Page 15

“It’s true.” He patted Nixon’s cheek. “Look at you with your fancy business, loyal wife, and two-point-five children.” Flynn smiled, but it didn’t take the sting out of his words. “It wasn’t meant for me. It’s okay. I’ve made peace with it.”

I kept an eye on both men as I asked the next question. “Do you ever resent your brother his life?”

“Hell no.” Flynn answered without hesitation, dropping his hand back to Nixon’s knee. “I’m so fucking proud of him.” He gave his brother’s leg another shake.

“You mentioned your parents. How would you describe your relationship with them?”

Flynn chuffed and moved his hand to his lap, threading his fingers together and hitting me with a less-than-authentic smile. “Nonexistent.”

“Why is that?”

Flynn seemed to consider for a long moment before shrugging. “I didn’t follow the Davis plan.”

“What’s the Davis plan?”

A sad smile filled his face. “High grades. University degree. Prominent job in society. I was a rebellious teen and a disruptive young adult who refused to focus on his future or do as he was told. A stain on their family name. I indulged in drugs and alcohol to excess, and they couldn’t tolerate my choices, so they basically disowned me. ”

Not once did Nixon contradict his brother’s assessment, so I figured it was a watered-down version of the truth.

“Do you get along with Imogen? ”

Flynn’s face softened as he glanced at his brother. “I love Imogen. Nixon got the cream of the crop with her. He’s a lucky man. Married his high school sweetheart and fuck the world who told him not to, ain’t that right?”

They shared an intimate smile. Even though Nixon’s eyes were swollen and a cloak of misery surrounded him, their brotherly love still shone.

A tiny pang of jealousy tugged at my heart. I’d never grown up with a sibling or was able to form an unshakable bond like Nixon and Flynn. That opportunity had been stolen from me when I was no older than Sparrow. I didn’t want my fate to be hers, so I needed to bring Crow home safe and sound.

I checked my notes, deciding that was enough for now.

Leaving the brothers alone, I wandered the house until I located what I assumed might be the couple’s bedroom on the second floor.

I’d passed two other bedrooms along the way, decorated in bright colors and with shelves and dressers full of toys and books.

I assumed they belonged to Sparrow and Crow.

Both of those doors stood open. The bathroom door was ajar.

The room at the end of the hall, which I surmised belonged to Nixon and his wife, was hidden behind a closed door, so I knocked lightly.

“Imogen, it’s Quaid Valor from the police department. Can I come in?”

For a long moment, I didn’t get a response. Figuring she might be asleep, I moved to retreat when a meek voice called out, “It’s not locked.”

I poked my head in, finding Imogen sprawled on top of the covers of a queen-size bed, propped up on several pillows. Her dark hair fanned the white satin sheets, limp and unwashed like the previous day. She stared at the ceiling, not acknowledging my presence. Numb, like Zoey had described.

“Can we chat for a minute?”

“Sure.”

I moved into the room, noting the quality of the furniture and tasteful decorations on display. The bedroom was modest. Clean and orderly, if not slightly stuffy and warm. The only disarray was a pile of dirty clothes on top of the hamper.

I bit back a smile. Aslan wasn’t the only person unable to lift a hamper lid and put dirty laundry inside . I’d learned to live with his quirks despite not understanding them. Considering the clothing appeared to be trousers and a dress shirt, the culprit must have been Nixon.

The morning sun slanted across the floor in a triangle from the unshaded window.

A sprawling oak blocked most of the view of the street.

Hanging from its branches were several bird feeders.

Several feathery friends hopped limb to limb, pecking the seeds from within.

A proud blue jay lorded over a conical tube-like apparatus, not allowing anyone else in the vicinity to steal from his treasured spot.

The feeders made me think of the children’s names.

Sparrow, Crow, and Aslan had shared the new baby would be Robin.

All birds. The Davises clearly had a passion for Aves.

From there, I recalled Sparrow’s suggestion that should Aslan and I have a girl, we could name her Daisy.

It was not to my liking, but not as horrible as some of the suggestions Aslan had brought to the table over the past few months.

