9
“What is it?” I asked, accepting the manilla envelope from Reed. We’d gotten significantly closer standing in the closet together, and I backed out slowly so I didn’t look like I was on the run. Even though I very much was. Without a shirt, he still smelled like his cologne, and I only had so much strength. Plus, he never told me where he’d hidden the gun.
I stopped next to the bed, flipped open the folder, realized where I was—standing by a bed with a hot guy two feet from me—and moved over to the dresser. Three rectangular shaped pieces of paper fluttered to the ground.
“They’re articles,” I said, grabbing them from the floor and shoving them back in the folder with the others. I skimmed through the first few. “About the new apartment building.”
Lisa’s case file mentioned that she’d had a beef with some new development in the neighborhood. However, Delaney didn’t include many details, so I hadn’t considered it much. But it took real hate to maintain a file folder of articles about something.
“She was on the oversight committee and tried to get the project shut down, but it ultimately passed,” I said and flipped to another article.
Reed spread out a few pieces on the top of the dresser. “Don’t you recognize this place?”
I waited until he lifted his finger from the image and gave a small gasp. “It’s the waterfront place.”
We’d walked by it almost every time we’d left our rental and headed to Bay Street—one of the city’s main roads.
Reed nodded. “She kind of has a point. Those apartments ruin the view.”
“Agreed.” But was it enough to get herself killed? I didn’t think so. With help from Reed, I shoved the articles back in the folder, shaking my head in thought. “She might have been pissed about the building, but she lost. Obviously, they’d moved ahead with the plans.”
It was old news.
That didn’t mean I wouldn’t take the time to review all the articles.
I yawned, and so did Reed.
“Sorry I woke you up. I think I’m sufficiently tired enough I can save reviewing those until the morning.”
He gave me a short grin as he walked out. “You can wake me up any time.”
What the hell did that mean?
The next morning came way too early as I walked out of my room and practically fell on the couch. Maybe because I’d barely had five hours of sleep after rummaging through the articles while in bed. I yawned and laid my head on the back of the couch. I’d never had a problem with lack of sleep before.
Reed’s voice carried from his room as he walked out with a phone pressed to his ear and shut the door behind him. Sadly, he had a black polo shirt covering up all his glorious muscles. The logo on the left side said Pelican Bay Security, which must have been the name of his firm. How much was the podcast paying the security firm to have a hot guy following me around?
My brain slugged, trying to wake up and put its muscle to work, but all I wanted was a few more hours of sleep. Regardless of how long I tossed and turned last night, I hadn’t gotten any further with the case.
We already knew Lisa had problems with the new housing development, so the articles didn’t add much information. The only new pieces I’d add to Delaney’s file were that Selene worked at the bar where they found Lisa’s body—something I’m sure the police knew—and that the young couple didn’t love sharing a wall with her. Nothing outlandish.
I had to get Delaney something big enough to be a highlight of the podcast for her to win the Halloween special. Her win was my win, and I really needed a win.
Maybe sharing a wall was a bigger deal than I realized. Now that I’d been around Selene more, it might be possible she’d kill Casey’s mother. Originally, I’d pegged her as a bimbo—not my finest moment—but she’d definitely gotten in a few snarky comments here and there. It seemed like she paid more attention than I realized. But why kill Lisa?
If not Selene, maybe Casey or someone at the housing development. Land barons were always jackasses. Right? I needed to hunt down the developer and see if they had any held-over animosity toward Lisa. Just because they won the fight didn’t mean they’d forgotten how she fought against them. One article mentioned a letter-writing campaign and protest with picket signs.
“Has anyone gotten proof of life?” Reed asked whoever he had on the phone.
I got up, did a quick stretch, and walked past him into the front of the house to let the sun’s rays hit me as they streamed in through the open windows. Hopefully, some vitamin D would help wake me up.
“Yes, it is my specialty,” he said and turned away from me as if that meant I wouldn’t hear his next words. I stared out the window with thoughts of his naked chest from last night taking up my attention. “It’s just that I’m kind of busy here.”
I narrowed my eyes. What did that mean? Why did he put so much emphasis on “busy”? Sure, I hadn’t made much headway on the case, but it’s not like I’d gotten us robbed or anything.
“Yes, definitely needed.”
I scoffed. Who was he talking to on this call? I wasn’t incompetent.
