Matt parked two rows behind and facing it.
“What’s the plan?” Bree asked.
“You stay out of sight,” Matt said. “He’ll spot you in a second. I’ll go inside and see if I can find him. You let me know if he leaves the building.”
“I don’t love it, but OK.” She hunkered down in the seat.
Matt slid out of the SUV and went inside. He toured the casino but didn’t spot Craig on the gaming floor. He went down a wide staircase to the lower clubhouse, where simulcast racing was broadcast on rows of monitors. People read and made notes in their racing forms. Gamblers lined up at windows placing bets, including Craig, who was next up at the window.
Matt checked the time. The simulcast of horse racing began at noon. He grabbed a racing form. Leaning against the wall, he pulled out his phone and pretended to be sending a message. Instead, he videoed Craig placing bets.
Craig left the window and found a place in front of a monitor.
His posture was tense. He tucked the folded racing form under one arm and crossed his arms. On the screen, the horses burst from the gate. The animals raced through the first turn and down the backstretch as a unit, until three animals broke out of the pack at the top of the homestretch. Craig’s hand closed into a fist. Halfway to the finish line, one horse dropped off, spent. Craig’s hands flew in the air, the heels hitting his forehead, his features locked in a shocked grimace.
He’d lost.
The next race began. Seconds after the bell rang and the horses charged from the gate, Craig’s shoulders slumped, and Matt had to conclude that the horse he’d bet on was at the back of the pack. The third race didn’t go well for him either.
Matt texted Bree: Betting on the horses and sux at it.
Bree sent him back a thumbs-up emoji.
Craig placed a few more bets and seemed to win one. Overall, though, Craig was going home a loser. He headed for the exit, his posture defeated.
Matt texted: He’s coming out.
Bree’s response came back immediately: OK.
Craig left the building. He headed across the parking lot, his head bent over his phone. Two rows from his car, he looked up, saw Bree, and stumbled.
She was leaning on his vehicle. “Hello, Craig.”
“What are you doing here?” Craig recovered his stride, but he was sweating, despite the temperature hovering around forty degrees. Her presence at the casino had shaken him.
Matt circled around so he could see them both in profile and hear their conversation, but he hung back about ten feet. Craig didn’t seem to notice him. He was too focused on Bree.
She lifted her cell phone and snapped a picture of Craig. “Great shot with the casino sign in the background.”
Craig lunged for the phone.
She sidestepped, keeping the phone out of his reach. She extended one finger at him. “Do not put your hands on me. You won’t like what happens.”
He stared at the phone, his eyes narrowing. A vein in his neck throbbed. “That’s an invasion of my privacy!”
“Legally, there is no expectation of privacy in a public space,” Bree said. “There are cameras all around us. That casino is full of them. You’re being filmed every time you walk into any public space. How do you think your congregation will feel about their minister gambling?”
Craig said nothing. His jaw sawed back and forth. His body wasn’t moving, but inside, he was clearly freaking out. “Who says I was gambling? Maybe I was here to help a lost soul.”
“Remember those cameras I mentioned before?”
“This isn’t your jurisdiction. You have no authority here. Casino security would never give you copies of their surveillance videos.”
“But they’d give them to the Randolph County Sheriff’s Department after I have a long talk with them.”
Matt could see Craig searching for a spin.
Matt walked past him and stood with Bree. “I have a great video of you placing bets at the window.”
“Who are you?” Craig asked.
“A friend of the family,” Matt said. “But that’s not important.”
“So, let’s talk,” Bree began.
Craig’s gaze shifted back to her. “What do you want?”
“Did you kill Erin?” Bree asked.
“No!” His head reared back. “Why would I do that?”
“You have a gambling problem.” Bree raised a finger with each point. “Ministers don’t make much money. The two kids would come with survivor’s benefits. The church will give you a higher allowance. So, in short, money.”
Craig narrowed his eyes. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” But his voice lacked fire, and his expression was tight, as something she’d said hit too close to the truth.
