She picked it up. A playbill for upcoming Broadway performances in DC.
Sullivan pointed at it. “That’s what I’d like to be doing with my life. Onstage, singing, dancing, performing. That is my passion. Not this.” To emphasize his point, he swept a handacross the spread of files on his desk. “Those performers affect people’s lives with their work. Sure, by practicing law, I can help people, but it’s not the same. It doesn’t feed my soul. So if you think I have something against Dominique Sharp coming in here and taking over, think again. She’s doing me a favor. She’s giving me a way out. I’ll be able to pursue this now without my father looking down his nose at me.”
That was what Howard had told them. Amanda set the playbill back on Sullivan’s desk.
He picked it up and thumbed through it. “You’ll see my name in a playbill soon. By next year, with any luck.” He popped it back into the drawer.
Amanda admired his ambition. “Well, good luck, or is it break a leg?”
“I’ll take both. Anything else, or…?”
“No, that’s good. Thanks for your time.” Amanda led the way out of the office, and she and Trent headed for the front desk.
They spoke to several employees and the available named partner. He said he didn’t have an issue with Dominique Sharp taking over the company, as he’d secured a deal to stay on board. Since no one was screaming guilt, Amanda and Trent were leaving DC around noon.
Once they were on the highway, she turned to Trent. “What did you make of Corey Shea?”
“Seems like an awkward kid. I’d also say that he and Sullivan are more than friends.”
“Could be.” She thought it was more than awkwardness though. He seemed twitchy to her. But if they had interrupted a stolen moment between lovers, that could explain his behavior. Corey seemed fine when they spoke to him later on. Maybe it was just that her mind was so desperate to close this case, she was seeing things that weren’t even there.
THIRTY-SIX
Amanda and Trent stopped for a bite to eat before getting on the highway for Woodbridge. They were about ten minutes from Central when Amanda’s phone rang.
“It’s the hospital,” she told Trent before answering. “Detective Steele.”
“This is Dr. Prescott. Have I reached the lead detective in the shooting involving Joel Blackburn?”
“You have.”
“I’m calling with rather unfortunate news.”
Amanda’s breath stalled, and her stomach sank.
“I’m sorry to inform you that Mr. Blackburn has succumbed to his injuries. He passed within the last hour.”
A part of her expected this possibility from the moment he was shot, but the news still hit hard. Could she have somehow prevented this from happening? “Have you notified Dominique Sharp?”
“I haven’t been able to reach her, but I left a voicemail.”
One would think Dominique would pick up upon seeing the hospital’s name on her caller ID. But she could have been ina meeting or nowhere near her phone. “I’ll let her know. I’m quite sure I know where to find her.”
“If you could do that, thank you.”
“You’re welcome, and thank you for letting me know.” When she hung up, Trent was looking over at her.
“Joel Blackburn didn’t make it,” he said.
She shook her head.
“I got that feeling from what I overheard.”
After he spoke, a silence set in. Her thinking twisted, putting the onus on Blackburn himself this time. If only he had stayed put in his living room, he’d still be alive. But this wasn’t his fault, or hers and Trent’s. The only one responsible here was that mystery woman, and Amanda was going to track her down and make her pay.
“We should let Malone know.”
“I’ll take care of it.” She pressed his number and ran through all of it the moment he answered.
