Page 109 of Liar's Point

“Maybe what?” Owen sounded frustrated, and she didn’t blame him. She was frustrated, too. With every clue they unearthed, it seemed things got more complicated instead of less.

She looked out the window, wishing she could put into words this feeling that something was off about Cassandra Miller. Nicole knew it in her bones, but she couldn’t articulate what it was, exactly. Weirdly, Cassandra even looked like one of the victims, Danielle Ward. Nicole had mistaken Danielle for Cassandra the morning after the murder when she and Emmet had gone by the studio to interview her about finding Aubrey’s body. Did the resemblance mean anything, or was it just another oddity about the two cases? Nicole felt sure there had to be a link between these deaths. She’d gone over to Cassandra’s place yesterday afternoon for a follow-up, but Cassandra hadn’t been home and then everything got derailed when Nicole ended up in the emergency room.

“Look, maybe you’re right,” Owen said. “I don’t know.” He finished off the second taco and balled up the foil. “I’m just telling you, if you plan to go to Brady with this, you better have at least a theory about what it means.”

“Honestly,” she said, “I have no idea what it means. But I’m certain it means something.”

***

Emmet mounted the steps and looked out over the beach. The sun had broken through the clouds and people were out jogging again, despite the near-frigid temperature. He turned away from the view and rang the doorbell. When he heard footsteps on the other side, he held his badge up to the peephole.

The door swung open.

Scott Kinney had lost weight since his driver’s license photo four years ago. His skin was tan, and he had the sinewy look of a long-distance runner.

He nodded. “Detective.”

“Mr.Kinney. Thanks for making the time.”

“No problem. Come on in.”

Emmet wiped his feet on the monogrammed welcome mat before stepping into a house that looked like something from Architectural Digest. Bleached wood floors, soaring ceilings, huge picture windows looking out over the beach.

“I just got off a conference call,” Kinney said, leading him through the room. He wore faded jeans and an untucked white dress shirt. No shoes.

He glanced at Emmet as he passed a huge round table consisting of a piece of glass atop a driftwood pedestal. On it was an open laptop computer. “Want coffee or anything?” he asked.

“No, thanks.”

The kitchen looked like one of those showrooms where all the appliances cost as much as a car. Kinney opened a Sub-Zero refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. He leaned back against the immaculate white countertop and twisted off the cap.

“How is the investigation coming?” Kinney asked, like they were talking about the weather.

“Fine.”

He shook his head. “It’s terrible about Aubrey. I don’t think it’s really hit yet.”

Emmet glanced around, looking for any sign of anyone else living here. He saw no purse, or car keys, or stray pairs of shoes kicking around. No kids’ toys or evidence of a pet.

He looked at Aubrey’s boyfriend, who was twelve years her senior.

“How did you hear about Aubrey’s death?” Emmet asked.

“Everyone was talking about it at the meeting yesterday.” He set the water down without taking a sip. “I didn’t believe it at first.” He shook his head. “Still seems unreal.”

“The AA meeting?”

“That’s right.”

“How often do you go?”

He made a face. “Less than I probably should. I try to make it when I’m in town. But I’m in Dallas a lot for work, and it’s harder to get to one.”

“What do you do?” Emmet asked.

“I’m in software sales.”

“And your job’s based in Dallas?”

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