Page 9 of Alibi for Murder (Colby Agency: The Next Generation #2)

Wonder Lake, Illinois

Rivero Residence

Steve parked in the small driveway. Allie surveyed the street.

She’d never had reason to be in the area.

The properties here were miles beyond her price range.

Surprisingly, the house that was their destination sat practically in the street, as did most along this stretch of the neighborhood.

It was also much smaller than she had expected for such a pricy area.

In all probability, the reason was because the houses on this private lake did their showing off out back, not in front.

Though she couldn’t recall ever having been here, she had seen the property online.

She’d looked it up on the way here. This side of the house was for access from the street, while the other side was the one with the view and the jagged and plummeting landscape down to the water.

A white, vintage Land Rover Defender sat as close to the house as was possible without the rear bumper contacting the stone and wood facade.

She hoped the vehicle being there meant the owner was home.

Although, considering the dust and tree sap clinging to the surface, it may have been sitting exactly where it was for a good long while.

Maybe he had another vehicle and a garage somewhere she couldn’t see.

On the drive over, she had used Steve’s phone to do some research on Jesus Rivero. Thirty years ago, he had been the hottest reporter in the Chicago market. He’d even been slated for his own primetime show, but then something happened and he just dropped off the face of the earth.

Red had passed along that part, but he hadn’t known where Rivero had disappeared to.

There was nothing on the net about his whereabouts either.

Recently, the former bigtime reporter had been spotted in the Chicago area, but he hadn’t moved back to his penthouse apartment there.

Instead, he’d sold it for one dollar to the family who had been leasing it for all those years.

According to the online county records, and Allie had checked several counties surrounding Chicago, he’d bought this house on Wonder Lake around that same time, just three months ago.

The man, various articles had purported, was a recluse, given that he was rarely seen in public.

Allie couldn’t ignore the fact that, in that regard, their lives were a little alike.

Though she had never considered herself an actual recluse.

Not in the truest definition of the word anyway.

But maybe that was what she was. She didn’t socialize with friends.

Didn’t do social media. Had no dating prospects.

Rarely left the house since the pandemic.

Maybe her friends from her childhood and school, as well as those from her time working at the hospital, all thought she had dropped off the face of the earth too.

During those years she’d taken care of her grandmother, there had been no time to worry about anything else other than work.

It was an around-the-clock gig. Not for one second did she regret the choice.

Even after her grandmother died, the pandemic had made it far too easy to stick with the status quo.

Stay home and shop via delivery services.

Something similar may have happened to Rivero. Maybe his disappearance was no mystery at all, just a tragic life event.

“Shall we go to the door?”

Allie jerked at the sound of Steve’s voice. “Sorry, I was lost in…the past again.”

“You need sleep. When we’re done here, I should take you home and let you get some sleep.”

Did that mean he was leaving? The idea sent fear spiraling through her.

Rather than express that fear, she nodded as she reached for the door handle. “I really appreciate you taking so much time with me. I can’t believe it’s evolved into such a nightmare. I’m sure you have to get back to Chicago.”

She didn’t even want to imagine what he thought of her. Poor, pathetic Allie. Giving herself a mental kick, she put aside the idea. There was no time for self-pity right now. She was in trouble, and she needed his help—whatever his motive for going above and beyond.

“I do need to make a quick run to the city,” he agreed, “to grab a few things, but I’ll be back. This is far from over, Allie. I’m not leaving until this is done—at least, not as long as you want me here.”

Her spirits lifted as high as possible, bearing in mind she really was exhausted. “Thank you. I’m not sure I know the right words to adequately express how grateful I am.” She opened the door and climbed out before embarrassing herself by going further overboard with the relief and appreciation.

He joined her in front of the SUV, and they walked side by side to the door of the house.

Steve rang the bell. No answer. Two more rings were required before there was a response.

Allie’s pulse had pounded harder with each passing second.

At this rate, she was going to hyperventilate before they even spoke to the man.

“If you have a package,” the muffled voice echoed over the speaker next to the doorbell, “just leave it at the door.”