At this point, it felt like we would never find a suitable baby name, and we were running out of time.

I considered Aslan’s suggestion from that morning. Could I trust him to name our baby if she was a girl? Was I confident Bryn carried a boy? And if the baby was a boy, what the heck was I going to name him ?

“He’s a bastard,” Imogen said, drawing me from my internal musing.

“Excuse me?” I immediately thought of Nixon but was corrected.

She motioned to the domineering blue jay. “He’s here every day. Never lets anyone else eat from that feeder, and he’s a glutton. Do you know how often we fill that thing?”

The question felt rhetorical, so I didn’t answer, watching the blue jay torment the other birds with flapping wings and a puffed chest as he hopped about, blocking their attempts at sneaking a seed.

“Are they still here?” she asked.

I turned from the window.

Imogen’s face sagged with weariness. Dark circles hung under her eyes. Her nose shone red, likely from abrasive tissues and excessive blowing.

“Nixon’s parents are outside with Sparrow, chatting with my partner.”

“And Flynn?”

“He’s consoling Nixon.”

She nodded and glanced out the window as the blue jay landed on top of the feeder and proceeded to peck upside down at the seeds.

“Mrs. Davis—”

“You can call me Genie.”

“Genie, I want to revisit a few questions from yesterday.”

When Jordyn and I had done our initial interview with the couple, they had been together.

In a case like Crowley’s abduction, with a ransom note and potential family secrets, the truth didn’t always come out unless you dug, poked, prodded, and supplied people with multiple opportunities to slip up.

Also, honesty was fickle when family secrets were one-sided and kept by a single parent.

At this point, we didn’t know who was holding back .

Imogen stroked her belly, seemingly waiting for me to go on.

Instinctively, I wanted to offer to get her water and ensure she was comfortable, but she wasn’t Bryn, and that wasn’t my job.

Fussing would be out of line. According to Aslan, I fussed so much over Bryn that he was shocked she hadn’t banned me from visiting.

But Bryn carried my child. Imogen did not. She carried Nixon’s baby, and when we were done chatting, I would encourage him to check on his wife.

I shifted my weight, unsure where to put myself. I would have preferred being at Imogen’s level and not hovering over her, but there wasn’t a chair in the room, and sitting on the edge of the bed was inappropriate.

“Yesterday, I asked you why you fired Clementine, and you shared that it wasn’t working out.”

“I don’t like strangers caring for my children. Nixon didn’t ask if I wanted help. He simply hired her.”

“I understand your doctor ordered bed rest due to a medical concern that could cause premature labor. I would have thought the extra help would be beneficial. Was Clementine not doing her job?”

“Her work ethic wasn’t in question. I just didn’t want her here anymore. Why is that so hard for people to understand?”

“She was here for five weeks, correct?”

“Yes.”

“What type of things did she help with?”

Imogen sighed and stared out the window again. The blue jay was gone. “Cooking, cleaning, taking care of the kids, and ensuring I could rest as much as possible.”

“Was she polite?”

A nod.

“Did she need a lot of instruction or redirecting? ”

“No. She was competent and helpful.”

“Did she discipline the children in an inappropriate manner?”

“No.”

“Did you get along?”

A shrug. “I wasn’t directly involved, so we didn’t chat much.”

“I’m not sure what that means.”

“My husband hired the nanny. My husband paid the nanny. My husband made sure the nanny performed her duties in accordance with his demands.”

Her response came off biting and left a lot to unpack.

As I pieced together another question, wanting to explore her statement further, my phone pinged with an incoming text. Considering we had a lot of moving parts surrounding Crowley’s abduction, I glanced at the screen.

Aslan.

Since Imogen was lost in the aviary world outside her window, not paying attention, I opened the text and read the message.

Adrenaline flooded my veins. I muttered a curse, loud enough to draw Imogen’s attention, and hustled to the door. “Sorry. I have to go.”

I connected a call to my husband as I bounded down the stairs, yelling to my partner that I was leaving. Immediately.