Chapter 34
“You think Justin’s murder and Liam being in the country are connected, right?” Amelia asks as I punch in the code I was given for Justin’s apartment. Was it a terrible idea to bring her here? Possibly. But the more I considered it the more I hoped she’d be able to find the connection we missed because of her relationship with Justin.
Amelia nibbles her lip, her eyes suddenly turning vulnerable. “That’s the only reason you brought me here, isn”t it? Because you’re working your case.” Her voice is quiet.
I shrug a shoulder, letting her assume what she wants, even if it hurts her.
She takes a deep breath and turns away, moving aimlessly around the apartment like she’s unsure where to start.
“You’ve been here before, right?” I ask.
She stops at the counter, brushing aside a piece of mail. “Once.”
I furrow my brows and flip through the basket of miscellaneous items next to the fridge. “Weren’t you together for two years?”
“Yeah. But we always met at my place. It was bigger. Sometimes I’d pick him up downstairs, and we went to the bar down the street a few times, but that was it.”
How much had this man really meant to her?
I continue to watch her, waiting to see what she latches onto. Justin was the opposite of Amelia. His place is small but tidy, a minimalist approach like my own. Or was it wiped clean by someone else?
Amelia opens a drawer with hot pads and pulls each one out, leaving them on the counter as she moves on to the towel drawer. I follow behind her, restocking the drawers she empties. Pans, silverware, bowls, all of it gets tossed on the counter.
She’s very thorough.
After she’s emptied every nook and cranny of the kitchen, and I’ve put it all back, she moves on to the living room. Cushions come off the gray couch, she rolls up the rug, she even goes so far as to unzip the pillows and feel around the cotton. Tufts tumble out and I scoop them off the floor then snatch the pillow from her.
“Are you looking for something specific?” Like something she left here? Something he took from her? “Or do you enjoy making a mess? You’re very proficient at it.”
She throws the next pillow at me and more cotton drifts slowly to the ground. “I’m looking for clues.”
I fix the pillow. “Such as?”
“I’ll know it when I find it.” Amelia shrugs, her attention already back on the task at hand.
She lifts up a vent grate, huffs out a disappointed breath, then leaves it and wanders into the bedroom. I follow her inside the plain beige room. The only color is the bed spread which is a forest green.
“This is revolting,” Amelia mutters.
“What is?”
“I had no idea he was such a clean freak.”
I snort, taking in the room.
Nothing is amiss. Nothing out of place. But Amelia fixes that by going through every single one of his drawers. In the back of one, she finds a wad of cash totaling two thousand dollars. Interesting. Why would he want a junky ring if he had two thousand dollars in cash laying around?
“Why did he say he wanted the ring?” I ask Amelia.
“He didn’t.” She wads the cash back up. “He was just spouting nonsense about getting to it before his boss did.”
His boss? I text Cruz to look into his boss.
Amelia puts the money back and makes a note on her phone.
“Planning to steal that later?” I ask. “Perhaps when I’m not looking?”
“I’m making a list of things to tell his parents when I eventually meet them.” She’s completely serious, and now I feel like a jerk for teasing her at a time like this. This is how she’s processing her loss. Her therapy. I shut my mouth and step back, allowing her to do what she needs.
While she dumps out every desk drawer and combs through the contents, I conduct my own search. Noting the strong scent of the single eucalyptus plant in the window. The direction the one photograph on the dresser faces, toward the bed. The person in the photo, Amelia. It’s been in that place so long the dust has gathered around it. The bed has no indents and the pillow looks like it hasn’t been slept on for a few days. But the bathroom is a different story. Cologne, face wash, cream, and about twenty different bottles of hair product litter the small vanity counter.
I pick up a bottle. Volumizer? Is that a thing men use?
I glance in the mirror at my short brown hair. Do I need volumizer?
This is ridiculous. I replace the bottle and finish my search of the bathroom. I return to the bedroom to see Amelia ripping off the comforter and sheets and dropping them in a pile on the floor.
“Are you going to put those back on when you”re done with your search?” I ask as she kneels on the ground, butt up in the air, face smashed against the carpet to peer under the bed.
“Of course.”
“Follow-up question: Do you know how to make a bed?”
“It depends.” She shoves her arms between the mattress and box spring and pops her head up to look at me, her wild hairs flying around her face. “Is the bed empty or being used?”
My lips curl. “Why would you make a bed with someone in it?”
“Better question, why wouldn’t you make a bed with someone in it?”
This woman. I shake my head and grab a sheet, untangling it from the comforter.
Amelia leaves the bed for me to remake and goes into the bathroom, opening and closing the drawers. “Ah!” she screams.
I jump up from where I’m replacing the sheets and ram my knee into the bed frame. Ignoring the pain, I sprint into the bathroom.
“What’s wrong?”
She turns, and this time I scream. She’s Michael Meyers, minus the kitchen knife. “What is that?” I fall back into the door jam. Because I have a dead leg, of course.
“It’s my anti-aging face mask. I knew he stole it. Ooh I’ll kill him!”
Too late for that.
“I’m sorry, I can’t take you seriously with your face glowing red behind that mask. It’s really creepy.”
She plants her hands on her hips. “This thing is going to keep me beautiful forever, Mr. Agent Man.”
“You look much better without it.”
“Thank you.” She peels the mask off and drops it on top of an open box balanced precariously on the two inches of space left on the counter. The box tips, dropping its contents over the floor, and her face thingy lands on my shoe.
But I don’t move to pick it up because I’m focused on something else that fell out of the box. A phone. A burner from the looks of it.
“Was this his cell phone?” I ask, picking it up and pushing the power button.
Amelia looks at it and shakes her head. “I’ve never seen that before.”
The screen powers on and I search the contents.
My eyes land on a familiar-looking app. “That’s weird.”
“What?” Amelia shoves her face over my forearm to see the phone.
“He was on the same dating app as you.” I click on it.
She pulls back abruptly. “Yeah, that’s where he met his lady friends behind my back.”
He doesn’t have any matches though. No messages to other people either.
I close out of the app and open his texts. It’s empty. There are three calls in the history, all to the same number. The first was dated six months ago and lasted twenty minutes. The second was from last Wednesday at nine p.m. That was the night I followed Justin out of the bar. The last call was placed yesterday. Approximately forty-five minutes before Justin was killed.
I take a breath and press the call button then put it on speakerphone. It’s answered on the first ring.
“Who is this?” comes a deep, familiar voice.
“Who’s this?” I ask.
Click.
Our eyes meet and Amelia swallows, her voice coming out a whisper. “Liam.”
That’s what I thought too. “Are you sure?”
She nods, then chews on her bottom lip. “How did he know you weren”t Justin?”
“What?”
“When he answered the phone just now. It was Justin’s number that called him, but he asked who was calling.”
“He knows Justin’s dead,” I say. Was Liam the boss Justin mentioned? The boss that killed him?
Amelia lets out a shaky breath. “You were right. He did it. Liam’s the bad guy.”
This was the link I was looking for. A connection between the two of them. But having Amelia caught in the middle doesn’t make me feel any better about being right.