“We’re not.”
Riley looked around the neighborhood. “Isn’t this where he lived?”
“Yes, but we’re not going to his house. We’re going to talk to his neighbor.”
“About?”
“Gloria Cunningham.”
The van’s rumbling grew louder as it ambled down a gravel driveway toward the massive brick house at the end. As the vehicle stopped, a cloud of dust formed a halo around us. Without waiting for it to clear, I hopped out and started toward the house.
Riley quickly followed. “You did call and say you were coming, right?”
“Who does that anymore?” I asked over my shoulder.
“Everyone.”
I bounced up the steps and rang the doorbell. Riley stood behind me. A moment later, the door opened and Barbara, donned in a bright pink aerobics outfit, answered.
“Hi, again.” The woman wiped the sweat from her face with a towel draped over her shoulders. “You’re the crime-scene cleaner, right? What’s going on?”
“Barbara, I have a few questions I’m hoping you can answer. Is this a bad time?” I asked.
Barbara looked over my shoulder. The distant sounds of an exercise tape sounded. “I’m in the middle of zumba, but I can spare a few minutes. What’s going on?”
“Have you had any more threats on your life, Barbara?” I asked. “Anything since the pipe bomb was mailed to you?”
“No, why? I was told the bomb was just random.” Her squeaky, high-pitched voice grated at my ears. Too bad plastic surgery couldn’t cure that.
“My theory is that someone thinks you know more than you do. They want to make sure you’re quiet.”
Her face froze, similar to my last encounter with her when she was fresh with Botox. “Why would you think that?”
“Because someone tried to kill me a couple nights ago.”
Barbara gasped, her red lips forming a perfect “O.” Who wore lipstick when working out? “I don’t know why they’d want to kill me. I don’t know anything. I’m still in shock over the entire episode.”
“What was Gloria like?” I continued.
“Gloria? She was very sweet, very determined. It didn’t matter that her husband lived his career with every waking breath. She worked hard at her own career, not about to be Michael’s shadow.”
“How did Michael feel about that?”
Barbara shrugged. “I can only guess, but it seemed like he would prefer she was his trophy. She was her own woman, you know? Not just a quiet wife who did whatever he said.”
“You said when I talked to you before that Michael and Gloria had their fair share of fights?”
The woman’s heavily made-up eyes drifted across the lawn, to where the Cunningham’s house used to stand. “Yes, they fought. I could hear them all the way over here when my windows were open.”
Riley stepped forward. “Any idea what they fought about?”
She shook her head. “I assume just normal married things. Money, children, housework. Who knows?”
“Did they seem happy?” I asked.
The woman fidgeted. “They were in a very high stress situation. Running for office, balancing two careers . . . It’s hard to say, really.”
“But you don’t think so?” Riley filled in the blanks.
“They were doing the best they could. Anything else would just be an assumption on my part.”
“Thanks for your help, Barbara.”
She smiled. “No problem. I just want to see this case put to rest. It’s been extremely hard on all of us.”
Riley and I walked side by side to the van. We didn’t speak until we were inside.
“Did you think it was strange she didn’t ask why we were asking?” Riley asked.
I shrugged. “No, why?”
“Say someone came to your door asking about a neighbor’s murder. A murder that a known criminal is being investigated for. Someone starts asking about your neighbor’s personal life. How do you react?”
“With confusion.”
“Exactly.”
I let his implications sink in. “But she didn’t act surprised at all. What does that mean?”
Riley shrugged. “It means she knows more than she’s letting on.”
I nodded. It meant that Barbara O’Connor knew Michael Cunningham was guilty.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I watched in amusement as Riley inhaled once then quickly pulled the front of his T-shirt over his nose and scrunched his eyes shut.
“What is that stench?” he asked.
“Dried blood. You should see it when pools of it dry. It becomes this gel—”
“I don’t need to know anymore.” He raised his hands in surrender. “Let’s just get to work.”
The scene was tame compared to many I’d seen. Blood splattered across the tile by the front door. A few specks made their way to the walls beside me. Otherwise, everything appeared untouched. The job would probably only take an hour or two.
Riley climbed into a hazmat suit and pulled on goggles. The sight made me smile as I put on my own protective wear, before a tinge of sadness tugged at my heart.
Harold should be here.
If we worked hard, Harold would be released from jail and could work again.
“I feel like I should be in a movie.” Riley looked his outfit over before glancing at me. “What now?”
“I’ll start on the floor if you do the walls.” I showed Riley how to spray the chemicals and scrub down the spots until all evidence of the blood disappeared. Then I got busy.
“What happened here again?” Riley asked, aiming the cleaner at the walls.
“An intruder was shot coming into the house. Self-defense.” I let the chemicals soak on a stain and rocked back on my feet. “You can tell by the direction of the blood that he was hit from a distance—there’s a wider range in the spray when that occurs. The man was standing a couple steps in front of me. The owner must have shot him from the stairs.”
“Interesting.”
“It’s incredible how much you can tell just from the crime scene. Science is amazing.”
