Dead End

Nina wasn’t going to get an interview with the kid. As much as he wanted to help her, Wyatt wasn’t going to let her push just because she wanted results. They’d have to figure this out the right way, and not by barreling over people’s lives and emotions. Her own mother had been killed and her father framed. He got that she wanted answers more than anything and that she didn’t have a whole lot to lose by following through. Especially when Mr. Thomas had paid her a visit.

Maybe he could convince her to let him finish out the investigation on his own. Mr. Thomas didn’t need to know. He’d only see that Nina was leaving it alone. Then she’d be safe, and he could find the answers for her.

The front door swung open. All three of them turned to see a slim African-American preteen stride in. “Gramma! I’m home!”

* * *

Nina stood. The twelve-year-old had long, curly brown hair and big almond eyes. In ten years she was going to be a knockout with a deceased mother and an absent father. If Theresa wasn’t careful, this girl was going to lose her way big-time. Nina was going to add the girl to her prayer list.

Emily set her hand on her hip. “What is this? What’s going on?” She glanced through Nina and Wyatt to her grandmother.

Theresa stood. “Honey, what happened at Shanelle’s?”

“Vanessa and Trish were colossal jerks so I rode my bike home.”

“Honey, you should have texted me.”

“I was so mad I needed a time-out, Gramma.”

Nina felt her lips twitch. Had she ever had this much presence or attitude? The girl was a spitfire, that was for sure. Nina was a little less worried about her now.

“So what’s going on?”

Wyatt stepped forward. “I’m Deputy Marshal Ames. You can call me Wyatt. This is Nina Holmes.”

“Not a marshal?”

Nina shook her head. “I was a CIA agent.”

The girl’s eyes flashed wide. “Seriously, a CIA agent?”

“I’m retired now, but yes.”

“Epic.”

Nina laughed. Wyatt’s low, manly chuckle sounded like a rumble. She glanced at Theresa and saw the resigned look on her face, then stepped forward. “Would it be okay if I talked to you?”

“About my mom?”

“How did you know that?”

The girl shrugged. “What else would it be?”

Nina waved in the direction of the couches. “Would you sit with us, Emily?”

The girl dumped her purse on the hall floor and strode over. “Sure. Whatever. Can I take a selfie with you and put it on Instagram? All my friends will be so mad I met a CIA agent.”

“No. Sorry.”

Emily shrugged. “Worth a try.” She slumped into the armchair opposite her grandmother, and Wyatt and Nina both took their seats again. “What do you want to know?”

Nina led in, asking the girl where she had been when her mom was killed—staying at her gramma’s that night—and how she’d come home from school to find her mom. Her dad’s face when they had told him had been the hardest part for Emily. Then Nina asked her the best thing she remembered about her mother, and the favorite thing they would do together.

After Emily relaxed, Nina got down to the serious stuff. “The police report includes a statement that you made about your mom’s boyfriend at the time. Can you tell me about him?”

Emily’s nose wrinkled, almost an exact copy of her grandmother’s face. “He was older, and he always wore a suit. At least the couple of times I saw him.”

Nina held her reaction in. If this girl could help her figure out who Mr. Thomas was, they would be one step closer to finding and catching him. “What did he look like?”

“His hair was gray, with only a sprinkle of black. He had a square white face. Blue eyes. Some lines on his face.” Emily glanced to the side, like she was remembering. “Veins stuck out on the back of his hands, and they weren’t rough like Dad’s. He wasn’t anything like Dad. He had money. We went to an expensive restaurant, and I had to wear a dress.” She made another face. “But he was nice. Not really friendly, just pleasant. Snooty.”