“Is it?” Bree asked.
Craig took a step back and composed himself. His features transformed, the anger draining off, but underneath his new, calm demeanor, Matt could see a calculating mind. Craig was a gambler. Was he bluffing?
“I have a video of you placing bets at the casino,” Matt said.
Craig shrugged. “So, I was weak. Men sin. It’s part of being human. I’ll repent. Forgiveness is there for all who seek it. I’ll turn this whole experience into a sermon.”
Matt had no doubt Craig could spin it well. He wasn’t bluffing. He knew just how far he could ride his charisma.
He jabbed a finger at Bree. “Don’t come at me with false accusations again. You’ll be hearing from my attorney about the custody suit.” He lowered his hand. His gray-blue eyes were as cold as a glacier. “Those are my children. They will be coming to live with me, and there isn’t anything you can do about it.”
Craig turned, walked to his car, and drove away.
Matt watched the car disappear onto the main road. “I thought he might cave when we caught him gambling, but I underestimated his ego.”
“It is massive,” Bree agreed.
“Look on the bright side,” Matt said. “We know Craig has a gambling problem. He’s probably in debt. We can take what we have to Todd. This should be enough to bring Craig in for questioning.”
“We still have no proof that Craig and Erin had any recent contact. Todd has been focused on people in Erin’s current life, not someone she supposedly hadn’t seen in years.” Bree turned to the passenger door of the SUV. “Unfortunately, now we’ve shown Craig our cards. We won’t surprise him again. He’ll be ready for us.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
He pulled the Sig Sauer P226 from his pocket and rubbed the barrel. He’d brought his own Ruger 9mm to Justin’s house that night, but when he’d seen the Sig sitting out in the open, he’d used that gun instead. It was a beautiful gun, a classic. He’d left it on the floor next to the body, hoping Justin would be blamed for Erin’s death. Unfortunately, Justin had picked it up and chased after him.
A decision Justin had quickly regretted. Justin was out of action now, but that bitch was a problem. She could ruin everything.
He opened his notepad and reviewed his notes. He’d been watching everyone, and his plan was falling into place. Erin’s life insurance would be the key.
It was all about the money.
He turned to his laptop and scrolled through the photos. She wasn’t falling into line. She thought she could defy him—betray him, even.
The fury that swirled inside him felt so familiar it was comforting. It was with him almost all the time now, like a friend he knew was trouble but liked hanging out with anyway.
He opened the reusable nylon shopping bag from Bill’s Sporting Goods and began to unload it. He lined up the boxes of bullets next to the hunting vest he’d purchased earlier in the day. He filled the pockets with ammunition and laid out his weapons—the Sig he’d taken from Justin’s house and his own Ruger. He loaded both guns and the Ruger’s extra magazine. Then he filled the vest pockets with bullets.
A man should get what he deserved, what he’d earned. And if anything—or anyone—tried to sto
p him . . .
Then she should die.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“You didn’t have to drive me,” Bree said from the passenger seat of Matt’s SUV.
From behind the wheel, Matt glanced at her. “We promised Dana neither of us would go off on our own, right?”
“Steph isn’t going to shoot me in the middle of a busy salon,” Bree said.
“Jack is in there too. I know he has an alibi, but it’s weak in my opinion.”
“True.” Bree studied the front of the salon. “I’m just going to ask her questions. I do this every day. Have some faith.”
He nodded. “Still, we agreed to provide cover for each other. So, I’m sitting out here. Text me if anything goes sideways.”
“In that case.” Bree removed her baby Glock from her ankle holster and put it in his glove compartment. “For emergency use.”
He nodded once but didn’t look happy.
Bree glanced around the lot. Matt had parked in the rear, in the shade of a mature oak tree, and backed into the space. From here, he had a clear view of the salon, including a straight line of sight into the plate glass windows in the front of the building.
