Page 152 of What She Saw

To his credit, he crossed the diner, angled past Cody, and sat across from me. “You still smell like smoke.”

“I took a shower and washed my clothes.” I sniffed my arm. He was right. “Any luck on who tried to barbecue me?”

“We’ve roped off the area, but the rain wiped away a lot of evidence.”

“What about the bottles thrown into my house? Anything special about it?”

“The structure is too hot to investigate now.”

Made sense. It could be a day or two before the ashes cooled. “Tristan Fletcher is alive.”

He stilled. “Say that again.”

I repeated my statement as I pulled up the website for Susan’s dance studio. “Alive and well.”

He studied the image. “How do you know it’s her?”

“I’ve talked to her.” I explained how I’d found her and the main details of our conversation. “Call Lannie if you don’t believe me.”

He sat back, shoved out a breath, and then reexamined the image. “Susan doesn’t look like Tristan in these pictures.”

“Thirty-one years and a hair color changes a lot. But it’s her. And her father knew she was alive. He had pictures of her on his walls.”

“I didn’t see pictures like that when I was in the house yesterday.”

I leaned forward. If it came to it, I’d text him the pictures I had snapped during my breaking and entering adventure. “Someone took them.”

“This is the craziest damn thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I get that. But you need to process this information fast. We’re on a clock now.”

“What clock?”

I ignored his question. “Was Taggart’s suicide a shock?” I asked.

“Hell of a shock.”

“And the medical examiner ruled his death a suicide?”

Paxton’s face paled. “He ruled it undetermined.”

“Why not suicide?”

“Something about the angle of the bullet. I thought the doctor was trying to protect Taggart’s legacy, and I didn’t argue.”

“Did you investigate Taggart’s death?”

“Sure, I investigated it. Taggart had high levels of alcohol in his system. But he was a drinker when he was alone. I found nothing else that caught my attention.”

I’d bet Paxton was so worried about finding evidence of suicide he didn’t look that hard and likely missed other evidence.

“Anything special about his last days?”

“Drove the road between the festival site and the town a dozen times.”

I pictured the winding road, the barn, and the mountains. “Did he say why?”

“No. I know the case never let him go.”