“Yes, I’m sure. Crouse saves ten of them, then recycles. The problem is that he doesn’t label the damn things and apparently he dropped them and mixed them all up before bringing them to me. So it’s gonna take some time.”
Millie cut a look at Scott. “Please tell him thank you, and call me if you find anything.”
“I will. It’s a good thing I have an old VCR back at my place.” The chief ended the call.
Scott turned the vehicle toward a residential area. “I take it the gas station is on the way to Clay Baker’s river cabin?”
“Yeah.” Millie leaned over and turned up the heat. “When this is all over, I’m building Crouse a state-of-the-art recording system and not charging him a dime. Even if his recordings don’t help us any.”
“That’s nice of you.” Her quick brain had captivated him from their first meeting, but her heart? Well, now. That fucking enthralled him. He kept his thoughts to himself, turning down a street and noting garbage lining the side. Soon, they reached a utilitarian-looking apartment building, a skeletal structure with a patchwork of faded colors stained by the passage of time and years of neglect. There were no shiny pink bicycles on the still-frozen patch of grass that ran the length of the cracked cement sidewalk.
Millie glanced at her phone. “She’s in apartment number two.” She craned her neck to see through the window. “It’s over there.”
Scott followed her line of sight to the apartment nearest a rusty fire escape clinging to the side of the building. He stepped out of the vehicle and drew on his leather jacket to hide the weapon at the back of his waist. “Are you armed?”
“Yep,” she said, patting her overlarge purse. She jumped out and walked next to him across the barren ground to knock on a dented gray metal door. The place smelled like fast food and old plaster. The door opened and a woman peeked out. She couldn’t be more than eighteen. Her belly was swollen with child and her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. A yellowing bruise marred her chin.
“You must be Millie and Scott,” she said slowly, quietly. Even though the spring of March chilled the air, she wore a sparkly pink tank top over her protruding belly above matching sweats. “Come on in.” She opened the door and gestured them inside.
The interior of the depressing apartment held threadbare green carpet and a torn sofa. Newspapers and beer bottles lined the dented coffee table, and a small kitchenette near the back door smelled like burned tomato soup. “Have a seat,” she said.
Millie sat on the sofa and Scott followed suit while the woman dropped onto a disheveled gray rocking chair with burn marks along the bottom.
Millie smiled. “You must be Nancy.”
“Yes, I am. I’m Nancy Wilcox.” The girl folded her hands on her thigh. “Henry and I loved each other.” Her gaze landed on Scott. “Are you the one who killed him?”
“Yes,” Scott said, unwilling to lie to her. “I didn’t want to kill him, but he didn’t give me a choice.”
Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at the dirty screen door that led to what appeared to be another dismal patch of what used to be grass. “Henry had problems. He had his good side, though, you know? But he had a real bad temper and he drank way too much.” She gestured toward the beer.
“How old are you?” Millie asked.
Scott stilled, but it was a valid question.
“I’m nineteen,” the girl said. “Henry and I have been together for a couple of years. He was only thirty, you know.”
Scott took the hit to the gut. He’d killed a thirty-year-old. There hadn’t been a choice at the time, but he wished it could’ve been different. “I’m really sorry for your loss,” he said, meaning it.
“Thank you,” Nancy said, chewing on a thumbnail.
Millie cleared her throat. “I don’t know how to ask you this, but do you know who might’ve hired Henry to come after me?”
“I have no idea,” Nancy said, her eyes wide. “He didn’t share his business with me.” She looked away.
Scott remained silent for several beats. “I think you do know, or at least you know something.”
The girl looked up at the ceiling. “No, I really don’t,” she said, going at her torn thumbnail as if she hadn’t eaten in way too long.
“Please don’t lie to me.” He put command in his voice this time.
She dropped her gaze to his, and her eyes widened. “I’m not lying?” She made it sound like a question.
“You’re not in trouble,” Scott said, going on instinct. “But we all know that somebody hired Henry and his two friends to kill us, and I need to know who that was.”
“I honestly have no idea,” Nancy said. This time, he believed her. She shifted uncomfortably. “However...” She looked down at her feet.
“What?” Millie prodded.
