Page 37 of Midnight Secrets

She nodded.

“Where’s your camera?”

“Lynne usually takes the pictures. She brings me an SD card or a thumb drive, and I upload from that.”

“Do you have one of those for the Hammond house?”

“N—” she stopped, mid-word. The slight frown on her face opened into a surprised look. “Actually, I don’t have listing photos, but I have pre-listing photos. Remember how I told you I closed all the doors when I took pictures for Lynne? So she could stage the place?”

My heartbeat quickened. “Yes. I think I need to see those pictures.” There could be something there. Something someone didn’t want anyone else to see.

“I don’t have it, though.” Her expression turned worried. “Lynne does.”

CHAPTER 12

Ozzie

The keyboard clicked softly as I paged through the photos on the SD card I got from Lynne Young. Claire’s stager had been more than happy to turn over the pictures when Claire asked and I explained my theory. But so far, nothing in the images jumped out at me. If there was something here, it wasn’t obvious to anyone except the people involved.

I shut the laptop with a frustrated huff and looked out the window of the small plane I was on. One look at the mountains crossing below us, and I regretted that decision. The flight to Hoonah wasn’t a long one, which meant another tiny plane. Maybe one day I’d get used to being on small aircraft, but that day wasn’t today.

Turning away from the stomach-churning sights, I spotted Claire’s blonde head a few rows in front of me. Much to my surprise, she was also on her way to Hoonah this morning. But not to investigate Marie Hammond’s murder or Warren Hammond’s disappearance. She said she was going to talk to a client.

I glanced out the window again.

Must be some client if she was willing to fly to another city to meet with them.

We soon descended into the airport and made a smooth touchdown, much to my relief. I hoped the weather held for my return flight.

When that would be, I didn’t know. At least tomorrow. It all depended on what I found here and what I could investigate on my own. Riggs had okayed me bringing Ellis, but he’d come down with a stomach virus and was currently chained to the toilet in his bathroom.

A shudder went through me. He better keep that shit—no pun intended—to himself.

The plane taxied toward the terminal. Once we stopped and the seatbelt sign turned off, I donned my coat. Unlike a normal commercial flight, my carry-on wasn’t stored overhead. All the luggage on this plane was in the cargo hold. Which meant I had to stand on the tarmac and wait for the pilot to unload it.

At least it wasn’t that cold today. Or raining.

Through the window, I saw one of the airport staff behind the wheel of the jet bridge, maneuvering it toward the plane. Moments later, it parked outside the door.

Chilly air filtered into the cabin when the pilot opened the door, ushering us out with a smile.

Once on the ground, I zipped my coat. It wasn’t frigid, but the bite to the air was enough to make me ready for the terminal’s warmth. Like small planes, the cold was something I needed to acclimate to. It would happen. One day.

Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I gazed around, noting the planes parked near several buildings, thick, red covers covering some of their engines. It was strange standing out here. This side of the terminal was a place I’d never been outside of an airplane.

Apparently, it was routine for everyone else, including Claire. She had her phone out, checking messages while we waited on bags.

I let my eyes travel over her tall frame, taking her moment of distraction to study her more in-depth. Long legs cloaked in cream linen pants peeked out from beneath the knee-length, camel-colored trench she wore. Black gloves adorned her slender hands. The collar of an icy blue silk shirt peeped from the vee of her coat below the colorful green and blue scarf wrapped around her neck. She looked like the consummate professional. It was quite the contrast to the woman in the bathrobe I found scurrying down the sidewalk near her house. It was still difficult to reconcile the two. Who was the real Claire Holmes? This woman or the one who lived in the frosty-blue bathrobe?

My money was on the woman in the robe.

A gust of wind whipped by, snaking down inside my coat. I tugged up the zipper and hunched my shoulders, turning away from the wind and the woman capturing my thoughts.

Seven minutes later, rolling carry-on in hand, I followed the other passengers inside. As we wove through the people waiting to board the plane we just disembarked, I caught up to Claire.

“Do you need a ride?” I had a rental waiting for me.

She glanced over, the beginnings of a kind smile in her eyes. “Actually, that would be great, if you don’t mind. I was going to take a taxi to my hotel.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but the taxis here always smell faintly of day-old fish.”

---