Chapter Twenty-Two
Salt Lake City, Utah
Fourteen Months Earlier
Of course, Jax told her to wait where she was while he came around. Not that she couldn’t get out of the car by herself, but if he wanted to help her, she could accept the assistance.
Jax pulled the door open, and Kenna turned in the seat, putting her feet on the ground. He held out his hand. “You’re still a crime fighter who kicks butt on a regular basis.”
She grabbed his hand, and he hauled her up out of the car. “I just happen to be a very pregnant crime fighter.” Plus, her feet hurt because they’d walked two miles this morning for exercise, talking through the case details and working out what they were going to do next.
“This is her place?” Kenna scanned the squat structure—a trailer in the center of the park. One of fifteen or twenty with dirty snow packed between, and icy roads that no one had salted. Kenna had her boots with thick tread on, but she still walked carefully.
Jax glanced at her, looking unhappy.
“It’s just a conversation.” She wasn’t going to sit around all day wishing Ellayna was found. That wasn’t what would get her back. Sure, she could pray all day, but it felt so much better to do something, even just a quick trip out to interview someone who might be able to shed some light on these events.
The family’s disappearance.
Yet another murder.
“Her son was killed. She might not want to talk to us.” Jax knocked on the front door, then hit the button for the doorbell.
“People used to expect guests to show up without warning. People went visiting their neighbors to spend time with them. So many people these days don’t even answer their front door. Especially not if they look at the camera and see it’s someone they figure is selling something.”
Jax shook his head, looking amused. “If she doesn’t answer, we both get what we want. Is that it? I keep you from being exposed to potential danger, and you get to leave the RV for a bit.”
She was about to respond when the door opened an inch. An older woman in a pink T-shirt with a unicorn on it and gray leggings answered, wearing fuzzy slippers on her feet. She had dull blonde hair and some makeup, but not much. “Who are you guys?”
“Ma’am, my name is Oliver Jaxton. This is my wife, Kenna Banbury. We’re working with the police on a case and wanted to ask you some questions.”
The woman looked at Kenna’s midsection, emphasized by the fact that she couldn’t zip up her puffy army-print jacket over the baby bump. Hopefully, it made her look more harmless than a crime fighter who kicked butt. Which, of course, she was still very capable of doing.
Mostly.
After she’d taken a nap.
“We were so sorry to hear of your son’s death.”
The woman’s expression hardened. “That’s the case you’re working? I didn’t figure the police would waste much time on Marcus. I didn’t.”
“Is it okay if we come in?” Kenna didn’t want to ask to use the restroom too early, but she would if it got them inside.
The woman backed up, holding the door.
Jax stepped in first. “You’re Denise Neerwood?”
“That’s right.” She waved. “Sit wherever you want.” Then she shut the door behind them.
Kenna went to the couch and perched on the edge. Denise had a plate and mug on the table, along with a couple of worn paperback romance novels, but otherwise, this place seemed neat and tidy. “Again, we’re really sorry for your loss. No matter what kind of man he was, a life lost in violence is always a sad thing.”
Denise leaned against the back of a recliner. “He and I parted ways a long time ago. I wasn’t surprised to hear he’d been shot.”
Jax stood to the right, over by a lamp, like he was standing guard over the room. A sentry. The man who had chosen to be the one who always looked out for her. “Any idea what he might’ve been into that got him killed, or if someone in his life might want to harm him?”
Denise shrugged. “I don’t know the answer to that.”
“It could be a long-standing feud, for all we know. You might be able to help us find whoever did this.”
