His mother’s involvement was a conflict of interest. If it turned into a homicide, there was no way he’d be on the case. Whatever there was to find, needed to happen before his mom was caught in the crosshairs and branded an unethical home wrecker.
Ryley headed down the hall and walked into one of the rooms. This room was meant to be Phillip’s. The décor was dominated by calming shades of blue and ivory. The bed was made; the desk was neat. The computer sitting atop looked expensive. Ryley opened the door expecting a bathroom and paused at the walk-in closet. “Holy cow! This is bigger than my bedroom.” She suffered an immediate case of closet envy.
The space probably seemed larger because there were only a handful of clothes hanging inside and a backpack sitting on the floor.
The bathroom was the same way. Few personal items. No toothbrush or toothpaste. The bathtub looked as though it had never been used.
She left that room and ventured into the next one. The walls were half painted a buttery yellow. Sadly, Ryley trailed her gloved fingers along the line of paint on the wall, even though Jake had cautioned her to not touch anything. How could she not? “Must be the room Kitty had picked for the baby.”
The plastic still coated the flooring. The brushes were washed and in the tray. The lids on the colors tight.
It was as though time stopped and took away the people painting inside. A room that would never be complete and lived in, discarded like the lives taken.
Ryley moved further down the hall to the master bedroom to find Crews standing in the doorway.
This room was nothing like the others. Where the others promised a forthcoming life of solitude and happiness, this one was much more desolate.
A picture frame lay on the floor. The glass shattered; the picture gone. Everything was in disarray. Clothes were scattered on the floor. The lamp on the bedside table lay broken in pieces.
A towel with a dark brownish red stain sat atop the wood.
“Who else knew about this place?” Crews asked.
“I don’t know,” Ryley whispered, swallowing around the apprehension clogging her throat.
“I have to call this in,” he said, staring at the disaster as if in a trance.
“Not until we’re done.” Ryley carefully stepped into the room. She went to the closet and realization smacked her in the face. “There are mens’ dress clothes in here.”
He gave a slow nod. “Probably the boyfriend.”
She stepped inside and grabbed one of the hangers and stepped out. It was a shirt with the thrift shop emblem on it. “That would be my guess. Jim Cantina was wearing one just like this the other day. What I don’t get is why he lied about them breaking up. It’s clear by his clothes that he’s been here before since she bought the place.”
Crew’s jaw ticked. “I’ll be sure and ask him when I pick him up.”
Ryley’s phone vibrated with a text from Logan Bane. It was short and to the point.
Jim Cantina went with Kitty Lynch to the baby doctor.
She showed it to Crews and followed him out of the apartment. “I don’t even think that towel will get you a search warrant for this place when you don’t have proof of foul play and everyone thinks she killed herself. You’re going to do some major convincing to people above your paygrade that there was more going on than meets the eye.”
“I know. I think it’s time I convince my boss that this might not be as cut and dry as it seems.”
“You do that. I’ve got an errand to run, and then I’m going to stop by the Lynch place and see if they’ll let me hold something personal of Kitty’s. It’s time I call her out and try to connect now that I have some emotional triggers to use. This needs to stop before it gets even more out of hand.”
“I’ll call you if Jim confesses,” Crews said as he walked her down to her car.
Stretch was lounging in the backseat because the passenger seat was occupied. Mr. Wilson was waiting with a patient smile.
“You could live here, you know. You’re my benefactor. All my money is yours.”
“I don’t want your money,” Ryley said, pulling out of the parking lot. “Look what that did for Kitty. She had a boatload of cash, and she still died heartbroken and alone.”
“The farmhouse will be your sanctuary. You’ll love it there. I promise.” She glanced at Wilson to find him looking at her. “Your signature is the only thing keeping me here.”
“Go sign his paperwork, Ryley, so I can get my seat back,” Stretch whined from the backseat.
Ryley drove to the cemetery and parked, glanced at both ghosts, and narrowed her eyes. “Please don’t follow me unless you can help me with the kid.”
There were no cars in the parking lot. Nothing to suggest that the mortuary make-up artists were even on the premises. No black clouds, or creepy crawly soul eaters. Not even another ghost in sight.
She stepped out and walked to the bench in front of Adam Bell’s grave. She sat with a sigh. Adam’s grave seemed larger today. Maybe it was just the added weight of needing to help him find his peace. The car and the note she’d left had disappeared.
“Adam, I’d like to talk to you,” she called out and sat back, staring down at his parents’ headstones. The entire family had died on Christmas Eve. “I can help you see your family again.”
The air around her chilled. The hairs on her neck stood up. He was near.
“Tell me what you remember, and I’ll try to figure out who killed you.”
“I