Steve glanced at Allie. “Mr. Rivero, this is Steve Durham of the Colby Agency in Chicago. I need a moment of your time, sir.”

“Who is she ?” the voice demanded.

Allie had just noticed the camera tucked into the soffit over their heads. Well, of course he had cameras. She had considered adding a few herself but never got around to it. Maybe she should.

“Allie Foster,” she answered. “You may have known my father, Jerry Foster. He was a technician at Ledwell before being killed in a car crash.”

The silence went on and on. Her stomach twisted into knots. Was his hesitation because he did know her father? Or because she had mentioned Ledwell?

“You were working on a big story related to Ledwell,” Steve said, obviously hoping to prompt a response other than silence. “We just want to ask you a few questions about what happened back then.”

“I can’t help you,” the disembodied voice muttered.

Desperation rose sharply in Allie. Red was convinced this man knew something, which meant Allie needed to talk to him.

“Thomas Madison is dead. Murdered. They think I killed him, and I don’t even know him.

I believe his murder is somehow related to what happened to my parents.

Please, Mr. Rivero, I really need your help. ”

“What you need,” the man inside the house snapped, “is to go home and forget anything you think you know because I promise you, you don’t know anything . You don’t want to know anything. Not if you want to stay alive.”

Allie’s jaw dropped. Was this guy for real? “I can’t fight an enemy I don’t recognize,” she argued. The idea might be a bit over the top, but that was exactly how she felt just now. “At least help me determine what I’m up against here.”

“That’s all we’re asking for,” Steve tossed in, “just a few minutes of your time.”

“You’re up against a brick wall,” the voice said. “I can’t help you.”

“You mean,” Allie countered, furious now, “you won’t help me.”

The distinct click of the man inside turning off the intercom link confirmed her conclusion.

“I guess he doesn’t want to talk,” Steve suggested.

“Maybe Red was wrong about him.”

They walked back to the SUV and drove away from the disappointment. Allie abruptly felt lost and utterly out of energy. How had this happened? It made no sense whatsoever. If her grandparents had known there was some big, dangerous mystery, why hadn’t they warned her?

She had to assume they either hadn’t known or expected that as long as she knew nothing about it, the trouble would never come to her.

If that was the case, they had been wrong. She refused to believe they would purposely have left her open to trouble.

“We can always try again,” Steve offered. “We’ll do as much research as we can without his help, and then we’ll hit him up again. Meanwhile, I have some sources I can reach out to.”

Allie couldn’t remember when she’d felt so frustrated.

Didn’t reporters like talking about their work?

It was possible Rivero was just a burned-out old man who didn’t want to admit that he had no stories left in him.

Or that the one he’d been pursuing before his disappearance had turned out to be nothing of relevance.

Bottom line, there was pretty much nothing she could do about Jesus Rivero’s decision. But there was something that would not wait any longer.

“I need a phone.”

“That’s our next stop,” Steve assured her. “We have to get you connected to the world again.”

She wasn’t so sure she’d ever really been connected.

Maybe that was her mistake. How did a person provide an alibi for murder or any other crime without a witness—someone who could vouch for them.

Allie had no one. No friends—at least none with which she communicated, outside the few at work who only knew her voice.

Her alibi was that she had been at home.

Alone. Since she rarely left the house, her neighbors certainly couldn’t provide an alibi.

In the eyes of the two FBI agents, that was no alibi at all. An evening with F. Scott Fitzgerald didn’t count.

Foster Residence

Ridgeland Avenue, 11:30 a.m.

Not only did Allie buy a new phone, but she also splurged on a new laptop as well. The one the FBI agents had taken was four years old already. It was time. Besides, who knew when she would get her devices back.

At her front door, since Steve still had the key, he unlocked and opened the door. She held her breath, dreading what she would find inside. He’d warned her that things were a bit disorganized.

She set down her bag of new goodies and wandered through the downstairs rooms. Not so bad, she decided. Nothing a little straightening wouldn’t take care of.

“Did they take anything with them—besides my devices?” She turned to the man following along behind her. “I saw some of the agents carrying boxes.”