“Your client is giving me a migraine. Why the runaround, Mrs. Penny? Are you protecting someone? You recently became a partner in Santiago Investigations, which I can only assume makes you privy to case information,” Weber said.
“I’m more than privy, bucko!” Mrs. Penny said, pounding the kitchen table with her fist. “I run this place. I have my hands in every investigation?—”
“What Great-Aunt Jocelyn means is she is only a financial backer for this business endeavor. She is a retired eighty-year-old woman who doesn’t have the time or the inclination to involve herself in private investigations,” Billy said.
“Your name is Jocelyn?” Nick asked.
“Didn’t you know that?” Riley asked him.
He shrugged. “I just assumed she was hiding her first name from everyone like you do with your middle name. Wait a second. Is there a Mr. Penny somewhere out there?”
It was Weber’s turn to hit the table. “Isn’t it true that Nick Santiago and Riley Thorn visited the victim the day before he was murdered?”
It took two tries, but Mrs. Penny came halfway out of her seat to lean menacingly over the table. “You can’t handle the truth!”
Burt let out a concernedwoof.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, I have too much on my plate to deal with this,” Riley said. “Yes, Nick and I knocked on the victim’s door the day before his murder. Which, if you have access to Larstein’s security footage, you already know. We were knocking on doors asking neighbors if they saw or heard anything related to the shot fired at Griffin Gentry.”
“Yeah. Remember the guy the Harrisburg PD sent packing, telling him it was all just harmless pranks?” Nick interjected.
“Don’t start with me, Nicky.”
“Don’t continue with me, Weber.”
Billy was starting to look nervous.
“Okay, boys. Let’s keep it civil. You’re scaring the prodigy,” Riley cut in.
“You withheld information relating to an investigation,” Weber said.
“Yeah, well, back at you, pal,” Nick said. “You think I want to be working for Griffin Fucking Gentry? Fuck no. You have information that could help me protect this asshole and get me paid, but noooooo. You’ve got the law shoved so far up your a?—”
Riley’s phone buzzed on the table with an incoming call.
“It’s Griffin,” she said.
Nick rounded the island as Riley answered the call. “Hello?”
“Riley?” Griffin sounded far away and scared.
“Gimme the phone,” Nick said.
“What’s wrong, Griffin? Where are you?” Riley asked.
Nick reached for the phone, but Weber batted him away.
“I’m in my car. I just left…uh…an important meeting, and they’re chasing me.”
“Who’s chasing you?” Riley asked. She heard the squeal of tires through the phone. Nick lunged again, but Weber grappled him to the table.
With a roll of her eyes, she hit the speaker button.
“It’s one of those really small cars that the airport makes you rent when they say they’re out of SUVs.”
“Listen here, you little weasel. Where’s my money?” Nick barked as he planted his hand against Weber’s face and pushed.
“How do you know they’re chasing you?” Riley asked.