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“I think I might have it.” She went to her purse and found the detective’s card in a zippered compartment inside. Went back and handed it to Hayes. “His email is on this.”

“I’ll compose a draft message and send it after you’ve spoken to him. I know how full a policeman’s inbox gets. There is no use adding to it until he’ll be looking for the information.” He glanced at her. “Is he good about returning calls?”

“I’m not sure. I happened to catch him at his desk last night. Hopefully, he’ll be intrigued enough by our find to get back to me soon.”

Her cell phone dinged and she rounded the table to pick it up. Her pulse quickened. An email from Trent Camry, Julia’s attorney. She opened it and began skimming, her stomach doing a slow roll.

“Bad news?”

Reese tore her attention away from the missive.

“The lawyer I was talking to yesterday. He received an update from the court. The contested guardianship hearing will take place in three weeks, with each party presenting their case.” She’d already submitted the bulk of the required information with her formal registration, but Camry had listed more details he’d need from her.

One paragraph, in particular, drew her attention:

One to two pages detailing your relationship with the ward, including evidence of the personal connection between the two of you, and witness testimony of the same.

How sympathetic would the court be to her application if the judge learned of the reason she hadn’t seen Ben for over two decades?

“Did Camry receive word as to the identity of the other applicant?”

It took effort to pull her focus away from the words on the page.

She scanned further before nodding. “He was able to suss it from someone he knew in the clerk of court office. Lorna Eckworth.” The attorney warned her against reaching out to the other woman.

He needn’t have bothered. The last thing she wanted to do was face someone claiming friendship with the sibling who’d hated her from birth.

One who was perhaps privy to Ben’s side of the series of events that had eventually separated him from his family.

Someone who, according to Rivers, was close to Ben.

“Let’s see the contact info.” Hayes shoved the notepad to her. She ripped off the top page and stuck it to the table until she could relay it to Gibbons. He rolled the pen he’d used over to her and she scribbled the details. Slid both back to him.

“The judge wants complete stories from each of us before making his decision.”

“It doesn’t hurt to know as much as possible about the woman trying to get conservatorship. It’s your brother, after all.”

Her brother. Reese drew in a breath and went to get her laptop from Julia’s bedroom.

There was a cowardly part of her that whispered it’d be far easier if the judge ruled in Eckworth’s favor.

The thought had her shoulders snapping straight.

Reese had never been faint-hearted. Her parents had constructed the trust, and Julia had assumed responsibility—albeit reluctantly—because of that fact.

Regardless of her and Ben’s history, Reese could do no less.

She went to Julia’s bedroom and returned with her laptop. She was an adept researcher. Upon returning to the table, she sat down and started the same task she believed Hayes was engaged in.

Doing a deep dive into Lorna Eckworth.

An hour later, she and Hayes compared notes. “Sixty-three years old, no criminal history, other than a couple old traffic tickets. Divorced, with a grown stepson. Only one real estate property currently in her name.”

“She owns a house.” Hayes turned his screen around to show her a close-up of the structure he’d pulled up on Google Earth. “Decent neighborhood, but it gets shabbier a few blocks away.”

Reese took a look at the small home pictured before returning her focus to her screen.

“She drives an eight-year-old vehicle and is currently employed by The Faith Roadmap, a profit dedicated to sharing the Bible with individuals and groups in the community.” She rose and returned to the bedroom, coming back with a handful of expense sheets Rivers had shared with Julia over the last year.

Reese pored over them for a time. “I don’t see her name, or that of her employer listed for reimbursement on the reports compiled by the trustee. ”

Hayes started a different search. After a couple of minutes he said, “Their website says they’re funded entirely by private fundraising and grants. Mostly from church-related organizations.”

“So, no conflict of interest there.” Of course not, she thought.

That’d be too easy. “Maybe there’s something in the doctor’s reports about Ben’s relationship with her.

” It’d be a sure bet their connection would be viewed in a more positive light than her brother’s deep-rooted issues with Reese.

He’d rebuffed all of Julia’s requests to visit him, though, and she’d served successfully as his conservator for fifteen years.

The task had filled in some blanks for her, but Reese wasn’t sure how the information would help her write a compelling relationship summary for the judge.

Deciding it was time to switch tasks, she pushed away from the table.

“Thanks for helping with this. I’m going to go back to digging through the documents Julia was examining. ”

“You have physician case notes on him, I assume.” Hayes looked at her over the top of his computer screen. “I can look them over, if you like.” A corner of his mouth kicked up. “I’m fluent in psych doctor speak.”

