We made quick good-byes with the reporter, promising again to watch his news segment and update him if we found any new clues in the case. He’d already heard about the recovered ring and thought it proved his case for Casey as the killer even more.
“It feels like we’re missing something,” Reed said as we got out of the Uber back at our rental. We’d have just enough time to grab a quick dinner and get ready for the theater.
I waited for him to open the gate in what had become our routine. “I agree, but I don’t know what we’re missing.”
Everyone thought finding the missing ruby ring would break the case wide open, but no one expected it to be right outside Lisa’s home in the bushes. Had she lost it there or did the killer bring it home with them and chuck it in the bushes?
“Reed, look at this,” I said, pointing at the door to our place.
He hurried to close the gate and then rushed over. “What the hell.”
Thumb tacked to our door was a sheet of paper folded in half. Reed ripped the paper from the blue door and held it open so we could both read it.
I know why you’re here. I have something I want to talk about.
Come find me tomorrow.
Casey.
13
“Come find me tomorrow,” I said to Reed as we both reread the note.
He yanked out the thumbtack, holding the piece of paper in place. “At least it’s not a knife.”
What did that mean? “Do you think he knows we’re reporters?”
“No.” He folded the note in half and shook his head. “Besides, I’m only a bodyguard and fake husband.”
I stood beside him impatiently as Reed punched in the code to let us into the rental. It was the street address. “It’s not a super secure code.”
The lock beeped, and I pushed the door open before Reed reached it, rushing inside before him. The small round table at the front of the home was exactly how we’d left it—covered in papers and the articles from Lisa’s private stash.
“They didn’t touch my notes,” I said as I barreled into the primary bedroom. The T-shirt I’d put on this morning and then discarded in a heap on the bed was still there along with my dirty towel from my shower. I stuck my head out the door. “Our stuff is still here.”
“Exciting,” Reed said, not sounding the least bit excited about the fact we weren’t robbed.
I stopped by the couch and watched while he rummaged through the articles, messing up my pile method. “This is serious.”
“I agree.”
Honestly, the lack of reaction scratched at a part of my brain that annoyed me. Did he learn the calm and cool behavior from the military? Was this a government thing? We needed to be freaking out. Where was the freak-out? I couldn’t do it alone.
He finally turned to the side and spotted me beside the couch with my hand on my hip. The left side of his mouth tipped up into a slight grin. “Listen, whatever it is, I’ll be right here to have your back.”
Well, when he worded it like that… My heart made a little tippy toppy flop. Why’d he have to be so hot and know the right things to say? Also, be a good kisser. It wasn’t fair.
“Do you still have that gun?” I tilted a little to the side to see where he had it stashed without luck.
His smirky smile grew. “Always.”
Hours later, a group of ghost hunters huddled together in a semicircle as our paranormal investigation leaders explained what the various pieces of equipment did to help us find ghosts. We’d already sat through one of these the evening before, so my attention wandered the lobby of Savannah’s old theater.
A woman—dressed in all black with a kickass tattoo of a skull surrounded by roses on her arm—walked around our group and quickly locked the two large glass doors to the theater.
Why in the hell were they always locking us in?
“Savannah Theater’s first show opened in December 1818 with a comedy The Soldier’s Daughter. When we do our walk-through tour, you’ll see the exposed brick wall at the back of the theater. That wall is the only original part remaining today and why we have the claim to fame of being the oldest continually operating theater in America.”
