It was still cold out, and gray clouds filled the sky, clumping on top of one another like balls of dirty socks, making it seem much later in the day than it was. Cars had begun to populate the streets again, but there was definitely less activity than there would be on a normal weekday in downtown Tuttle. I had just started walking back to the Times office when Ash texted.
Something weird just came up. Can you come over?
The funeral home was only a couple of blocks out of my way, so I decided to detour and head over there before going back to the newsroom. I turned the corner onto Broad and saw Ash standing outside the funeral home as I walked up, wearing his usual rumpled jeans and plaid shirt. He was waiting for me. My belly swooshed as I got closer and his eyes locked onto mine.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I responded, an involuntary smile edging across my face. “What’s up?”
He held the door open for me and I stepped inside. “I wish I could say this was all just an elaborate ruse to get you to come see me.”
“It’s not?”
He laughed but shook his head. “I just got a call from Gary, from the Chincoteague funeral home.”
“Okay.”
“He said he was telling his wife about talking to me the other day and she got a funny look on her face, and when he asked her what was the matter, she said someone had come by the funeral home about a month ago asking about the same family—the Miller family who died in a plane crash.”
A tingle started to creep up the back of my neck. I had a feeling about what he was going to say next.
“It was Flick.”
I knew it. I wasn’t surprised, but that didn’t stop the pounding feeling building inside my chest. Flick had been onto something big. He’d tracked down where the Millers died, had a meeting with someone, and then headed over to Brunswick County—either to see Charlie Miller or Joe Tackett in prison.
“There’s more.”
“Okay…”
“Gary’s wife gave Flick a copy of the death certificate, the one with Charlie Miller’s name listed as next of kin on it. He told her he had a meeting with some very powerful people who were trying to cover up ‘a lifetime of lies’ and needed it as proof.”
“A lifetime of lies?”
Ash nodded. “That’s what Gary’s wife said.”
“The powerful people he was talking about must be the ones he referred to as the ‘pack of professional liars.’”
“I thought you’d want to know,” Ash said. “And I didn’t want to put this all down in a text, just in case. All of this stuff is starting to feel really cloak-and-dagger.”
I agreed. “Good thinking.”
“You okay?”
“I will be.”
Ash took my hand and squeezed. “I know you will.”
For a split second the feeling of his skin on mine took me back to last night, and all I wanted to do was lose myself in the moment, to block out all the confounding puzzles I was trying to unravel, the crushing weight of trying to chase down the truth. But when Ash let go, the feeling faded. This was no time for passion; it was time to get back to work.
He offered to drive me back to the office, but I told him I’d rather walk. Fresh air always helps me think, and I certainly had a lot to think about after hearing that bit of news. I wondered who Flick had shown the copy of Daniel Miller’s death certificate to. And where was it now? It certainly wasn’t in the file, and it hadn’t been found in his car after the crash. If Flick had figured out, as we did, that Shannon Claremore was really Charlie’s daughter, he could have reached out to her. Was that who he had been meeting with on Chincoteague? Shannon denied that she knew Flick when I asked her on the phone, but it wouldn’t have been the first time someone lied to me. Or maybe Flick used a different name. If he was afraid he was getting close to the people who killed Albert, maybe he was trying to be extra careful? The thought caused a squeezing sensation deep inside my chest.
I felt with almost one hundred percent certainty that Shannon Miller Claremore and her father were lying about being related to the Miller family from the crash. The question, of course, was why. Shannon Claremore was married to one of the most high-profile and influential Christian leaders of our time. It seemed a little far-fetched to think that she could somehow be involved in not one, but two murders. However, there was definitely something weird going on with her. Tackett said Albert found out Shannon wasn’t who she said she was…what did that mean? If she wasn’t Shannon Claremore, who was she? It felt like I was trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle without using the picture on the box.
I didn’t care about Shannon’s warning—I needed to talk to Charlie Miller again. If I could tell him I knew he was Daniel Miller’s brother and that his daughter was hiding something, he’d have to provide some explanation. The problem was that Rhonda would never allow me back in. And she’d already seen Holman too, so he wouldn’t be able to get in either. I was thinking about the possibility of asking Kay to do it, when I looked up to see Ridley walking along the sidewalk toward me.
“You left before I had a chance to say goodbye,” she said, looking resplendent in her long ivory wool coat (what new mother wears ivory?). She leaned in for her traditional greeting of the double-sided cheeks kiss and handed me a white cardboard box. “You looked like you could use one of these.”
It was one of Mysa’s giant iced cinnamon rolls. A swell of gratitude rose inside my chest. Or possibly my stomach. “Thanks, that was really sweet of you.”
She fell into step with me as I headed for the Times office. “Is everything okay? Ryan said you were upset about something to do with Jay?”
“Oh, it’s not that,” I said. “I’m frustrated because I need to interview someone and can’t get access.” As we walked the remaining couple of hundred feet to the door, I explained the broad brushstrokes of the situation with Charlie Miller and Shannon Claremore. I left out the details about Tackett because it seemed like whenever I said his name, people started warning me to be careful.
I pulled open the office door and held it for Ridley. Holman and Kay must have been in their respective offices because the newsroom was empty. We took off our coats and sat down in my cubicle—well, I sat and Ridley leaned against the partition.
“Let me do it,” she said.
“Let you do what?”
“Go interview this Charlie Miller. I can do that. I’m not banned from seeing him.”
“No way.”
“Why not? You can tell me the questions you need answered and I will ask them,” she said with a shrug, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “You know I am very good at getting men to talk to me.”
Ridley had helped me out a few months ago on a story in which I needed to elicit information from a pervy pharmaceutical executive. He’d been all too happy to talk to me with Ridley by my side.
“Uh, he’s old—like in his nineties.”
“Even better.” She smiled. “Old men love me.”
I was fascinated with how Ridley unapologetically owned and acknowledged her near-universal appeal but never came off as arrogant or full of herself. “I don’t know…” I said.
“What? It solves your problem, right?”
“I guess, but—”
“And I love to help with your investigations—you know that!”
I thought about what Kay would say (No) and what Holman would say (also No) and what Ryan would say (Hell no). I bit the corner of my lip.
She raised one eyebrow in challenge. “You know how you hate it when the people around you tell you to be careful all the time and try to protect you even though you’re perfectly capable of making your own decisions?”
She had me there. Ridley was a grown woman who had proved herself more formidable than most. Who was I to protect her from herself? I pointed a finger directly at her chest. “Okay, but you will do exactly as I say and will not give anyone your real name and you will quit the minute I say quit.” I glared at her, trying to convey the seriousness of the situation.
“Of course,” Ridley said, flashing a triumphant smile tinged with a smidge of irony. “You’re the boss!”