Deadly Revenge (Pearl River #3)

Chapter 19

19

Max checked his phone as he descended the stairs behind Jenna. When they’d separated to search the house, he contacted an administrator in the prison system and asked him to check on Rick Sebastian’s status in prison. He’d hoped to hear something by now.

“Find anything else?” he asked when they joined the CSI team.

Dylan shook his head. “I looked over the journals. You were right—it’ll take a forensic accountant to decipher what’s in them.”

“I’m not an accountant, but my bet is riding on kickbacks Slater and probably Nelson and Harrison Carter received.”

In Max’s initial interview, Carter had quickly let him know he’d never been involved in any type of illegal activities. It looked like the state senator had lied to him.

“We’re going to check the newspaper archives, but I want to find someone who can give us the lowdown on Carter’s administration,” Jenna said.

“That would be Sheriff Stone or his wife, Judith, but they’re in Kentucky with Mark Lassiter,” Dylan said. “Next would be Mae Richmond, but she’s with them too. But you could call the sheriff. Maybe get them all together on a call.”

That was a thought. What he wanted to do was confront Harrison Carter, but that would have to wait until he had a few more facts.

“Wait ...” Taylor turned to Dylan. “What’s the old hermit’s name? The one who used to work at city hall?”

Dylan stared down at the floor, then he looked up with a grin. “Mr. Darby. He would know more than anyone in town, but good luck on getting him to talk.”

“I remember him,” Jenna said. “He used to save mints for me at church. He always seemed to like me.”

“You must be the only person in town he liked,” Taylor said.

Max jotted down the name just as his stomach growled and the other three turned and looked at him.

He palmed his hands toward them. “Hey, I didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”

“Neither did I.” Jenna checked her watch. “It’s not two yet—Pete’s Diner is still serving lunch. It would be a good place to go over the security details.”

He caught himself before he said “It’s a date.” “Sounds good.” He glanced at Dylan and Taylor. “You two coming?”

They both shook their heads. “We need to finish up here, and then go to Jenna’s house, and then to Paul Nelson’s,” Taylor said. “And his insurance office.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to find at my house,” Jenna said. “Besides, I told Alex that Max and I would do it.”

Dylan raised his eyebrows. “If you’re sure.”

“Yeah. You two are slammed.”

Max looked at her. “And if you’re ready...”

Jenna nodded, and he ushered her out of the house. She was being so nice to him, he almost wanted to ask who she was and what she did with Jenna. “Lunch first and then your house?”

“Sounds good, but first, let’s look around the yard. It won’t take long. I don’t really know Joe and Katherine Slater except what I saw in the house, and yards can tell you a whole lot about a person.”

He followed her as she walked around the house and turned toward a flower garden at the back.

“It’s beautiful here,” Jenna said softly. She swept her hand toward the garden. “The roses were probably Katherine’s ... evidently she loved flowers. Maybe her husband helped her.”

Roses of every color from yellow and orange to blue and lavender to different shades of red. “Reminds me of a box of crayons.”

“I wouldn’t have described it that way ... more like a rainbow.”

“Or a rainbow ...”

She turned toward him, her eyes twinkling. Then she sobered.

“The Slaters were real people who loved and lived and now they’re dead.” She fisted her hands. “I want to get who did this.”

“We will.”

His heart thudded against his ribs as she hooked a strand of silky black hair behind her ear. He’d somehow forgotten the way her long eyelashes framed those October-sky-blue eyes, and the way she didn’t bother to hide the few freckles sprinkled across her nose.

Liar.

It wasn’t that he’d forgotten, but after what happened with Shannon, he hadn’t wanted to experience that misery again. Sure, it’d been the drugs talking when she’d hurled bitter accusations at him, but he’d let her words get to him. Words like, if he’d been man enough, she wouldn’t have turned to drugs. And the guilt that he hadn’t recognized her drug use until it was too late was overwhelming.

It had been a dark time until a pastor friend reminded him that what happened to Shannon wasn’t Max’s fault, and what she thought about him didn’t matter—it was how God saw him. That friend and working with a kid he’d arrested turned Max around.

He checked his phone again as they walked to his truck. Nothing. He pocketed the phone and opened the passenger door. “Still feeling okay?”

“I’m good, and eating will make me even better.”

When they reached the road, Jenna said, “Can I see that photo of the letter Carter received? I want to compare it to the one Slater received.”

“Sure.” Max pulled up his pictures and tapped on the letter. “Here.”

He handed her his phone and then pulled onto the road.

Jenna laid both phones side by side in her lap. “The letters look identical. Have you been able to trace the origin of the clippings used in Carter’s?”

“The lab is working on it.”

“The letter isn’t exactly a threat,” she said. “Crazy, yes, but I imagine most politicians get letters like this all the time.”

She used her fingers to enlarge the photo. “Don’t get me wrong, I totally understand with these two deaths connected to him, TBI would get involved now, but what made them pay attention to this in the first place?”

Max hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed her quick mind and the way she always saw past the surface in their cases. He couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face.

“What?”

“Nothing. I wondered the same thing, but he’d had that near accident where someone tried to run him off the road. Add having friends in high places, and you can understand why I’m making sure nothing happens Saturday ... or the next big rally, wherever it is. We don’t want another Gabby Giffords.”

While running for reelection to Congress, Gabby Giffords had suffered a brain injury in an assassination attempt.

“It’s a bad state of affairs when a candidate has to worry about getting shot,” she said. “But then it’s nothing new.”

Max kept his focus on the curvy road. At the four-way stop he pocketed his phone then turned toward town.

“I suppose using words clipped from print is to keep you from analyzing his handwriting,” she said.

He agreed.

She repeated the message. “‘You’ve lined your last pocket.’ The sender is obviously alluding to the three men receiving kickbacks.”

“And he’s avenging their wrongdoing. But why now? Why not when they were in office?”