by Debra Webb
At the top of the stairs he paused, held her gaze. “I’ve been doing this a while. Never count me out.”
She would know never to do that again. “Thanks.”
During the next few minutes they snapped pics with their cells. Every page, every photo. Sasha’s stomach churned as she took care of the crime scene photos. When the last one was complete, Branch repacked the files into the box.
“I’ll tuck this back in your closet and pick it up on my way to Billy’s office later today.”
She nodded her understanding. Before she could ask what was next, he said, “Pack a bag. You’re not staying here alone anymore.”
“Where are you suggesting I stay?”
“You’re staying with me.” He carried the file box to her closet, deposited it on the floor and covered it with the same throw she’d had over it.
For a moment she only stared at him. He couldn’t possibly think she would stay with him at his house...alone.
“I know what you’re thinking.” He tapped her on the temple. “Don’t fight me on this, Sasha. Besides my grandmother, I’m the only one who’s completely on your side in this.”
“I can stay at a motel or at the inn.” She wasn’t actually sure of what establishments still operated in Winchester. Good grief. She could not spend time under the same roof with him. Not the way he was suggesting.
“Look. This is not some plot to take advantage of you. You can stay at my grandmother’s if you prefer. I just don’t want you alone at night—anywhere. We can use the evenings to go over what we find and compare notes and thoughts. We’ll spend most evenings together anyway.”
So maybe he had a point. “You have a guest room?”
“I do. You can take my room since it’s upstairs. I’ll take the guest room downstairs. There will be an entire floor between us.”
Now she just felt foolish. “Well, all right. I’ll pack a few things.”
“Good.” He nodded. “I’ll get out of your way.”
Somewhere downstairs the sound of her cell phone ringing pierced the air.
Sasha headed for the door. “That’s my phone.”
“You pack. I’ll get your phone.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
With her smallest suitcase opened on the bed, she started layering in sleepwear and clothes. She groaned when she realized she’d been running around all morning in a nightshirt. At least she’d had the good sense to pull on one of her grandmother’s sweaters once Branch had arrived.
“What a night,” she grumbled.
“Mom?”
The sound of her daughter’s voice reverberated up the stairs. Sasha’s heart nearly stopped.
“I’m not your mom, but I’m taking the phone to her. Hold on a minute.”
“Who are you?”
Sasha winced. That was her daughter’s interested tone. She probably thought—Sasha shook her head. She didn’t want to go there.
“I’m US Marshal Branch Holloway, an old friend of your mom’s.”
He walked into the room, grinning from ear to ear.
Sasha reached out; her hand trembled in spite of her struggle to keep it steady. “Thanks.”
He placed the phone in her hand, her daughter’s pic filling the screen. Her blond hair and blue eyes exact duplicates of his.
“I’ll be waiting downstairs.”
Sasha nodded. Not trusting her voice. When he’d left the room she took the phone off Speaker and said, “Hey, baby.”
“Who was that?”
Sasha collapsed onto the bed. “An old friend, sweetie. He’s helping with all this stuff that needs to be done.” She had not told her daughter about her search into the past. Until she had some evidence one way or another, there was no point sharing any of this with anyone beyond official personnel. Though, technically, she did have some evidence now.
“Mom, he sounds hot. You should live a little. I’m doing a Google search on him right now.”
Sasha’s mouth went dry. “You know how photos on the internet are never like the real person.”
“So when are you coming home?”
Sasha managed her first deep breath since her phone rang. “Next week, I hope.”
“I don’t understand why I can’t come there. There was a death in the family. I can make up the homework and tests.”
“We’ll talk about that later in the week.”
“OMG, he is straight fire.”
“Why aren’t you on your way to school?” Her heart was hammering again.
“Okay, okay. Chill. I won’t be late.”
In the background Sasha heard Avery’s voice urging Brianne to hurry before she was late. Saved by the nanny!
Thank God.
“I’ll talk to you after school, sweetie.”
“Okay. Love you!”
“Love you, too.”
The call ended but Sasha’s heart didn’t stop pounding. Her daughter had seen a photo of her father.
Branch had seen a photo of his daughter.
Sasha was running out of time and someone had threatened her life.
She stood. She couldn’t control precisely how the investigation of this case went, but she could still navigate the other. She would not leave her daughter in the dark the way her grandmother had left her.
All she had to do was find the right moment to tell her the truth. First, she needed to tell Branch.
Chapter Nine
Arlene Holloway had come to her grandson’s house as soon as she heard the news. She also insisted on throwing together a late breakfast. Sasha tried to help but the eighty-five-year-old woman shooed her away. So while Arlene prepared eggs and toast and bacon, Sasha and Branch discussed where to go next with their investigation.
“Come and get it!”
By the time they wandered into Branch’s kitchen, Arlene had already arranged her own plate and was stationed at the head of the kitchen table.
