Tied Bond (Holly Woods Files, #4) (12 page)

I’m always losing my hairbrush. It’d be so much easier to just grab a fork from the drawer. There are always at least eight of those.

See? Important questions.

I have another: Why would anyone want to set Gianna up for Wally’s murder? Everyone loves Gianna… She’s like Nonna but quieter, and she doesn’t have a cane to threaten you with every ten minutes.

Gianna has no enemies I’m aware of, but then again, I didn’t know that Wally did, either. I don’t really know a whole lot about Wally, I’m realizing. The first thing to do would be to find out as much about him as possible to find people who could potentially have motive for killing him, and the only way to do that is by asking people who were close to him about him…

Damn it. No, this isn’t the plan. The plan is to find out Gianna’s place in the investigation.

The plan is already fucked.

Thank you, Gi.

“O
h no. What do you want?”

I gasp. “What makes you think I want something?”

Trent stares at me flatly and puts his pen down. “Because the only time you ever come here is to A: take Drake for food or B: because you want somethin’. Now, since it’s too late for breakfast but too early for lunch, I’m goin’ with the latter option.”

“Maybe I want brunch.”

“You have frosting on your top lip. You already had it.”

“Shit.” I wipe at my lip then look at my hand. “There’s no frosting here.”

“I know. I was testing you, and I was right.” He grins and leans back in his chair. “So, what do you want?”

“Maybe I just want to come and see my favorite brother. Have you thought about that?” I slink into the room and grasp the back of a chair.

“And, if I don’t give you what you want, you’ll go and see your other favorite brother before moving onto your other favorite brother.”

“Damn it.”

“Thought so. Out with it.”

I sigh heavily and round the chair before dropping my butt onto it. “What is Gianna to the investigation?”

Trent pauses, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Why do you need to know?”

“Because she’s my boyfriend’s mom and I care about her.”

“Hmm.”

“Come on, Trent. This is hardly confidential information. If she’s a suspect, I’ll just find out on the news… Or when I buy coffee.”

He rubs his hand across his eyes. “She’s a…person of interest.”

“So your prime suspect.”

“Stop twisting my words.”

“Okay. If she’s only a ‘person of interest,’ then who else is also interesting in this case?”

He doesn’t say a thing, but his gaze doesn’t waver, either. It’s his fuck-you-got-me look.

I let out a long breath and slump back in the chair. This isn’t good. Not at all.

“No kidding. Drake hasn’t been told yet, but he’s going to lose his shit when he finds out. I plan to be far, far away.” Trent snorts.

Oh, hell. I better shave my legs because I’m going to have to put out tonight. “He can’t work the case, can he?”

“Not at all. Sheriff said to me this morning that he doesn’t even want Drake having access to the files because he’s worried he’ll start his own investigation into it. I don’t want to be here when he finds that out, either.”

“Yeah… I can’t imagine the lead detective in the department will take kindly to being refused access to files.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you have a conflict of interest. Drake and Gianna are close.” He shrugs. “No one is saying that he would, but there’s every chance of interference in the investigation. He could change things so that she can avoid conviction.”

“What if she isn’t guilty though?”

“Then the DNA will rule her out, won’t it?”

“What if there is none?”

“Noelle, you really need to lay off
The New Detectives
.”

“Actually, Netflix put the next season of
Forensic Files
on. I’m bingeing that.”

“Well, whatever it is you’re watching, stop it. It isn’t going to solve this case, and neither are you.”

I study him. He has a hard look in his eye, and his jaw is set tight.

“You’re leading the investigation, aren’t you?” I ask.

He says nothing. Again.

“You’re leading the investigation where the prime suspect is your best friend’s mom.” I’m not even asking him at this point. I know it’s true.

“It was deemed not to be a conflict of interest,” he says almost tiredly. “I had no choice. I have no choice. This is my job.”

“He’ll hate you if you arrest her.”

“I know. So, to answer your question, for whatever reason you feel like you need to know right now, the answer is yes. Gianna is our prime suspect. Hell, she’s our only suspect.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” I get up and walk to the door. “Thanks, Trent.”

“Don’t mention it. Literally. Don’t. I get scared when you ask questions. It usually means you’re going to stick your nose somewhere it shouldn’t be.”

Man, that would be real offensive if it weren’t true.

“Pretty much.”

“Noelle?” he calls before I step out of his office. “Please try to keep your nose out of my investigation.”

I turn to face him with my hands up and my eyes wide. “I have no idea what you mean.”

He half sighs, half groans. “In other words, you’re refusing to make a promise you know you’re going to break.”

“Tell Alison I’ll call her tonight! See ya!” I run out of his office before he can say another word and push the door to the police station open.

My stomach rumbles the second I step outside. Ugh—apparently, the sugarcoated cinnamon roll I had for breakfast didn’t fill me up. I should have known. I’ve been told a thousand times, like the child I clearly am.

I’d grow up if it weren’t so overrated.

I pull my keys from my pocket and unlock my car. I guess all I can do now is get a head start on potentially having Gianna as my client and having to prove her innocence. Since I know nothing about Wally, I figure finding out some information about him is the best place to start.

I dial Carlton’s number and hit speaker before starting my engine and pulling out of the parking lot.

“Yo, boss.”

“Yo? Really?”

His laughter fills my car. “Sorry. I’m talking and, er, working, at the same time.”

“You burn down that village yet?”

More laughter. “Something like that. What’s up?”

“I need to know about Walter ‘Wally’ Thornton. Just basic info right now—relationship status, next of kin, surviving family.” I take the turn toward Rosie’s Café. “Can you do that?”

“Can I do that? No, sorry. You’ll have to Google it.”

“I will fire you, you little shit.”

