Page 16 of Liar's Point

“You know the other problem, right? Besides the car?”

“If she wasn’t killed there, then we’ve got another crime scene,” he said.

“Right.”

“It’s possible she was abducted from someplace or killed at another location and brought to the beach,” he said. “Either way, the perp had to have been in or near the vehicle, so maybe we’ll get lucky, and someone spotted him.”

Luck. Sure. They’d had so much already.

“Where did she live again?” Nicole asked.

“That apartment complex near the wharf. Angler’s Landing.”

“Nice.”

He looked at her. “Not really. You ever been over there?”

“No. But at least it’s gated. And new.” Unlike Nicole’s place, which had been built in the seventies and looked it. “And where did she work?”

“Her parents said she waited tables at O’Toole’s sports bar. But I don’t remember seeing her in there. Do you?”

“No. But I’ve never been in there at lunch. Maybe she worked day shifts?”

“Maybe.”

Emmet shook his head, and she knew what he was thinking. They needed to find out about the victim’s work hours—and a million other details of her daily routine—so they could piece together her movements leading up to the discovery of her body at Lighthouse Point. It was a process that should have started yesterday. The first days of a case were critical, and they’d lost valuable time.

Emmet was right. This was shaping up to be a shitshow.

“Guess I was optimistic to think we might have a slow off-season,” Nicole said. “First, we had the task force op, now this. Everyone’s tapped.”

“That’s no excuse,” Emmet said. “We need to rise to the occasion.”

“I know.” She took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s nail this interview.”

She had gotten this witness talking before, and now she just needed to coax more information out of her. Surely the woman had seen something useful while she was jogging on that beach.

Nicole swung into the parking lot of the Banyan Tree and had to drive all the way to the far end to find an empty space. The yoga studio shared the strip center with a martial arts academy, a dog groomer, and a doughnut shop that had a line out the door. The shop was known for its chocolate cake doughnuts, and Nicole’s stomach rumbled just thinking about them.

She and Emmet got out and looked around.

“You used to take classes here, didn’t you?”

She glanced at Emmet, surprised. “That was, like, four years ago. How do you remember that?”

“I remember things.” He checked his phone and slid it into the pocket of his jacket.

“Yeah, I got a membership once.” She sighed. “I was on a fitness kick. I went to just enough classes to realize I’m not cut out for yoga.”

They crossed the parking lot, and as they neared the door, Nicole spied a slender woman in workout gear with a dark braid all the way to her waist.

“There she is.” Nicole hurried after her, hoping to catch her outside. “Cassandra?”

The woman opened a glass door, and Nicole walked faster. “Cassandra?”

The door swung shut, and Nicole grabbed it. “Cassandra Miller?”

She turned around, and Nicole halted. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

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