Sasha had been certain she couldn’t eat. Not after all that had happened this morning. Apparently her emotional reaction had been a little delayed. By the time they had driven from her house to Branch’s, she was trembling and feeling weak-kneed. She hated feeling frail, hated even more for anyone to witness the episode.
“That’s the way it always worked for me,” the older woman had said. “I was always the one who could keep it together during a crisis, but then when it was over I fell apart.”
Weathering crises was Sasha’s brand. No one was better, but she had definitely had trouble holding herself together after they left her grandmother’s home. Sasha understood the reason this situation was different was because it was personal. At work she was dealing with other people’s crises. This was profoundly private and it went all the way back to her childhood.
“I’ve been thinking about what you asked me,” Arlene announced, her attention moving from her freshly emptied plate to the man at the other end of the table.
“Did you think of anyone?” Branch asked.
Sasha looked from him to his grandmother.
“Your mother,” she said to Sasha, “had lots of friends. She was a very busy lady, all about work, so she didn’t do a lot of socializing. But there was one friend she lunched with fairly regularly. Vi and I sometimes ran into them at the diner.”
“Is her name Penny or Patty?” For the life of her, Sasha could not recall the name. She was glad Branch had remembered to ask his grandmother.
“Not a Penny or a Patty. That’s why I had to do some thinking. The name was wrong. It’s Leandra Brennan. Her friends called her Lenny.”
“Lenny.” The name clicked. Sasha nodded. “That’s it. Is this woman still alive?”
“She is. Still lives in the same house and works at the same job. Her house is over on North High Street. Six-oh-six. You probably won’t find her at home
on a workday though. She’s Jarvis Packard’s personal assistant.”
“Jarvis Packard?” The name wasn’t familiar to Sasha. She’d been gone a very long time.
“The biggest land developer in the Southeast,” Branch said. He pushed his cleaned plate away. “His company is involved in any major project that happens in the area.”
“Where’re the Packard offices?”
“Over on South College,” Arlene said. “You can’t miss it. There’s a huge sign.”
Arlene scooted back her chair and stood. “Now you two get on about your business and I’ll clean up here.”
“Gran,” Branch argued, “you’ve already done too much.”
“Your mama told me to take care of you while she and your daddy are on vacation.”
“I don’t think she intended for you to cook for me,” he protested as he took his plate to the sink.
Sasha followed with her own plate and fork. She loved hearing the two bicker. It was so cute to see the big fearless marshal concede to his little old grandmother. Sasha rinsed the dishes and tucked them into the dishwasher. Arlene wiped the table.
“You planning to visit Lenny?” Arlene asked.
“I am,” Sasha confirmed. “If she was my mother’s closest friend, perhaps she’ll know if there was something unusual happening around the time of the murders.”
It felt suddenly odd to speak about the murders in such an investigative manner. Twenty-seven years had elapsed since that night. Sasha had long ago come to terms with the pain of shock and loss. The events of that night had left lifelong wounds with deep scars. But she had chosen to move forward despite the trauma.
Now those emotions resurfaced with the same raw ache she’d felt as a child.
“I can go with you,” Branch offered.
Arlene sent him a frown. “I doubt she will want to talk in front of you. Heavens, Branch, you know better than that. If the woman knows anything, she’s far more likely to tell her friend’s daughter than some lawman.”
“She has a point,” Sasha agreed.
“I’ll follow you there on my way to see Luther Holcomb.”
“Luther?” Arlene pushed the last chair into the table. “He was convinced your daddy did the killing, Sasha. He refused to see that night any other way. I remember arguing with him but it did no good whatsoever.”
This was the part that nagged at Sasha. All her adult life she had ignored this aspect of the past but now it was simply impossible to ignore. “Why didn’t my grandmother argue with him? Why didn’t she fight for the truth?”
Arlene seemed to shrink into herself—as if the question had shaken her. Sasha immediately felt contrite for her poor choice in words.
“I think she wanted to protect you? The longer the investigation dragged out, the harder it was for you to move on. Like she said, dead is dead. No amount of hollering and screaming and making a fuss was going to bring her daughter back.”
Sasha considered for the first time how painful her mother’s death must have been for her grandmother. Alexandra had been Sasha’s mother, but she had been Viola’s only child. Sasha couldn’t fathom even the concept of losing her own daughter.
“I can understand how she wanted to put the hurt behind her—behind the both of us.” She pushed the painful thought away and turned to Branch. “I guess we should get started.”
He nodded. “I need to talk to Luther,” he explained, “before the official investigation shuts him down to those not part of that investigation.”
“We’ll connect after our meetings,” Sasha said. She could do this part on her own. Besides, they could get a lot more done going their separate ways.
He pointed a finger at her. “I want to know where you are at all times. When you leave one location headed to another, I want to know.”
“I expect the same,” she tossed back at him.
He grabbed his hat and settled it into place. “You got it.”
“Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. Holloway.” Sasha gave the lady a hug.
She patted Sasha on the back. “Your mama would be very proud of you.”
