She exhaled a breath. "You know, I don't really feel comfortable going back there. If you could send a deputy with me while I pack some things, I'd appreciate it.”
"We can accompany you."
We pushed away from the table and escorted her to the door. I knocked, and a guard buzzed us out.
Daniels joined us in the hallway. “Thanks again for coming in. Once again, we’re sorry for your loss.”
“Please do everything you can to find my husband’s killer,” she said in a desperate voice.
“Count on it,“ the sheriff replied.
“I’ll run her home,“ Jack said. “Want me to come back and pick you up?”
I shook my head. “I’ll catch a ride.”
He escorted Tiffany down the hall.
The sheriff and I watched them go.
“What do you make of this?” he asked.
I shrugged. "Let's check credit card records and see if she's bought any pruning shears recently. We already know her fingerprints are going to be all over them.”
"Those shears look brand new. They were recently purchased. Given the situation, I think that's probable cause to pull bank records. But I know you have methods and sources.”
"I'll see what I can figure out while you work on going through legitimate means."
The sheriff nodded. "I'll give you a ride home."
We left the station, and I texted Isabella and asked her to dig into Tiffany Madison—her phone calls, texts, bank transactions, and credit card receipts. I wanted to know if she was having an affair. Perhaps she paid someone to do the dirty deed. I didn't think she'd be stupid enough to go to a hardware store and buypruning shears on a credit card and stab her husband with them, but people had done dumber things.
We chilled on the drive and kicked around theories.
The sheriff pulled into the parking lot at Diver Down and dropped me off by the dock. I told him I'd be in touch in the morning and hopped out of the squad car.
As I ambled down the dock toward theAvventura, my phone buzzed with a call from Flynn McQueen. I figured he was in LA and three hours behind. Then again, Flynn never did have a sense of time. It wouldn't be unusual for him to call at 4:00 AM with some kind of cockamamie idea.
McQueen lived in his own world, as most movie stars do. A bubble of unreality. Though lately, his movie star career was in the tank. He'd been looking for a way to revive it. He was just one hit away from a comeback, as he liked to say.
"Tyson Wild. How the hell are you?" he asked in that laconic voice with unmistakable Texas charm.
"I’m fantastic, Flynn. How are you?”
"You know, I'm just riding the wave, going with the flow, letting the Universe be my mojo.” It was a line from the independent film that made him famous and became his catchphrase.
People loved Flynn, despite his failings and indiscretions. Everywhere he went, people would smile and give him the thumbs up and repeat the quote back to him. For them, hewasthat character. He would always bethatcharacter.
“You are not going to believe what I’ve got cooking,“ he said, with a smile in his voice.
“Lay it on me, Flynn,” I said, knowing it would likely be outrageous.
8
"Igot a deal set up at a major studio,” Flynn said. "They're totally on board. I told them you were going to write the script, and that sealed the deal."
I hadn't agreed to anything. "What script?”
"Two scripts, actually.”