“It doesn’t get scarier when you repeat it. Just so you know.” The distinct sound of his laptop keys clicking as he types travels down the line. “Hang on.”

“Hang on for what? You to lose your sass?”

“Walter ‘Wally’ Thornton, single but divorced twice. Born and raised in Holly Woods. Has one daughter in her midtwenties who is his only direct surviving family and his next of kin.”

“You got her—”

“Katherine Thornton, lives in Washington D.C. and works as a journalist. Got her degree in journalism in Dallas before moving right after graduation.” More tapping sounds as I pull up outside the café. “Looks like… She’s a freelancer, strength lies in political stories. Obviously. Broken a couple of relatively big stories before other more popular journos, but nothing to get her signed to a paper or website or anything like that. Gets the odd invite to the White House press conferences.”

“Do you have any contact information for her? I’m assuming the police have already contacted her.”

“Last known activity on her credit card was last night to Delta for a flight to Austin, so yes. And I’m starting to feel like a fugitive.”

“Call Anonymous or Lizard Squad. They’ll talk you out of it. It’s all for the greater good.”

“Yeah. Right. I’ll get on that information for Katherine and let you know.”

“Thanks, kid. Gotta go.” I hang up and look out the window at the café.

I don’t want to go in there for a second—not after what I learned at Gianna’s just last week. The thought of Wally cheating on Gianna with Rosie is very strange. I don’t know if I quite understand it, but I guess I was only a kid when they were married, and Lord only knows that adults do fucked-up shit all the time.

Example: We have to pay bills. That’s fucked up. Nun-in-a-porno kinda fucked up.

It’s crazy. I think, if I weren’t such a problem-solver, I’d be a psychologist. I’m obsessed with how the human mind works and the way it ticks. The ins and the outs and the whens and the whys and the hows.

Maybe that’s why I am a problem-solver. Because I can do the things a psychologist can’t. I can dig through the bullshit and find out things about people they’d rather stay buried, because that’s the best part about my job. One way or another, if I want or need to, your skeletons will be dug up. I can unearth just about anything with the help of my team and the people around me. Essentially, no one is safe. I’ll find out everything.

Hey, look. I’m the individual version of the NSA. Except I don’t keep a log of your text messages and shit. That’s odd. Even for me.

Sitting out here and going off on a thought tangent isn’t going to get me anywhere. All it’s going to do is make me even hungrier than I am, and that’s not good for anybody. No one needs a super-hungry Noelle.

Jesus, here I go again. I need a fucking intervention around here.

I force myself out of my car, grabbing my wallet on the way. I am at a café, after all. I can get food and information all in one trip. It’s so nice when a plan I didn’t know I had comes together. I dismiss the thought as soon as I open the door to Rosie’s and the bell above my head dings, announcing my arrival.

The café is quiet but not empty, and the murmur of conversation is just low enough that I’ll be able to talk with Rosie without being interrupted, but it’s not so quiet that anyone will be able to hear what we’re saying.

I don’t even want to do this. But here I am. Unable to control my own investigative urges. Damn me, myself, and I.

Corinne Banks, Rosie’s niece and an old school friend I haven’t seen in at least nine years, pops up from behind the counter. Her bottle-blond hair is the exact same shade, cut, and style it was when she left to chase her dreams in California, and she doesn’t look like she’s aged at all.

Probably Botox.

“Noelle! Hey! I wondered how long it’d be before you stopped by here. Aunt Rosie said something about cupcakes and pie.”

“I… Yeah. Little addiction going on.” I smile, ignoring the way she looks at my stomach.

Good lord.

“I thought you were in California,” I say before she can ask if I’m pregnant or something else ridiculous.

“I was, but my mom called and asked if I could come check on Aunt Rosie. I was in Louisiana for work and about to head back to L.A., so I drove down here first thing this morning and took over so she could go home.” Corinne shrugs and sighs.

I wince. “Is she taking Wally’s death hard?”

“Yes and no,” she responds. “Do you want coffee?”

“Ah, sure. Large vanilla latte, please.”

“Of course.” She picks a coffee cup up. “I don’t think his death has sunk in yet. She was pretty much working on, like, autopilot when I showed up. I basically forced her home and she didn’t even fight me.”

Wow. That isn’t like Rosie at all. The woman will be delivering baked goods to her own funeral, I’m pretty sure.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I’ll stop by and see her later on or tomorrow if she’s feeling up to seeing anyone.”

“I’m sure she’d love it. Mom is flying in tomorrow night to be here for her, but until then, it’s just me.” Corinne puts the coffee cup in front of me. “Is that everything?”

“Can I have two slices of cherry pie, please? In separate containers?”

“Sure.” She pulls the pie out and cuts it, the look on her face screaming,
Carbs! The devils! Carbs! Take them away!
while I’m pretty sure my expression is a love note to the very things she looks scared of.

I love carbs. Carbs are life. Mmm, carbs.

When the containers are in front of me, I swipe my card on the machine and reiterate my intentions to stop by and see Rosie. Then, halfway out the door, something occurs to me.

“Hey, Corinne?” I turn back to her.

“Yep?”

“This might sound strange and insensitive, but why is Rosie so upset about Wally? I know they had a thing once, but that was, like, fifteen years ago, right?”

“Right—their first fling. Then she got married, but after Uncle Ste died, she rebounded on Wally. They’ve been on and off pretty much ever since, but from what my mom told me when she called, they were very much on until, well, he was killed.”

Interesting. “Thanks. I just wondered.”

“No worries. I’ll let her know you’re going to visit with her.”

I don’t respond, instead continuing my journey outside and back to my car a couple of feet down the street. So Rosie and Wally were in a relationship that ended only when his life did… But he was also seeing Gianna.

That doesn’t exactly help Gianna out in the motive stakes, does it?