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Bryce wiped the smile from her face. “You’re sure you don’t mind me investigating Jacob during office hours?”
“Go for it. I always liked Livia.” Finn returned to his perch on the corner of her desk. “Thank God she wasn’t like the rest of her family.”
Bryce didn’t miss the edge in his voice. “You don’t like the Benoits very much, do you?”
“In my professional capacity, I consider them well-respected members of this community who pay their taxes and are generous with our local charities. An upstanding family that Rushville is honored to have as our neighbors.”
“And in your unofficial capacity? It won’t go past this office.” She held up two fingers, pressing them together. “Scout’s honor.”
Finn shook his head, reaching to grab her hand and gently tug up a third finger.
“This is scout’s honor.”
He was bent forward, allowing her a glimpse into the velvet darkness of his eyes. Her mouth dried to the texture of the Sahara Desert.
“Of course you were a Boy Scout,” she managed to mutter.
He released her hand with a shrug. “Law officers were either scouts or juvenile delinquents when they were young.”
“We know which one I was.” Leaning back in her wooden chair, she eyed him with genuine curiosity. “What do you have against the Benoits?”
“Old man Henri threatened to force my father out of office.”
Finn’s dad, Griffin Maxwell Sr., had served as sheriff in Rushville for thirty years. It wasn’t until Finn agreed to run for the position that he’d been willing to retire. In all that time, Bryce couldn’t recall ever hearing a bad word against him.
“Why?”
“It was back twenty-eight years or so ago. When Giselle Benoit supposedly jumped off the balcony of her bedroom into the empty swimming pool.”
“That was Livia’s mom, right?” Bryce asked. She had no memory of the woman, but she knew that she’d committed suicide when Livia was just a child.
“Yup.”
“Wait. Did you say supposedly?”
He glanced over his shoulder, as if making sure Chuck couldn’t overhear their conversation. “My dad didn’t like to talk about it, but after Giselle’s death he tried to get the details of exactly what happened, but Henri refused to let him on the property.”
Bryce was confused. “Your dad was the sheriff. How could he stop him?”
“Easy. A few well-placed complaints to the mayor, a few more to his senator, and even one to the governor.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“My dad was told in plain language to back off or he would be removed from office. The coroner ruled the death a suicide, and the case was closed.”
Bryce wasn’t surprised to discover that a bunch of politicians would bend the law for their rich friends. It happened all the time. Even in the FBI. But it baffled her they’d go to such an effort.
“Did your dad think there was something fishy about Giselle’s death?”
“Not at first. It appeared to be exactly what Henri Benoit said it was: a tragic end to a beautiful young woman.”
“Was there a note?”
“Yes. It said something like ‘I can’t go on.’ Pretty generic and brief.”
Bryce remained baffled. It certainly seemed like a suicide. “So why did your dad want to investigate?”
“Because a young, apparently healthy woman with a two-year-old baby and lavish lifestyle plunged to her death. It would have been malfeasance if he hadn’t demanded an investigation.”