“You should really think about finishing your degree. I can tell all of this forensics stuff fascinates you.” Riley scrubbed down the walls with a bristle brush.
“Maybe one day. Until then, this pays the bills.”
I watched the chemicals go to work and start thinning the red spot in front of me. A minute later, I began scrubbing.
“How did you develop your interest in this?” Riley asked.
“I used to think being a detective would be fun,” I said. “But the more I studied science in school, the more I realized I would like to use my talents there. When I heard about forensics, it sounded like the perfect match.”
“I agree. It does sound perfect.”
I wiped the blood with a cloth. “How are those spots coming?”
“Almost gone.”
I watched him work, his arms making purposeful circles on the white plaster wall. Part of his hair stood on end, as if he’d run his hands through it and it stayed.
Now it was my turn to ask some questions. “So, why did you decide to become a lawyer?”
Riley continued working, not missing a beat. “To defend the innocent and send the bad guys to prison.”
“Sounds noble.”
His rag sloshed against the wall. “I guess so.”
“Where did you go to law school?”
“D.C.”
I wanted to ask more, but accepted the two answers he offered, grateful for them.
The rest of our work was done in silence. When we finished, I couldn’t tell the blood was ever there. It was spotless.
“Not bad work if I do say so myself.” Riley stepped back.
“If you decide you don’t want to be a lawyer anymore, give me a call. I’ll make sure to have a position open for you.”
He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Later, as we drove home, Riley brought u
p the very subject I hoped he’d forgotten about.
“Have you taken the pictures to the police yet?”
My hands gripped the steering wheel. “Not yet.”
“But you’re going to?”
“I don’t see where it’s necessary.”
“Haven’t we been over this?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts, Gabby. You need to take them to the police.”
It was the last thing I wanted to do.
“Don’t go to jail over them.”
He had a point.
“I will take them to the police.”
It might not be today or tomorrow, but eventually, I would.
Was I lying? I sure felt guilty like I was.
You should take them in today, an inner voice said. I shook my head, not willing to give up my clue. I rubbed my temples, a headache coming on.
“Everything okay?”
I snapped my head in Riley’s direction. “Everything’s fine. Why?”
“Your head was wobbling there for a minute.”
I sagged into the seat.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Riley leaned forward and studied my expression.
The concern in his eyes was enough to melt my heart. “No, I’m not feeling great all of the sudden.” And I wasn’t. My eyelids were heavy, my muscles sore. The past week was catching up with me.
“We’ll get you home and I’ll see to it you rest for the remainder of the day. Understand?”
I nodded with a brief jut of the head forward. “Understand.”
***
An hour later I was under an afghan on the couch, my favorite movie rolling across the TV screen and a glass of Ginger ale on the table beside me.
I’d insisted to Riley that he leave. I knew he had things to do, including grocery shopping. Not even ten minutes after he departed from my apartment, I heard the door close across the hall and footsteps clunking downstairs.
Les Miserables droned on in the background. I tried to get points from Javert for catching a suspect, but finally gave up.
Why am I just sitting here, wasting time? I should be up doing something, making sure Harold was found innocent.
The events of the past week flooded my mind and exhaustion weighed me down. If I didn’t take a night to rest, I really was going to get sick.
I took a sip of my drink and tried to concentrate on the movie. A light rap sounded at my door. Who could that be? Sierra would just barge in. Riley’s knock was firm and strong. My dad was out of town.
I threw off my blanket and put the movie on pause. Peering out of the peephole, a tall blond woman came into view. I would remember if I ever saw this woman before. She was gorgeous. Definitely a model.
I cracked the door. “Can I help you?”
The woman smiled, the action making her seem more approachable and less like a superstar. “Yes, I’m looking for Riley Thomas.”
Could this be a link to his past? I pulled the chain off and opened the door all the way.
“He lives across the hall.”
“Oh, good. I was afraid I’d gotten the wrong address. I’ve just flown in from LA.” The woman’s voice sounded as smooth as honey. She didn’t miss a beat.
And suddenly I felt like the frumpiest, most uncultured woman in the world. This woman had been on a plane all day, yet she looked like she’d just stepped out of the dressing room.
I looked—I glanced at the jeans and T-shirt I wore—I looked comfortable, at least.
“Do you know when he’s to return?” the size zero woman asked.
“I think he ran to the grocery store. He should be back any time now.”
My gaze drifted behind the woman. Several suitcases lined the wall. This woman planned on staying awhile.
“Would you like to come into my apartment to wait? At least it would give you a place to sit down.”
“Well, I suppose a friend of Riley’s is a friend of mine. If you don’t mind, that would be wonderful.”
“No problem.”
She stepped inside and I saw the apartment as she did. A simple, folksy pad. I had the impulse to redecorate. Something more elegant and sleek. Expensive and lush. Anything but the colorful eclectic mix of furniture I’d picked up at flea markets and the old movie posters adorning the walls. Without frames even. Sigh.
