Page 34 of Little Dark Deeds (Georgiana Germaine #12)

I stepped into the real estate office and approached the front desk. Lila was dabbing her eyes with a tissue, which she then used to blow her nose.

“Hey, Lila,” I said. “You doing okay?”

“I’m just ... you know, sad about Tyler,” she said. “Can’t believe he’s dead. And Jana, I can’t believe she shot him.”

“We’re still trying to figure it all out. Was Tyler at work yesterday?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Jordan said they had an argument in his office.”

“I don’t know anything about an argument. They were both talking about that crazy old woman, the one who says she’s going to solve the murder.”

“Queenie.”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“She talked to Tyler, right?”

“And Jordan. Accused them both of murder.”

Yet Jordan had said he hadn’t spoken to Queenie.

So many secrets.

So many lies.

It was time for them all to come out.

Lila grabbed another tissue from the box on her desk. “I’m sorry. I’m a blubbering mess.”

“Don’t be. It’s understandable. Is Jordan here?”

“He’s not. I can tell him you stopped by. Do you want to leave a message?”

“I’ll just talk to him later. Listen, can I use your bathroom before I go?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. It’s down the hall, third door on the left.”

I thanked her, and as I headed down the hallway, a couple walked in the front door.

The timing couldn’t have been better.

Jordan’s office was also down the hall and to the left. I slipped inside and began looking around. His office looked a little different since my last visit. The framed photo of Audrey Hepburn was gone, replaced by another photo of a Labrador retriever. The box of candles was also gone.

I walked in front of his desk and sat in the chair, pulling the drawer open.

There were a handful of file folders, several bottles of hand sanitizer, and at the bottom, a bottle of bourbon and a small box.

I pulled the box out and opened it. A gun was inside.

I moved to the next drawer. It contained hanging files, all arranged in alphabetical order.

“What are you doing in my office?”

I looked up to see Jordan standing in the doorway.

He wasn’t pleased to see me.

“I came to talk to you,” I said.

He stepped inside and closed the door, and I walked around the desk, sitting on in the chair on the opposite side.

He took a seat across from me. “Does talking to me involve snooping through my desk drawers?”

I shrugged. “I was bored.”

And curious, among other things.

“Take a seat,” I said.

“I have a meeting in twenty minutes.”

“I’d cancel it if I were you.”

“Why?”

I crossed one leg over the other. “It was you. You murdered Tiffany.”

“I don’t know why you’re accusing me, but you’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong, though. The first time we met, I saw a bottle of hand sanitizer in the cup on your desk, and there’s even more in one of your desk drawers.

I didn’t think much of it, but now, I think you’re a germaphobe.

Ever since Queenie found the lighter in Tiffany’s kitchen, something has been bothering me.

I couldn’t figure out why anyone would murder Tiffany and then take the time to go to the kitchen sink afterward, dropping the lighter in the process. ”

“What does any of this have to do with me?”

My newest theory was about to come to light.

“I imagine you wore gloves during the murder,” I said. “At some point, some of Tiffany’s blood must have gotten under your gloves, and you freaked out. You couldn’t wait to get home to wash it off. No. You had to clean up then and there. That’s when your lighter fell out of your pocket.”

“Why would I own a lighter? I don’t smoke.”

“At first, I thought we were looking for a smoker. But lighters are used for a lot of things. And in your case, you used it to light the candles for your open houses. How am I doing so far?”

“You’re not. I’m not going to sit here and listen to your false accusations.”

“What happened to the Audrey Hepburn photo that was on your desk?”

His stiff, closed-off posture indicated his discomfort with my question.

“It fell off my desk by accident, and the glass broke,” he said.

It sounded logical, but I didn’t believe a word of it.

“I learned a few things today about the lighter found at Tiffany’s house. It’s part of a limited-edition collection, inspired by Audrey Hepburn.”

“So?”

“It is your lighter, isn’t it?”

“Just because I had a photo of Audrey Hepburn on my desk doesn’t mean the lighter’s mine, and it doesn’t mean I use it to light candles. I use matches.”

“Queenie wasn’t lying when she talked to you yesterday, and she did talk to you, right after I saw her, I expect.

When she told you about the blood on the lighter, as I imagine she did, you knew Tiffany’s murder could be linked back to you.

I’m guessing you followed Queenie to her house, and you killed her.

Then you tore it apart, looking for the lighter, which I found under a piece of carpet in the guest room. ”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care. A sample of your blood will prove it’s yours, which proves you were in her house, and it will be enough to convict you of her murder. Your life is over.”

He opened the top drawer of his desk, and I raised my gun, the one I’d been palming inside my bag. “If you’re looking for your gun, you won’t find it.”

“You have it?”

“Sure do.”

“Look, you don’t need to point that thing at me.”

“Don’t I?”

“I wasn’t going to pull a gun on you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Why did you open the drawer, then?”

He narrowed his eyes, staring at me for a time, like he was scheming, planning out his next move.

“Don’t do it,” I said.

“Don’t do what?”

“Whatever you’re planning.”

“Or what?”

The second the words left his lips, he leapt over the desk, his hands reaching for my neck. But he was a few seconds too late. I had already fired.