“I know. I...I can’t imagine what you’ve lived with these past years. You should’ve seen someone, a therapist like Thomas to help you cope.”
Tears flooded her eyes and she swiped a hand across her stinging nose. “My mom told me not to go. She was afraid I could still get in trouble.”
“Yeah, right.” Connor huffed out a breath and strode toward his laptop.
While he met with the security company, Savannah spent the time on Snap App business and replying to emails. She sent one to Dee Dee, asking about archived files. She didn’t know what the person who’d stolen that folder from her hoped to discover or hide. Niles had already reviewed that file. In fact, the folder was dog-eared. If it was something someone was trying to hide, it was too late for that.
Shortly after she sent an email to Nick Fresco, Snap App’s CFO, he called her on her cell.
“Sorry I haven’t called before now, Savannah. I didn’t know what to say. The three of us were a team at the beginning...before the trouble between you two.”
“I know, Nick. It’s terrible. How’s the vibe at the company?”
“Hard to judge. It’s quiet here. You did tell people to take some time off, didn’t you, boss?”
Savannah’s gut tightened. Was that some kind of dig at her? “You don’t think that was a good idea?”
“Great idea. Looking forward to having you back here full-time, if...”
“If what?” Savannah gripped the phone. Nick always was the king of implication.
“Just wondering if those detectives are investigating you, Savannah. Do you think you need an attorney? I know Niles’s guy, Neelon, isn’t a criminal attorney, but he could recommend someone.”
“Whoa, slow down. The cops aren’t looking at me for this. I had an alibi that night. I wasn’t even in San Diego at the time of the murder.”
Nick clicked his tongue—another annoying habit he had. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to hit a nerve there. I just thought...you know, the spouse is always the number one suspect, especially the ex-spouse.”
“You should know, Nick. You have two of them.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t need to get snippy.” He chuckled, which sounded totally fake to her.
“What about Brian Donahue?” She waved at Connor, who’d stepped through the front door and was jerking his finger over his shoulder.
Nick sucked in a breath. “What about Donahue?”
“You’re the one who fired him. Do you think he did it?”
“No way. Going postal in an office shooting, maybe, but not a planned murder like this.” He cleared his throat. “Do you need any help with the meeting tomorrow? I know you’ve been out of the loop for a while and Niles probably wasn’t all that forthcoming with you.”
“Thanks for the offer, but this is going to be more of a pep talk and a ‘rah-rah, the fight will go on’ kind of meeting.”
“A few people are filtering back into the office today. Of course, they’re upset about Niles, but they’re also worried about their jobs.”
“Their jobs aren’t going anywhere. Despite some losses, the company’s in good shape.”
“Losses?”
“I need to talk to you about a few things, Nick. Can we have a meeting after the meeting?”
“Of course, but I don’t know about any losses. Are you telling me Niles has been hiding a few facts and figures?”
“Not sure yet. We’ll discuss.” She waved at Connor, who was practically hopping from foot to foot by the door. “Have the homicide detectives interviewed you yet?”
“You mean good cop Krieger and bad cop Paulson?”
She slid from the kitchen stool and hung her purse over her shoulder, which sagged in relief. “Oh, you found them that way, too?”
“I guess it’s standard procedure, but yeah. Paulson’s the one who grilled me about my alibi and my position in the company. Real jerk.”
Connor had walked outside, leaving the front door open, and Savannah scrambled to follow him out. Probably thought she was stalling.
“We’ll talk more tomorrow, Nick. Thanks for phoning, and I’m sorry I snapped at you.” She ended the call and got into the passenger seat beside Connor. “Nick Fresco, our...my CFO.”
“Maybe he knows what’s in that missing file, if it covered financials.”
“We’re having a meeting after my pep talk tomorrow.” She put on her sunglasses and cracked the window. “Are you coming with me to the police station after my session with Thomas?”
“Do you want me to?”
“I do—even though you don’t owe me anything now. Hell, you could turn me in if you wanted to.”
He ran his hands up and down the steering wheel. “I never did any of this because I felt I owed you something, Savannah. You don’t know that by now? You don’t know how I feel about you? How I’ve always felt about you?”
She gave him a quick side glance from beneath her lashes. “How you used to feel about me before I spilled my guts and told you about Manny?”
He closed his eyes, and his nostrils flared. “I still love you, Savannah—no matter what you’ve done.”
She let the words hang in the car, savoring their sweetness, ignoring the bitter undertone. He might love her and she sure as hell loved him, but that didn’t mean they could ever overcome their baggage and be together. Heck, Connor still wasn’t entirely convinced she didn’t kill Niles, and maybe Letty, too, for that matter.
She folded her hands in her lap and stared out the window. “I know that.”
Fifteen minutes later, Connor swung his truck into a small parking lot behind a two-story office building. He shifted into Park but didn’t turn off the engine.
“Give Thomas my best. I’m heading over to the police station. They called me this morning while you were still asleep and told me they had some evidence against Jimmy Takata.”