She mentally backpedaled. Of course he would be. And that’s exactly what she feared. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Picking up her laptop, she rose and turned away.

“Don’t leave before giving me your favorite pizza toppings.”

Her brows rose. “You’re hungry again?”

“No, but I will be later.” He looked amused. “You know, most people consider it common to eat as many as three meals a day. I’ll give you two hours, but then I’m going to force-feed you a couple of slices.”

“Then you better make it thick crust, sausage and pepperoni, extra cheese.”

“Mushrooms optional?” he called after her.

“That works.”

She put the time to good use, working her way through the five most recent years of the trustee’s reports, taking the sticky notes and adding them to the wall, or inscribing the scribbled questions in margins onto new Post-its.

Reese sat back on her heels and riffled through the papers she’d organized by date.

Some of the very oldest documents, from the time Julia had taken over Ben’s conservatorship, had more questions that she transferred to notes.

She added them to the wall and stood, studying it.

The majority of the queries had come from the past year and a half of documents.

That correlated to the time her aunt curtailed her travel for a while.

After Reese had the bad fortune of chasing a story and landing in one of Dante’s circles of hell.

Julia had gradually resumed her former schedule, once she’d assured herself her niece was recovering. She’d kept the reasons for her increased scrutiny of Ben’s trust to herself.

Reese needed to figure out quickly what had raised her aunt’s concerns.

A knock sounded at the bedroom door, and she jumped as if she’d heard a rifle shot.

The involuntary reaction had her jaw clenching.

She’d suffered through the medical procedures for her eye, the relentless therapy sessions that, while unappreciated, did help with processing the trauma, and Julia’s loss.

Convincing herself that she was back to normal was difficult when her body betrayed her over unexpected sounds.

“Pizza’s here.”

Reese went out to find him sprawled on the couch, with a beer, the remote, and a filled plate.

A baseball game was on the TV, which definitely wouldn’t rival the size found in most man caves.

Another full plate sat on the end table on the other side of the sofa, with a glass of wine beside it.

He pushed the ottoman over to her with one foot.

“Padres are playing. Which forces me to root for the Yankees, as much I hate—” He stopped, looking at her for the first time. A smile played around his mouth. “You took off the cap.”

She could imagine what her hair looked like. This morning Reese had managed a tiny topknot, secured by a truckload of pins, and hid the whole mess under the hat. Self-consciously, she pushed back the tendrils that had escaped.

“Your observational skills are impeccable. Did you go out to get the pizza and beer?”

“Had the pie delivered. Picked up the beer yesterday.” He was still staring at her, while simultaneously stuffing his mouth. His focus made her self-conscious. Then irritable. “I didn’t realize your hair was so curly. It’s like…” He twirled an index finger around in the air. “Spirals.”

“Captain Obvious has nothing on you.” Her appetite had returned, so she sat, stretched her legs out, and set the plate—with napkins—on her lap.

After a couple of bites, she relented and said, “If I have time, I can straighten it enough that it’s merely wavy.

” Although if there was a hint of humidity in the air, she looked like a poodle by the evening.

Taking a sip of wine, she felt a measure of tension seep from her shoulders. “What’s the score?”

They watched companionably, and then a bit competitively after she wagered a bet on the outcome of the game. Not because she could predict the winner, but because it so clearly pained Hayes to have to pretend enthusiasm for the other team.

After she convinced him she could only eat two slices, he proceeded to inhale the rest. Reese couldn’t help but be amused. “Tapeworm?”

“Habit. I learned to eat when food is available. It wasn’t always when I was a kid.”

His words had her amusement fading. She’d never lacked anything as a child. Even recognizing the privilege that came with her family’s affluence, she’d learned that it couldn’t buy everything. Like protection from Ben’s moods.

Midway through the seventh-inning stretch, Hayes’s cell alerted.

Reese rose and picked up their plates, her glass, and his empty bottle, and carried them back to the kitchen.

She disposed of them and then turned to cut up the pizza box so it’d fit in the recycling.

When she returned to the couch, Hayes finished texting a reply and looked at her soberly.

Instantly, the tightness returned to her shoulders. “What?”

“Mendes sent an update. When the medical examiner got the body to the morgue, she discovered there wasn’t as much damage on the posterior.” He lifted a shoulder. “The pit was shallow, with no timber in it before the corpse was dumped on top.”

“The flames didn’t reach that side?”

“The flesh is about seventy-five percent intact there. So was the fabric. The victim had a stem in his back pocket. The police dusted it for prints, along with the empty beer cans also discovered there.”

Reese mentally braced herself. “And?”

“The prints belong to Greg Pollack and Stephen Thorne.”