She nodded. “Do you have a broom, mop, vacuum? I have some in the car.”
“I have all that. I also have something I need to talk to you about.”
Corentine scowled. “Yes?”
“My name is Marshal Bingham. I’m here to replace Jamie Moriarty.”
Declan grimaced.
I really wish I had a badge to flash right now.
He didn’t know why she’d believe a word without a badge, but he held his breath and waited for her response.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her accent seemed to grow even thicker.
Declan thought about his options. He could be the heavy. He could threaten...
Let’s try reassuring first.
Declan held up his palms. “It’s okay. You haven’t been compromised.”
“Mister, I don’t know what you’re talking about but I think I should go.” Corentine grabbed her bucket and bolted for the door. Declan sidestepped to block her way.
And here’s where the false imprisonment starts.
“Please, don’t make this more difficult. The office wants to move you, but I thought I’d come here and ask you if you wanted a new location.”
He wasn’t sure how the idea had come to him, but Corentine’s demeanor changed. She relaxed and put down the bucket, an air of resignation settling over her as if she’d made a decision.
“I don’t want to move.”
She sounded tired. She also no longer sounded Hispanic.
Interesting.
He took it as a sign that his gamble had paid off and she’d resigned herself to the idea he knew exactly who she was.
He motioned to the sofa. “Please sit.”
She nodded and walked to the sofa to sit, crossing her hands in her lap.
He took a seat in the chair across from her, confident he could leap up and block her if she tried to run again.
“Now before we get into this, I have to ask you about—” the word Jerkface jumped to mind.
Shoot that isn’t his name. What was his name? Ah—
“Jack.”
Her eyes widened. “How do you know about him?”
Time to look smug.
“I know everything. I don’t think I have to remind you that waving guns at people violates your terms.”
Declan sat, holding his smug expression, worried he’d said too much. Charlotte told him she thought she saw a gun in her hand.
Corentine grimaced. “I think he’s setting me up.”
She spoke with a new accent Declan couldn’t place.
“Setting you up, how?” he asked.
“Someone called me out to that house where the man was dead at the ladder. They wanted me to be there. Then someone called me to the golf house. Same thing. And he was both places. I thought it had to be him.”
“Why would someone do that?”
She looked at him as if he were stupid. “You know.”
Declan pretended to pull a fuzzy from his khakis, stalling for time as he thought.
Something from her past. Something in her records I should know. How can I explain why don’t I know? Ah, when in doubt, blame Jamie.
“Jamie didn’t leave us with the best notes.”
Corentine nodded. “No. I know. That’s what the other guy said on the phone.”
Declan nodded, pretending to know what she meant. He guessed the U.S. Marshals had already been in contact.
He decided to shift back to his original ploy in order to gain her trust. She’d made it clear staying in Charity was important to her.
“He wanted to move you. I stepped in to stop that.”
She frowned. “He promised me I wouldn’t lose my business and I could stay here. He swore on it.”
Declan caught how she said on like awn and pegged her from the Philadelphia or Baltimore area.
He nodded, trying to look as empathetic as possible. “I’ll be honest with you, that’s why I stepped in. You’ve built a life for yourself here.”
“I learned Spanish,” she said, her voice stressed to convey to him how hard that had been. “I’m not even Hispanic. I’m half black. I thought it would take me deeper uncover, you know?”
“I know. Very smart. We wish all witnesses were as, uh, dedicated as you. You’ve done great.”
She hung her head. “I’m exhausted. You have to help me. I’ve paid with my whole life to be here.”
Declan felt confident he had her trust. Now he could start getting the answers they needed.
“Do you know Jack?”
She head snapped up. “No. But how could he know about my thing except from you guys?”
Declan remained silent, lost again. Before he could panic, Corentine continued.
“Oh right. You might not know about that part.” She took a deep breath. “I killed three people. A thing to do with my childhood. I dunno. I’m still in therapy, but I’m doing really well.”
Declan’s jaw started to creak open and he closed it.
“Okay...”
“I had them give me immunity for the natural disaster killings when I made my deal to flip.”
“Natural disaster killings?”
She nodded. “During big storms. One tornado. People don’t look into murders that look like storm accidents.”
Declan heard a gasp behind him and grimaced.
Charlotte.
Corentine’s head swiveled in the direction of the hall. “Who’s there?”
She stood and Declan reached out to grab her wrist to keep her from running.
“Come out, Char.”
Charlotte stepped into the room.
“You,” said Corentine. She jerked her hand from Declan’s grasp. “What is this? Who are you two?”
Charlotte held up her palms, as if trying to quiet a skittish horse.
“It’s okay. We just need to know some things.”
Corentine gaped at Declan. “You’re not a marshal, are you?”
“No. But we’re looking in to who killed Ladder Guy.”
Corentine slapped crossed hands to her chest. “It wasn’t me. Someone is trying to set me up, I told you.”
“Did you set the fire?” asked Charlotte.
Corentine’s attention whipped to her. “What fire?”
Declan caught Charlotte’s eye, hoping she could