“Well, that’s one mystery solved.” She opened the car door and slid out. Then she ducked her head back inside and said, “I love you, too, Connor.”
She slammed the door and hustled toward the stairs on the outside of the building, running away from Connor and her feelings for him.
When she got to Thomas’s office, she tried the doorknob. It was unlocked and she pushed through. He had a small anteroom with a rack of magazines and four chairs, two on each side of a healthy potted plant. The sign next to a button on the door invited his clients to press it.
She did, listening for the echo of it in the office. Must’ve been hooked up to a light, because Thomas opened the door to his inner sanctum seconds later.
She held out her hand to the thinly built African American man with the warmest smile she’d ever seen. “I’m Savannah Martell.”
“Welcome, Savannah. Thomas Bell.” After he shook her hand he waved his own toward his cozy office. “Have a seat anywhere.”
Her gaze floated across the sofa and a deep leather armchair, a table with a box of tissues on it situated between the two. She opted for the other chair and sank into its embrace, already feeling at ease for some reason.
“Would you like some water, coffee, tea?” He cupped a mug of steaming brew in one hand.
“No, thanks.”
Thomas settled into the chair across from hers and balanced his cup on his knee. His dark eyes met hers, one eyebrow slightly shifting, but otherwise he remained mute.
She tugged on a lock of her hair. “Umm, my ex-husband was murdered—and I blacked out. I was there, at the scene, but I swear I didn’t kill him.”
“You blacked out.”
“Yes, but there was no evidence that I’d killed him. If there had been... I would’ve stayed and called the police.”
“Do you typically have blackouts?”
“Only once before.”
Thomas waited. He even took a sip of tea.
After
a few stammering beginnings, Savannah poured out the entire story of Manny’s death, her role in it, the cover-up.
She hadn’t even finished the entire tale when Thomas glanced at his watch for the fifth time in five seconds. “We’ll have to wrap it up here, Savannah.”
She gawked at him, eyes wide, mouth open. “Is—is that it? What are you going to do?”
He steepled his fingertips. “Do you want me to do anything?”
She licked her lips. “I want to know what happened that night Manny was killed.”
“You just told me what happened.”
“I told you what I remembered and what my mother told me happened.” She rubbed her upper lip. “I want to remember on my own, my memories.”
“We can do that. Have you ever been hypnotized?”
“No, but I want to be if you think I can recover those memories.”
“What about the other memories? The ones from a few nights ago—the other murder.”
Savannah shot forward in her seat. “Those were different. I was drugged. I’m sure of that, and pretty soon I’m going to have the proof—to show Connor.”
“It’s important for you to show Connor.”
“Of course.”
Thomas hunched forward out of his seat. “Can you come back tomorrow for a hypnosis session?”
“Yes.”
He slid his laptop from his desk and returned to his seat. “You can have my first appointment, at nine o’clock. Can you make that?”
“I’ll be here.” And she meant it. Now that she’d revealed the truth to Connor, she wanted to know the whole truth herself. She wanted to know if she was a cold-blooded killer or if Manny had given her no choice.
Could she have run from the house that night? Fought him off? Called Connor? She’d chosen to shoot Manny through the heart instead and she wanted to know why.
When she reached the parking lot, she spotted Connor talking to a cop, both of them standing next to his truck.
She got a hitch in her step and swiped her damp palms on the back of her shorts, but she forced a smile and approached them. “Parking ticket?”
Connor turned toward her. “Good news.”
Savannah eked out a sigh. “What?”
“Jimmy Takata just confessed to firebombing my shed. The police traced the jar used for the Molotov cocktail back to Jimmy’s grandmother, and they even matched the print from his size nine flip-flops.”
“Crack detective work.” Savannah smiled at the cop.
“Hope to do the same for your ex-husband’s murder case, ma’am.”
Savannah’s smile froze on her face. Was that a dig at her? A fishing expedition?
She rolled back her shoulders. “Thanks. I hope so, too.”
When the fresh-faced cop left and they got into the truck, Connor turned toward her. “Everything okay?”
“Everything is fine. I’m going back tomorrow morning, first thing.”
“Really?” He put the truck in gear and pulled out of the parking lot.
“Thomas is going to put me under. I’m going to try to find out what happened the night Manny died.”
Connor paused and tensed his hands on the steering wheel. “And the night Niles died?”
She smacked her knee. “I’m telling you. That was different. I was drugged that night.”
“I’m glad, and that’s all I’m going to say.” He brushed his knuckles against her thigh. “Do you want lunch before heading to San Diego and your interview with the detectives?”
“Of course.” She squared her shoulders against the seat. “Fortification.”
Over a lunch of fish tacos, their talk in the restaurant revolved around Jimmy Takata’s arrest for setting the fire at Connor’s place. A few side glances were thrown her way, but most of the people in San Juan didn’t know Niles Wedgewood and didn’t care about his death...even if they did know her connection to him.
Lunch ended all too soon and she and Connor hit the road to San Diego and her second interview with the police.
“Have you looked at the other files I took from Niles’s desk or that flash drive?” he asked.
