Page 35

CHAPTER 35

TROY SAT IN THE passenger seat of the Chevy Impala, a silent, lean specter, sometimes napping with his head against the window. I held the wheel and turned over the consequences of Daisy’s affair in my mind.

The lottery win and her infidelity opened up whole new realms of possibilities. Daisy might have decided to take her half of the lottery winnings and run off with her lover. Or Troy might have learned about the infidelity and struck out in a rage. Or the mysterious lover might have been the one to lash out in jealousy.

I’d sent Baby to take George back to his workplace before the guy faced a penalty for walking out. I had to accept the fact that Dave Summerly would also catch up to George in time, but for now, I was a step ahead. Troy huffed a small, dark laugh in the quiet of the car as we entered the outskirts of Glendale.

“What?”

“Oh, I’m just reading about Daisy’s apparent love of film noir in these messages to her boyfriend.” Troy was slowly swiping through the message thread he’d sent himself from George’s phone. “Daisy hates those movies. Film noir is my thing.”

“You shouldn’t read those,” I told him. “We’ll get them to the police. They’ll tell you if there’s anything relevant in there.”

“Do we really have to share these with the cops?” he asked.

“Yes. We do.”

“These will just strengthen the case against me,” he said. “It’ll look like I found out and I killed her.”

“Holding back the trophy box is enough of a risk,” I said. I took a deep breath. “And I need to talk to you about that.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not right for me to hang on to it any longer,” I said. “The families of those missing people should know anything that relates to finding their loved ones.” I told Troy what had happened with Oliver Maloof, that the man was in the hospital recovering from stab wounds. “The Maloof family deserves to know what’s going on. I’ve had the box for long enough.”

“I’ll be arrested as soon as the police get hold of it.”

“Yes.”

“And the internet will know. There’s clearly a leak in the cop camp. The stuff about the lottery win went up about half an hour ago.”

“Cops and journalists.” I nodded. “Sometimes enemies. Sometimes friends.”

“Well, Rhonda, I guess that’s it,” he said. I looked over and saw him staring at me. “I thought when I hired you that I would be partnering with an ally. Getting help. But you haven’t helped me at all. I won’t be requiring your services any longer.”

We stopped at the roadblock at the end of Troy’s street. The two cops manning it turned to us, and I could see their smug smiles even in the dark.

As Troy reached for the door handle and said, “I’ll walk from here,” I grabbed his arm.

“Don’t get out yet,” I said.

“What? Why?”

I pointed down the street at the golden glow from hundreds of candles.