She grabbed her purse and slid out of the car. She looped the crossbody strap over her head and shoulder as she crossed the lot. Inside, four receptionists hustled to check in a short line of clients. When it was her turn, Bree gave Dana’s name, which she’d borrowed to make the appointment.
A slim young woman dressed in all black led Bree back to the shampoo area and gave her a cape. Bree leaned back and tried to enjoy the shampoo and head massage, but her mind couldn’t let go of the incident with Craig. The only ring of truth she’d heard in their entire conversation outside the casino was when he’d denied shooting her sister. Assuming for two seconds that Craig wasn’t Erin’s killer, how was Bree going to protect the kids from him?
Luke had made it very clear he wanted no part of Craig. How much influence would the boy’s distant memories have with a judge?
If she couldn’t prove Craig was grossly unfit, he would probably be granted custody. He was an upstanding citizen, employed as a minister, no less. Bree was sure he could parade a long line of church employees and congregants into court as character witnesses. Nothing short of a felony would sway a judge under those circumstances.
The shampoo girl escorted Bree to Steph’s station. Bree settled in the chair and hung her purse on a tiny hook under the counter. The salon was busy and loud. Voices and the whine of blow-dryers echoed in the high-ceilinged, tiled space.
Steph buzzed around the corner in black suede booties, black tights, and a snug black knit dress. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her face pale enough to make her red lipstick seem garish. When her gaze landed on Bree, Steph froze, and what little color was in her cheeks drained away.
Bree had come in hoping to catch Steph in a lie, but seeing her, worry overrode her plan. Steph looked terrible. Was guilt eating her alive? Or was it something else?
Steph would be the worst poker player ever. A quick play of emotions crossed her face: shock, a flash of hope.
Then fear.
An uneasy feeling stirred in Bree’s belly. She had gotten something wrong. What had she missed?
“Bree!” Steph walked toward her, hands outstretched. “I didn’t know you were my client. Your name isn’t on my list.”
“Sorry about the mix-up. My friend made the appointment.” Bree stood to greet her.
Steph gave her a quick, one-armed hug. “It’s no problem.” But her voice shook.
“I could get someone else if you don’t want to cut my hair,” Bree offered.
“Why would I not want to cut your hair?” Steph patted the back of the chair, and Bree sat.
Each salon station consisted of a chair, a dark gray counter, and a mirror. Underneath each counter was a vertical column of drawers. Steph opened a drawer and pulled out a comb.
“I wanted to see you again, and I need a trim.”
“Well, I’m glad you came in. Erin would be upset if you showed up at her funeral with less than fabulous hair.” Steph combed Bree’s wet hair straight. “Just a trim then?”
“Yes, please.” Bree kept her hair in a basic shoulder-length cut that could easily be contained in a ponytail or bun. She received too many middle-of-the-night callouts for anything fancier that required actual work.
“Of course.” Steph opened another drawer and chose a pair of scissors with hands that trembled just enough to make Bree swallow.
Whose idea had it been to question a potentially unstable woman while she was holding sharp scissors so close to Bree’s throat?
“How are you feeling?” Bree asked.
Steph’s mouth flattened. “OK. The morning sickness is getting better.”
Then why does she look like death barely warmed over?
“Zack seems really excited, but then he isn’t the one throwing up every morning,” Bree said in a light tone.
At the mention of Zack’s name, Steph tensed. She nicked her finger with her scissors. Blood welled from the cut.
“Are you OK?”
“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.” Steph smiled, but her expression was still strained. She set down her scissors, opened a drawer, and retrieved a Band-Aid.
“Are you upset about tomorrow?” In the mirror, Bree watched her wrap the bandage around her finger.
Steph sniffed and wiped a tear from her face. “Yes and no. I mean, it’s gonna suck, but I feel like it’ll help too, you know? Like sharing our love for Erin and the good memories will help us heal. Maybe all that love will bring her spirit around too.”
Bree reached up and touched Steph’s arm. “That’s a lovely thought. Thank you.”