“No.”
“I’m just wondering if the flash drive might contain the file that was stolen—you know, like a backup.”
“Maybe.” She drummed her fingers on the dash. “I didn’t even check the file I took from Niles’s desk.”
“How do you know it was the one you wanted?”
“It was labeled. Niles was always very careful about labeling and marking everything properly. Even his computer files are organized.”
“Sounds like he’d be the type to back up stuff, even beyond the normal archiving. You should take a look.”
“Will do.” At least Connor had stopped growling at her and flaring his nostrils, but now they’d reached a level of civil, businesslike discourse. Except for when he told her he loved her.
She pressed a hand against her belly. She’d keep those words safe and hold them close for when she was back on her own, back in San Diego running Snap App. She’d take them out and cup them in her hands now and then, just to remember what it felt like to be loved by a man like Connor Wells.
“We’re here.” He pulled around the back. “Do you want me to wait? Come with you?”
“That would probably look weird—like I need support or something.” Her phone buzzed. “I hope that’s not them canceling on me.”
She pulled out the phone, swept her finger across the text message and gasped.
“What is it?” Connor leaned over, bumping her shoulder.
She held her phone higher so he could see the picture of her hunching over Letty’s dead body.
Chapter Fourteen
“Damn.” Connor smacked his fist against the center console. “Same sender as before? Unknown?”
“Yes.” Savannah’s hand trembled and she curled her fingers around the phone. “Can you read the words?”
“Words?” Connor squinted at the display, but it was too unsteady for him to make out the text.
“It says ‘in case they ask you.’” She dropped the phone in her lap. “He knows I’m here, Connor. How?”
“You talked about this appointment before, when he was still listening to you.”
Savannah dumped the contents of her purse in her lap and scrabbled through the items, sending some to the floor of the truck.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for another pen. What do you think?” She grabbed a perfectly innocent-looking ballpoint from Thomas’s office and chucked it out the window.
Connor circled her wrist with his fingers. “Stop. When you still had the pen in my house, you talked to the police about coming in today.”
“But now?” She crushed the empty purse against her chest. “Right now, while I’m about to go in for an interview... And what does it mean? How did he get that picture?”
“He may have set up a camera in the warehouse.”
“What does he plan to do with this picture? The button? The knife? If he’s trying to set me up, why doesn’t he just do it already?” She let out a scream. “I’d rather have him turn over everything to the police so I can see his endgame, start defending myself.”
Connor reached over and squeezed the back of her neck. “If he wanted to turn you in to the police, he would’ve done it already.”
“That must’ve been his intention when he made the anonymous call about the knife in my trunk—because you know he’s responsible for that.” She tipped her head back as Connor kneaded her tight neck. “What changed?”
“I don’t know. The alibi I gave you? The fact that you cleaned up and got the hell out of Niles’s house that morning without a backward glance? Maybe he expected you to fall apart.”
“Then he’s obviously someone who doesn’t know me we
ll.” She yanked open her purse and started shoveling her belongings back inside. “He can keep sending pictures and stupid texts—and I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing.”
Connor’s hand slid down and rubbed a circle on her back. “You always do, Savannah. You’re a survivor.”
She leaned back and trapped his hand between her body and the car seat. “I learned from the best—my mother.”
He rescued his hand and cranked on the ignition. He didn’t like her comparing herself to Georgie. Savannah lacked the grasping desperation of her mother.
“Get in there and survive.” He tapped the phone in his pocket. “Text me when you’re done.”
She dropped a key chain in the cup holder. “Do me a favor?”
He’d offered her an alibi. How could he possibly refuse her anything? “Sure.”
“Go to the La Jolla house and snoop around a bit more. If anyone discovers you there, you can claim to be checking on the cleaning crew you set up for Melanie. That’s a legitimate reason.”
“I wasn’t done looking around anyway. I’ll check it out. And, Savannah?” He smoothed a hand against her tousled hair. “It’s gonna be okay.”
She leaned forward in a burst and planted a hard kiss on his mouth. “Damn right it is.”
He watched her walk toward the doors of the sheriff’s department through narrowed eyes. The last time he’d dropped her off, she told him she loved him. This time she’d kissed him. How could he still believe she was a killer?
Because she was—she’d killed Manny.
* * *
AS CONNOR PULLED the truck into the driveway of Niles’s house, the scene of the crime, he released a breath. Niles’s sister had left, or at least had gone out. Had she stayed overnight in the house where her brother had been murdered?
He jingled the keys in his hand as he walked up to the front door. The crime scene tape had been removed, most likely courtesy of the cleanup crew.
When he stepped across the threshold into the large foyer, he held his breath. He didn’t know what he expected, but he raised his nose in the air and sniffed, the smell of bleach making his eyes water.
He took the stairs two at a time and entered the master bedroom. The drapes billowed into the room from the open French doors. The cleaning crew must’ve left the windows open to air out the place—not that a burglar could make his way up to the house this way...or a killer.
Her Alibi Page 15