp said. “Let’s—”

A knock on the door interrupted him.

“I’ll get it.” Sharp went to the window and peered through the blinds. On the front stoop, he saw a familiar brunette in a khaki trench coat. Olivia Cruz.

He could ignore her. Morgan didn’t need the distraction.

Ms. Cruz knocked again.

He gave her points for persistence.

She knocked a third time, and he opened the door. “Ms. Cruz.”

“Mr. Sharp.” She tilted her head. “Did you give Ms. Dane my message?”

“It must have slipped my mind.” Sharp leaned on the doorjamb, hooked his thumbs in his front pockets, and gave her his best do you know how fast you were going? cop glare.

Seemingly unperturbed, she glanced behind her. “It might be best if we didn’t conduct this conversation in the open.”

Sharp scanned the street. He didn’t see any other reporters in sight, but she was right. Still, he didn’t really want to let her in. “Why don’t you call for an appointment?”

“I’m not here to see you.” Her voice was flat and stubborn. “I want to talk to Ms. Dane.”

“She’s busy.” Sharp moved to close the door.

“Yes. I know. She’s working another big case. Haley Powell is her client.”

Damned reporters. Always sticking their noses—

“Sharp?” Morgan called.

He looked over his shoulder.

Morgan was standing in the hall. “Did I hear my name?”

“Yes.” Sharp exhaled through his nose. He stepped back, making room for the reporter to enter. She didn’t thank him.

Morgan walked down the hall and extended a hand. “I’m Morgan Dane.”