“Do you feel her around you?” Steph tossed the Band-Aid wrapper in the trash and went to work. She combed Bree’s hair and snipped the ends, her scissors moving with skill and practice. Now that she was working, Steph’s movements smoothed out, but every time she paused, Bree could see that the tips of her fingers still trembled.
“Sometimes, when I’m in the house with all of her things, I do,” Bree said. “The cows.”
A short bark of laughter erupted from Steph. She covered her mouth. “She did love cows. She wanted to buy a real one last year, but Luke talked her out of it.”
“Good thing he’s a sensible kid.” Bree smiled. She wasn’t getting any dishonest vibes from Steph, just bittersweet sadness and a vague nervousness that Bree couldn’t pinpoint.
“I just want to get tomorrow over with,” Bree said, the honesty in her statement tightening her chest. “I’m worried about the kids. Planning the service has been hard on them, but like you said before, maybe it’s also cathartic. There’s no way around grieving. No matter how hard it is, we all have to wade right through it.”
“Those poor babies.” Steph choked up for a few seconds. Then she combed through Bree’s hair again, checking for evenness, snipping where the line of her cut wasn’t perfectly straight.
“Are you excited about the baby?” Bree asked.
“Who wouldn’t be?” Steph forced a smile. “It was a surprise, though. We didn’t plan it. But I guess these things happen. It would be my luck to be part of the one percent who gets pregnant on birth control, right?”
“Someone has to be the one in a hundred.”
“Yeah.”
Steph’s tone and demeanor set off more alarms in Bree’s head. Something wasn’t right, which reminded her of the call she’d come here to ask about. Steph’s odd behavior had thrown Bree off her game.
“I was thinking about my whole last conversation with Erin,” Bree said. “We didn’t talk about anything important. I don’t remember if I told her I loved her. If I had known it would be the last time I got to speak with her, there are so many things I would have said.”
Steph’s eyes welled up. “Me too. I didn’t even say goodbye. I was with a client, and she was rushing out the door.”
“You didn’t ta
lk to her after work?”
Steph shook her head. “I went home and took a long, hot shower. I did a smoothing treatment that afternoon, and the fumes made me super sick. I wanted the smell off me.”
“Are you sure? I saw a call from your phone to Erin’s at six that evening.”
Steph set down the scissors. “That’s not right. I remember Tuesday very clearly. I nearly threw up on my client.”
“That would not have been good.”
“Not at all.” Steph glanced around, then reached into her pocket for her phone. “We’re not allowed to have our phones out while we’re working, but I don’t see Jack. I’ll show you.” She scrolled on her phone. Her face creased, her brows lowering in confusion. “I don’t understand. There’s a call here.” She lowered the phone so Bree could see it and pointed to Erin’s number. “I know I didn’t make this call.”
Lying was stressful, and most people exhibited nervous tells. But Steph’s denial sounded legitimate.
“Who had access to your phone while you were showering?” Bree asked. But she already knew. Cold slid over her.
“The only person who was home was—” Steph sucked in a breath. She covered her mouth with a hand. “Oh, my God.”
Steph dropped the hairbrush. She put a hand on the counter, leaned on it, and started hyperventilating.
Bree jumped to her feet and supported her other arm. “It’s all right.”
“It’s not all right.” Steph gasped.
“Take a deep breath and let it out slowly,” Bree said.
“You don’t understand.” Steph shook her head. But she wasn’t crying. Instead, she looked horrified.
“But I do,” Bree said, cold sliding over her. Justin wasn’t the man who was a personality chameleon like her father had been. It was Zack. Bree should have seen it.
Steph’s phone rang in her hand. She jumped, almost dropping it. “It’s him.”
“Don’t answer it.”
“I have to. He freaks out if I don’t.” Steph touched her cheek.
Looking closer, Bree could see the faint color of a bruise bleeding through Steph’s makeup. Anger surged. Bree hadn’t been here when Craig had beaten her sister, but she was here now. And she would not let Zack hurt Steph again.
CROSS HER HEART Page 24
