Page 129 of What She Saw
“You put everything into the cases you report on. I’ve read your work. There’s real empathy in your writing for the victims and their families.”
“I’m a mimic. A good one. But a faker nonetheless.”
He shook his head. “Not buying it.”
A smile tugged at my lips. “I like you.”
“I find your brutal honesty refreshing,” he said.
“It grows tiring for most.”
“I make my living rooting out liars. Your honesty will never get tiring.”
I was doing my best to chase him away. Everyone who should have mattered to me was gone. “Okay.”
“What does that mean?”
“Did I tell you I broke into the Nelson farmhouse?”
A brow arched. “Did you? When?”
“After I saw you in town. I doubled back.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to see it.”
“The festival house?”
“Your house.” Maybe I’d been as curious about him as I was the house he’d inherited.
“And what did you learn?”
That he had a softness for lost causes. “It’s a teardown.”
“Maybe.” He grinned. “The work is going to take the rest of my life.”
“Good to have a purpose.”
“Do you break into houses often?”
“Beyond the farmhouse, the Fletcher house, and Kevin’s apartment, a few here and there.”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You broke into Kevin’s apartment?”
“He has a picture of Debra and himself on his mantel. It looks like it was taken at the Mountain Music Festival.” I opened the pictures on my phone and showed it to Grant. “A guy in a uniform is trustworthy, right?”
Grant shook his head. “Kevin still loves Debra?”
“Or the idea of her.” Sara had professed her grief and loss for Patty. But I sensed if Patty had walked into our house, Sara would have been so grateful that she wouldn’t have had to raise me anymore. “Or maybe he doesn’t want to forget what he did to her.”
Tension rippled through him, but he didn’t look away.
I felt the need to add, “My undocumented criminal history isn’t violent, but it is long.”
He was silent for a long moment. “How did you leave it with Susan?”
“I told her I wouldn’t say anything. I left it to her to reach out to the police.”
