They didn’t have enough for a warrant. She’d have to think this through. There had to be something she could use. “What about Tommy’s phone?”
“It pinged outside of Genesis Valley on the eastern tower, which is not where his home or school are.”
Laurel paused. “What about where he works? Is Greenfield Architecture in that direction?”
Nester typed more. “Yes.”
Laurel slowed down and flipped a U-turn. “I’ll head out there now. Keep trying to find property somehow linked to Christine Franklin.”
“I am. She was married for about ten years and her husband died in combat. I haven’t found anything under his name, either. She has one brother who lives in Seattle, and he owns one house in the Soft Ridge area. I’ve been trying to track him down, but he’s some sort of hotshot lawyer who hasn’t bothered to call me back. I’ll keep trying.”
“Thanks.” Laurel drew connections in her head between the victims. All three victims were currently single, and all three had once been married. Abigail was the outlier, unless she’d been married before. “I’ll call you after I check Greenfield.” She ended the call and dialed Abigail.
“Twice in one day, sister? This is nice. Why don’t you come by for wine and we can dish about the hunky Captain Rivers together?” Just enough sarcasm tilted Abigail’s tone to show she was still irritated about Huck refusing her offer of a drink.
Laurel slowed down to scrutinize street signs and then turned, having memorized the route the night before when she thought she’d be popping by to drop off a retainer check. It seemed like a million years ago already. The storm added sleet to the snow, and it froze on her window. “Have you been married before, Abigail?”
Abigail chuckled. “That’s a discussion over wine.”
“Yes or no?” Laurel didn’t have time for wine.
“Yes. Briefly.” The sound of a wine cork popping came through the speakers. “For any more information, you’ll have to ask me in person.” She ended the call.
Laurel sighed and kept driving until she found Greenfield Architecture outside of city limits near a popular community church. Well, approximately eight miles from the church, but that meant near in this rural area. She pulled up to the office, which appeared to have been built decades ago with roughhewn logs and tall eaves. It had withstood the test of time well, although the sign on the arch appeared weathered. Lights shone from inside.
She jumped out of her car, caught her balance on the ice, and hunched her shoulders against the night air. Her breath puffed in visible steam as she crossed the scattered gravel and salt on the sidewalk to reach the heavy-looking wooden door and push it open.
She stepped inside a reception area with rustic, red-cushioned chairs surrounding a square, hand-crafted wooden table strewn with decorating magazines. The counter was also made of wood—this one birch with a barn style doorway to the left. “Hello?”
Davie Tate emerged from a side room that held file cabinets, a donut in his hand. He wore a Genesis Valley High School T-shirt, worn jeans, and scratched snow boots. His dark hair was ruffled and scratches showed on his bicep. “Whoa. Hi.” He jerked to a stop with jelly on his lip that he licked off. “What are you doing here?”
She stepped up to the counter. “I’m looking for Tommy.”
Davie shrugged. “You’re looking in the wrong place. Sorry.” He took another bite of the donut.
Laurel tilted her head. “He wasn’t in school today. Were you?”
Davie stared at her and kept chewing. Finally, he shrugged.
She looked him over, and the seventeen-year-old was a couple of inches over six feet with some pudge still around his face and middle, but his arms showed muscle. “Where is Tommy?”
“He’s at home, and I think hewasat school today,” Davie said, his mouth full of donut. He met her gaze evenly and didn’t look away. She’d clocked him as being shy the other day at the mayor’s house but maybe she’d been wrong. So she removed her badge from her back pocket, opened the leather case, and set it on the counter next to flyers for the business. “Do you know what this is?”
He scoffed. “Looks like a badge.”
“Good job. It is a badge. Not only that, but it’s an FBI badge, which is a federal agency. Did you know that it’s actually against the law to lie to a federal agent? Famous people have been sentenced to prison for it.” She needed a background check on Davie Tate. “Now how about you tell me where Tommy has been all day and whether or not you were with him.”
Davie squinted and his eyes gleamed. “I won’t lie to you, lady. But you know what? I don’t have to say a fucking thing.”
Surprise filtered through her but she kept her face expressionless. “That could be called hindering an investigation. If you just want to live somewhere other than home, say so, Davie. I can make it happen with a criminal charge or two.” She zeroed in on his enlarged pupils. “Are you on something?”
“Just life.” He laughed at his own joke. Then he sobered. “Speaking of laws, I think you’re trespassing. Get the hell out of here.” His voice rose several decibels on the last.
She lowered her chin.
“What the heck is going on?” Jason Abbott hustled out of an office with Haylee Johnson on his heels. “Who is yelling?” The architect wore a blue flannel shirt with jeans, and he had a set of plans in his hands. He took in the scene and then put the plans on a table behind the counter, his gaze wary. “What is going on?”
Davie snorted. “Bitch wants to know where Tommy is.” Haylee gasped.
