It didn't prove anything.
I can't say for sure that they were romantically involved. But it was suspicious.
Isabella had pulled their phone records. Her voice filtered through the speaker in my phone. “There were a lot of calls and late-night texts between them during that time. Their phones spent a lot of time together.”
It didn't take a brain surgeon to put two and two together. Where there’s smoke, there’s an inferno, in this case.
The picture was posted on social media six months before Tiffany and Brock got married.
“There are a lot of recent calls from Trent’s phone to a prepaid cellular,” Isabella said. “That phone shows up randomly across town at stores and coffee shops. But I can’t tie it to a residence.”
I suspected the burner that Trent had been making calls to belonged to Tiffany, but she was smart enough never to use the device from the Palm Haven estate.
“It looks like Tiffany and Trent had some communication around the time of the prenuptial agreement and the marriage,” Isabella said. “That could easily be explained by his legal work. A legitimate excuse. But that’s about the time the calls to and from the burner phone started.”
“Maybe they were seeing each other all along.”
“Maybe. One more thing you should know,” Isabella said. “Tiffany’s phone was at the Palm Haven estate during the time of Trent’s murder. The girl isn’t stupid. She covers all the bases.”
“I know.”
“I’ll keep digging,” she said. “But right now, you’ve got nothing conclusive.”
I thanked her for the info and ended the call. I had something up my sleeve and would play the card if need be.
JD and I headed over to Palm Haven to have a word with Tiffany. We parked the Porsche at the curb, strolled the walkway, and pushed through the gate at the courtyard. We walked past the soothing water wall that trickled, and I rang the bell.
Tiffany came to the door a few moments later and pulled it open. Her surprised eyes flicked between the two of us. "I didn’t expect to see you two. You should have called and let me know you werecoming,” she said with a flirty smile. “I would have dressed up for the occasion.”
Dressed up or dressed down, Tiffany still looked pretty good. She wore a sports bra and tight-fitting black yoga pants. The fabric hugged her form and left nothing to the imagination.
"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Trent Keating is dead," I said.
Her eyes rounded, and her jaw dropped. "What!? How?"
She was good at this.
"I can't discuss the specifics at this time. Ongoing investigation, you understand.”
“Sure.” Her face tightened with sorrow. "I'm really sorry to hear that. I liked Trent. He was a good guy.”
"How well did you know him?"
She shrugged. "He had done some legal work for me, obviously. When Brock and I got serious, Brock brought up the topic of a prenup. He wanted me to have representation and suggested I find someone to draft it. Trent was the first person who came to mind. He’d helped me get out of a few traffic tickets before, and we knew each other socially."
"Is that the extent of your relationship?"
Her eyes narrowed at me.
"Trent and I dated briefly before I married Brock, if that's what you're getting at?”
"Yes, that's what I am getting at.” I showed her the picture I pulled from Trent’s social media page.
She smiled. "Yes, we had a really good time for a few weeks. Then we quickly realized we were probably better off as friends.”
"Why was that?”
Tiffany shrugged again. "Let's just say Trent was not a one-woman type of man. I was looking for something more stable. Trent liked to party, and he liked his cocaine.”
