"Yeah, fuck." Of all the things I was expecting, that wasn't it.
"Is that…" Cass looked at the screen sideways.
"Yeah, yeah it is," Boner said.
CHAPTER 3
CASS
"Ihate to say this," I said slowly.
"Granger Fairfield was a shit photographer," Boner finished for me.
"Yeah." I stared at the three photos of nothing more disturbing than a pair of shoes. Thank fuck.
Two of the shoes were out of focus and the third was only the right shoe.
"I have questions." Most of all, I had relief. The photos I'd seen the other day at Harlow's restaurant were sickening. I'd fully expected to see something similar again.
This? It was weird, but that was all.
Unless… They meant something.
"I have a few questions myself," Harlow said, frowning at the screen. "I'm going to guess he didn't have some strange shoe fetish. He tried to take a photo of something else and aimed the wrong way?"
"He wouldn't be the first," Boner said reasonably. "Some might call it art."
I looked up at him over my shoulder. "You call this art?"
He was the artist and gallery owner, not me. He'd know what people considered art, and what they didn't. In theory. You know what they say, I liked what I liked.
"Hell no." Boner gave me a funny look. "Not even the one in focus."
"Why was he wearing shoes from Walmart?" Harlow asked.
We both turned to stare at her.
She gestured toward the screen. "He had all that money, but…" Her pretty eyes widened as she realized what she was saying.
"Those aren't his shoes," I said.
Boner leaned in and squinted. "Those are taken from an angle that suggests the wearer had the phone in their hand. Maybe Jules took them before he handed the phone to us."
I looked again. "Those don't look like Jules' feet. He'd never wear shoes like that anyway. He only wears black; those are grey."
"Let me guess, his feet are bigger," Harlow said softly.
"I need to call Jules." I pushed myself back from the desk, grabbed my phone and stepped away. Not that I could get far in this place. I didn't care if they heard, I just wanted some physical space. The illusion of it anyway.
I pressed on Jules' name and put the phone to my ear. It rang a couple of times before the call went through.
"The fuck, bro?" Jules sounded sleepy.
"Sorry to wake you," I said, not that sorry. "Quick question. Was anyone else in the brownstone when you were there? Any sign of anyone?"
A shuffling came through the phone and I pictured him sitting up.
"Why?" he asked carefully.