Walking ahead, I grabbed the blanket from the couch and folded it, opening up a place to sit. “Please, make yourself comfortable. What can I get you to drink?”
“Do you have red wine?”
I bit my lip. “I have grape juice.”
“Skim milk?”
This was a bad, bad idea. “Will chocolate do?”
The woman smiled. “I’ll take water.”
I excused myself. I wouldn’t mention it was tap water. I returned with a goblet of ice cold refreshment and set it on the table.
“I’m Veronica, by the way.” The woman reached for my hand.
“I’m Gabby.”
A manicured hand met my nibbled-nails-excuse-for-a-hand.
“Cute apartment.”
She was being kind. “Thanks.”
I sat in a nearby chair and watched as Veronica took a sip of her drink.
“Long flight?” I asked.
The woman rolled her eyes. “Terribly long. I’m not a big fan of flying, anyway. And the service was just terrible. I hate to think how people not seated in first class were being treated.”
First class. Must be nice.
“So, Riley hasn’t mentioned he had a visitor coming from out of town.”
The woman flashed a white, toothy smile. “It’s a surprise. I can’t wait to see his expression.”
I leaned back, trying not to seem too eager. “So, how do you know Riley, anyway?”
A coworker or sister maybe? An ex-girlfriend?
The woman’s smile grew even brighter and she held up her hand, showing a sparkling diamond ring. “I’m his fiancée.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
My jaw went slack. Fiancée? Riley had never mentioned a fiancée. I would have remembered an important detail like that.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. How could I have been such a fool? I’d thought there could actually be something between the two of us and the whole time Riley was engaged.
Suddenly, it made sense. The coffee he invited me to wasn’t a date—it was supposed to be a witnessing session. That’s what lunch at the Mexican restaurant had been—Riley doing his good deed and evangelizing. That’s all I’d been, hadn’t it? A pet project for Riley. A duty to the faith. A mission to save the lost.
Veronica stared at me, waiting for a reaction.
Compose yourself, Gabby.
I cleared my throat. “When’s the big day?”
“We haven’t decided yet. I’m hoping for a Christmas wedding, though. My father has a place in the Pennsylvania mountains that would be gorgeous for the ceremony.” Her voice sounded dreamy, like she lived a fairytale.
My hands began to shake, and I stuffed them under my legs. “How long have you been dating? You know Riley, he’s such a mystery. He never opens up about stuff like this, so please excuse my questions.”
Veronica waved a hand in the air. “No problem. We’ve actually been together since law school, so about four years.”
“You’re a lawyer, too?”
She flashed a bright smile. “Yes, Riley and I have talked about opening a practice together. He just needs some time after his last case. It was such a mess—”
Footsteps pounded up the stairs and both of us looked toward the door. Keys jangled. It had to be Riley.
Before I could say anything, Veronica darted across the room and threw the door open.
For a split second, I hoped this was all a misunderstanding, that Riley had no idea who this gorgeous woman was.
“Veronica?” Riley said, surprise evident in his voice.
She flew into his arms and planted kisses on his face.
I stayed seated, watching the s
cene play out. Riley’s arms slipped around his fiancée’s tiny waist. They did make a beautiful couple, I mused. And both were successful lawyers, a much better fit than a lawyer and a crime-scene cleaner.
For a moment Riley’s eyes met mine. I thought I saw regret there. But maybe he just regretted his two worlds colliding. Maybe he regretted what might come out of my big mouth. Maybe he regretted getting caught. I wasn’t sure.
I stood from the chair and shut the door, not wanting to interrupt their moment. As soon as the lock clicked, I slid down the wall, feeling like crime scene sludge.
***
Still obsessing about Riley the next morning, I decided to do some digging. I planted myself at my computer, which was tucked cozily in the corner of my living room, right in front of a window. I could look out it and see a lovely iron fire escape and assorted dumpsters at the back of various apartment buildings. But hey, it was still an office with a view as far as I was concerned.
Taking a sip of my coffee, I typed in the words RILEY THOMAS on a search engine. Pages of results pulled up.
I leaned back and scanned the links. Riley Thomas, prosecuting attorney in the trial of Milton Jones, sweeps the victory for the state. The media dubbing him a national hero.
That sounded good. I clicked on it.
A picture of Riley—my Riley—popped up. Only he wasn’t my Riley. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, with an eighty-dollar hair cut, and he had eyes like a shark. The article below the picture read:
District attorney Riley Thomas has become the newest hot shot on a long list of most sought after lawyers in the United States. His victory with the Milton Jones case—
Where had I heard of that case?
—helped convict the killer. Sentencing will be later, but the death penalty is expected for the multiple murders of young girls in southern California.
I gasped. That Milton Jones? That case had caught the nation’s attention. It was no wonder Riley looked familiar when I’d met him. His hair was longer now, and he’d shed the suits he’d worn for the televised trial.
Why would a successful attorney move to Norfolk, Virginia, leaving his high profile career, his high priced suits and his high maintenance fiancée? It didn’t make sense.
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