If so, why would Logan do renderings of Anne’s locket when he was in a relationship with Audrey?
As I pondered those thoughts, I heard what sounded like a car door closing outside. I froze, contemplating my options. After a short pause, I heard heavy footsteps, followed by someone whistling.
There was a knock at the front door, which gave me a moment of relief. If Logan’s parents had returned home, they wouldn’t have knocked.
But if it wasn’t them, who was it?
A minute passed, and I heard what sounded like someone walking away. I hurried down the stairs and out the back door. My plan was to wait until the unknown visitor started their vehicle and drove away, and then I’d make my escape. A few minutes later, a car whirred past. Thinking the visitor had left the premisis, I cut through the yard and reached the gate, easing it open. I hadn’t taken more than a few steps before someone said, “Evening, Georgiana.”
I jerked my head around and saw Whitlock with his hands in his pockets, one eyebrow lifted as he offered me a slight grin. Given his usual chatty demeanor, I thought he might say something more. But he didn’t. He crossed his arms as if waiting for me to explain myself.
So I did.
Or I tried to … “I was just ahh … ahh …”
“Somewhere you’re not supposed to be, I’d say,” he said. “I’m guessing the Lamberts are not at home.”
“They’re not. They’re meeting up with one of Tilly’s college friends.”
“You want to tell me why you were sneaking around their backyard?”
It appeared he didn’t know I’d been inside the house, and as I considered what to say and how much to say, I wasn’t sure about the best way forward. I’d always had a good working relationship with Whitlock, and he was aware I sometimes bent the rules when I had to, something he couldn’t do as a county detective. Lying to him, even a little bit, didn’t seem right. And even if I did, there was a good chance he’d know it, which would make things even worse.
Honesty it is, then.
“I stopped by earlier today to speak to Tilly and Vaughn about Logan,” I said. “I asked Vaughn if I could see Logan’s room. He said no.”
“So you decided to wait until they weren’t home and to have a look anyway.”
“Something like that.”
“Are you aware this counts as breaking and entering?”
“I didn’t break anything, and the back door was unlocked,” I smirked. “To me, that’s just entering.”
He stared at me for a moment, then grinned. “You find anything?”
“Maybe, but before I give you all the details, did Logan’s father contact you or Foley today?”
“No, why?”
“I need to talk to you about a conversation I had with him.”
“All right. What was it about?”
“When you first questioned him, he told you that his son had told him he was going away for the weekend with friends.”
Whitlock shrugged. “I know. We spoke about it earlier when you stopped by the department. What about it?”
I held his gaze and said, “The dad lied.”
7
I sat in my den, a glass of pinot noir in hand. Across from me, Whitlock nursed a tumbler of whisky, his thumb tracing the rim before taking another sip. From the kitchen I could hear the steady rhythm of Giovanni at work, cooking up dinner, filet mignon for three.
Earlier, when I’d arrived home with Whitlock in tow, Giovanni had insisted the detective stay for dinner, saying, “There’s no reason to discuss the case on an empty stomach when we can do it over dinner.”
I agreed.
