The Last Invitation (22)
She forced her mind to concentrate. She breathed through the shudder running through her. Closed her eyes and tried to think like Baines. Where would he hide damning evidence? The police and forensic professionals had been all over the house, and they weren’t talking.
The safe in the bedroom seemed too obvious. She doubted the file cabinet held anything of any real interest. The police would have dumped those drawers into boxes and taken them out of the house along with all the computers anyway.
So . . . in books? In drawers? “Baines, give me a hint.”
She laughed at how ridiculous she sounded. He would love that he had her spinning in circles, questioning her sanity, and racing around after him. Any act that gave him power or shifted attention to him counted as a win.
“Asshole.” The word slipped out, but maybe that was a good sign. She’d spent years calling him that in her head or with her friends. This was the first time since finding his body she’d let her mind go there. “I will not grant you sainthood in death, my dear ex-husband.”
She looked at the framed photo of Kennedy on the table behind his desk. Photos and family . . . and in the next second her mind wandered back to that misplaced family photograph over the fireplace. He hadn’t asked for that in the divorce. She’d lost track of it, forgot about it, really, until five minutes ago.
Who kept a near-life-sized photo with their ex-spouse right there—boom—where it couldn’t be avoided?
She turned and walked back into the great room and stared the damn thing down. It looked . . . different. She studied the photo and, no, that was the same. The frame. It was bigger, maybe bulkier.
She slipped her fingers under the bottom edge. Nothing but smooth paper backing until . . . a bump. She peeked under but couldn’t see anything.
“Damn it, Baines. This is so needlessly dramatic.”
Keys. That’s all she had on her. She yanked them out of her pants pocket and poked through the brown paper. Trying to angle for some light while she balanced the heavy frame on her shoulder, she reached under and poked through the paper. Made a hole big enough to squeeze a finger in and heard the tear rip through the quiet room.
She thought she felt an envelope. She wriggled it out, ripping a bigger hole in the paper backing. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
She heard the footsteps behind her, but it was too late.
“What are you doing here?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Gabby
“I’ll ask again,” Detective Schone said. “What are you doing in here?”
Gabby folded the envelope and shoved it in her pocket as she turned around to face the detective. “I needed to get something for Kennedy.”
The detective didn’t break eye contact. “This is a crime scene.”
How convenient. “You said Baines’s death was a suicide.”
“And you insisted it wasn’t, so now we’re looking a little deeper.”
“Good.” But anxiety welled up inside Gabby. Accountability, an investigation. Exactly what Gabby had wanted, but for some reason hearing the words made her fidgety. Worried.
The detective’s gaze bounced to Gabby’s pocket. “Is it?”
“Of course. I think—”
The detective kept staring. “What are you hiding?”
“Nothing.” Gabby held up her hands, hoping the envelope was thin enough not to show a bulge in the side of her pants.
“I could physically search you.”
Gabby slowly lowered her arms. “You forget I actually went to law school. Graduated and took the bar and everything, so no, you can’t.”
“Trespassing.”
That was technically true, but Gabby didn’t give in. “Try again.”
“You’re not helping your case,” Detective Schone said, speaking in her now-familiar clipped way that created uncomfortable silences and awkward fumbling.
Gabby fought not to react. “Am I a suspect in something?”
“Who else would want your ex-husband dead?”
Ten years ago, Gabby would have laughed and said, No one. Now? That list might be pretty damn long. “That’s your job to figure out.”
“Give me your best guess.”
Gabby hated this game. Her frazzled nerves kicked to life. She had to concentrate to keep her words slow and clear. No babbling. “I don’t know. A business associate? Disgruntled employee? Someone he ticked off?”
“His brother.”
A warning signal blared in her head. Not Liam. She refused to entertain even a fleeting thought about Liam killing Baines. Liam wasn’t that guy. “Liam is grieving.”
“He voluntarily turned over business documents that potentially confirm criminal activity by his own brother. Had the boxes packed and ready for pickup by the time we arrived at the office with a search warrant.”
That sounded like typical Liam behavior to her. He wouldn’t want to risk the business by being accused of hiding information. “So?”
The detective made a strange humming sound. “Convenient, don’t you think?”
“Liam was as stunned as I was to find out about missing money.”
“Yeah, you seem devastated as you crawl around your dead husband’s mansion. Oh, sorry. Ex-husband.”