The words haunted Sasha all the way across town. Her grandmother had told her often enough as a child that her mother would be proud of her, but Sasha hadn’t considered how her mother would feel about her reopening this investigation.
“The truth is what matters,” Sasha said aloud as she turned into the parking lot of the Packard building.
She watched Branch continue on South College. Sasha wasn’t sure where former chief of police Luther Holcomb lived now. Her attention settled on the six-story building with the huge P on top that had not been here when she was a kid.
Sasha climbed out of the rental, tucked the strap of her bag on her shoulder and headed for the main entrance. She couldn’t be sure if this Lenny person was at work today, if she was out of town on vacation or tied up in back-to-back meetings, but Sasha had to try.
Inside, the elegant lobby was massive with towering ceilings and a wall of plants behind the elegant reception desk. The other three walls were tinted glass. Sleek tile floors, combined with all the glass, gave the lobby a cold feel. The neatly arranged pit of leather seating didn’t help.
Cold and austere.
Sasha was glad she’d chosen a gray sweater to wear with her jeans today. She didn’t exactly look professional but she did look casually comfortable. She’d tucked her long, curly hair into a clip.
When the receptionist ended her call and looked up, Sasha smiled. “I’m here to see Leandra Brennan.”
A practiced smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes slid into place. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” Sasha confessed. “I’m only in town for a few days and I thought I’d drop in. I’m Alexandra Lenoir’s daughter. If you would just tell her I’m here.”
“I can call her office and see if she’s available,” the receptionist offered.
“Thank you.”
Rather than sit, Sasha wandered to the far side of the lobby where a freestanding glass wall featured ongoing and upcoming projects. A new mall in Tullahoma. A hotel near the interstate. A medical complex by the Winchester hospital. Packard was apparently involved in anything big in the tri-county area.
“Ms. Lenoir—” the receptionist’s carefully modulated tone reached out “—Mrs. Brennan can see you now.”
Surprised but thankful, Sasha went through the steps. She provided her driver’s license and stood still for a photo. Then she was given the code for the ride upstairs. On the elevator she entered the code and the doors automatically closed and the car bumped into motion, stopping on the top floor.
As cold and austere as the lobby was, the top floor was anything but. Thick carpeting, rich wall colors and lavish furnishings. Another receptionist looked up from her desk and smiled.
“Please have a seat. Mrs. Brennan will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you.”
Sasha settled into a plush upholstered chair and worked on relaxing. She wanted to appear calm and intelligent, not emotional and desperate. This could be the step that made all the difference in discovering the truth she so badly wanted to find. If she had harbored any reservations about this endeavor, she certainly did not after last night’s intruder. Someone knew what she was doing and that someone was worried. That had to mean something.
You were supposed to die that night...
Had her grandmother feared for her own and Sasha’s lives? Was that why she hadn’t pursued a different conclusion from the official one reached by the police department? Her grandmother had been a very intelligent woman. She would have realized that nothing added up. The concept that Viola Simmons might have been afraid shook Sasha. Her grandmother had always appeared so brave and strong.
But everyone had his or her breaking point. Sasha could not imagine surviving the loss of a chil
d. Arlene was right. Viola’s entire focus would have been on protecting Sasha.
Whatever it took, she would find the truth—for her parents and for her grandmother. Sasha’s grandfather on her mother’s side had died before Sasha was born, so she had never known him. She had heard stories that he was a shrewd businessman, which was why her grandmother had never had to worry financially. Her father’s parents and sister had moved away after the murders. Sasha had never once heard from them. She supposed they had been too devastated. But she had been a child and they shouldn’t have abandoned her.
She had considered contacting them but she’d never pursued any search. If they hadn’t cared about what happened to her, then she’d just as soon leave well enough alone. Unless they had information about what had happened?
Why would they not have stayed and fought for justice if they believed her father was innocent? Or had some proof?
Why hadn’t someone done the right thing?
“Sasha.”
Sasha looked up at the sound of the woman’s voice. The red hair and blue eyes instantly triggered memories of her mother and this woman—a younger version of this woman—huddled over magazines and talking about decorating.
She stood and extended her hand. “Thank you for taking the time to see me, Ms. Brennan.”
The woman nodded. “Let’s go to my office.”
Sasha followed her down the hall and into an office with a massive window; though the view of South College and the parking lot wasn’t that spectacular, it did allow lots of light. The furnishings were elegant and numerous accolades lined the walls.
Brennan loosened a button on her suit jacket and settled into the chair behind her desk. She wore her hair down over her shoulders as she had decades ago. The gray streaks reminded Sasha just how much time had passed.
“Please—” the older woman gestured to the chairs opposite her desk “—have a seat.”
Sasha perched on the edge of a wingback. Suddenly she felt nervous. Perhaps it was foolish but she felt as if what this woman had to say could be a turning point in her search for the truth.
“You look well,” Brennan said. “I was sorry to hear about your grandmother. She was a kind and gracious woman.”
