Page 15

“You could always fly me down,” Dad says with a laugh. “Get a new set of eyes on the case again.”
There it is. Dad’s hungry to be back in action, even if retirement called to him years ago. “I’ve got it handled.”
“I could do interrogations,” he goes on, still laughing. “I could question Joelle again. I was good at that. Questioned her mom a lot too. You know she found the fifth victim, April Underwood. Porscha was hauling some junk out to the yard after a job and found her. And then she was a victim later! Poor fucking thing.”
I’m not annoyed that he’s telling me details I already know. I’m just surprised how quickly Dad can still rattle off the facts after so many years. Clearing my throat, I try to steer him off topic. “How’s the treatment going?”
He groans. “Really, Sterling? You want to hear about chemo? It hurts like hell and I’d rather be back at the slot machines or out there in Citrus Grove working with you.”
Unfortunately, neither of those options will happen. Dad’s sickness is progressive, and he’s reliving the glory days extra hard since he started to hurt more and more from the chemo. I suppose in a way it’s a distraction, but not necessarily a good one. “Mom’s still taking you to the appointments?”
“Your mother is a gem. She does good.”
I keep us talking about that, needing to focus on something else besides the death that seems to follow Alastair Constantine no matter where he is. Dad finally accepts that I don’t have anything else to share, and for a little while we talk like old times.
When I do finally hang up my mind is a goddamn mess.
Too much information is flying at me at once and I can’t focus on any of it enough to piece things together. That’s what I need to be doing, not getting overwhelmed by memories of the past and contradictory facts that turn this case into a muddy mess. Dad’s questions just add pressure to my headache until my temples are throbbing.
I should really be focused on what I’ve learned today, but instead my mind drifts to Jo. It really shouldn’t, but ever since I saw Swan’s body this morning my thoughts keep drifting to her. She was cut up like that once, and still managed to survive despite a fire that burned down Alastair’s hideout.
The victims who passed endured so much, and I’m certain the weight of what happened rests heavy on her shoulders. I turn and drop my head to the tabletop, grunting as a memory surfs through my mind unpromoted.
“Y’all haven’t found a lead yet?” she asks, biting into a peach. The farmer’s market stops for no one, even with an alleged serial killer on the loose. No one knows who is the main suspect right now, and even my bosses are stumped on what all of the clues mean.
Jo is trying to cozy up to me to get information. When I glance over her head I can see her friends in the background, leaning against a tall tree as they watch us. My father is on the other end of the park giving an update on the Citrus Grove Slayer while a camera rolls, and she’s over here talking to me.
She definitely wants something.
“The police haven’t,” I correct, eyeing her. Her strawberry blonde hair frames her crystal blue eyes, and she’s got a bit of maturity to her for a high school kid. She’s too young for me, but I can at least admit she’s pretty. And she’s shamelessly flirting, so she has to know I at least find her attractive. I’m not exactly sure why she bothers though since she has the attention of two separate men.
Blonde. Tall. Confident. Yeah, that sounds like one of many girls I’ve dated, but I’m four years older than Jo. She’s not even on the list of maybe’s even if she is now eighteen.
Glancing over again, I expect to see annoyance from her boyfriend. Vincenzo has a reputation for being frightening, and I don’t know if it’s because of his father’s ruthlessness or his protective streak from being the eldest of five. Either way, he’s the type to fight and deal with the fallout later.
He does have a crime family backing him, but the Ajello family keeps things quiet. I heard from my old man most of the illegal shit they get into is down the coast.
Then my eyes shift to the brothers. Or are they foster siblings? I can’t say I’ve paid much attention to the details between Emeric and Alastair, but I know they live with a foster family in town. I just don’t know if they are blood related to each other or not and I couldn’t tell you which one lived with the family first.
“Sterling,” she whines, and I look back at Jo. She doesn’t usually come off whiny, and I wrinkle my nose at the sound. “No ideas at all?”
“I’m not a cop, Jo. If you have worries you should go chat with-”
“Your father?” she interrupts, rolling her eyes. “Thanks, but no. If I want to get groped by some old fart I’ll just go stand at the police station.”
I clear my throat, her words throwing me off. Dad isn’t usually in town this long, so there’s not usually that many rumors surrounding him. Where did she hear that? Instead of adding fuel to her fire, I redirect the conversation. “Dad’s not a cop, Jo. He’s an FBI agent. Go tell the FBI if you have a lead.”
She throws her hands in the air, glaring at me. “I don’t have a lead, Sterling. That’s why I’m asking. I’d just like to know who they suspect since the FBI keeps giving vague responses to serious questions. I’d rather not end up on the CGS’s kill list if I can help it.”
I shake the memory away. She was worried back then, but more than that she wanted information. I remember all the drama her mother stirred up during the case because people’s fear started affecting her business, and Jo tried to play nice and help her figure out what was going on. That backfired in the worst way for the both of them.
Seeing Jo as an adult was almost surreal. I knew I’d be doing an interview with one of them, and had I known Swan would die that night I would’ve waited until today to see their reaction, as morbid as that is. Maybe a fresh death would be enough to stress one of them into talking. Anything would be better than the cold welcome they’ve delivered. If they won’t help us with Alastair, I can only imagine things will get worse. They have every reason to go back home, and I’d rather not have to make a fuss at the club they own. If we get lucky we could resolve all of this quickly before anyone leaves Citrus Grove again.
I glare out the window of the bedroom when the image of Vinny’s face between Jo’s legs pops up. This is the wrong place and the wrong time to get sucked back into that train of thought, but I didn’t expect to see such brazen behavior from either of them so soon after leaving the penitentiary.
On the side of the road. With Jo moaning loudly into the fields, unafraid of someone noticing…
If I plan on ever putting an end to this case, I need to put those two into a category as nothing more than witnesses. They aren’t suspects, and they aren’t helping a lot with Alastair either. They are simply one piece of this case and nothing more, so I can stop thinking about the show Vinny put on when he noticed me parking behind them.