Chapter 7
I sat in my den, a glass of pinot noir in hand. Across from me, Whitlock nursed a tumbler of whisky, his thumb tracing the rim before taking another sip. From the kitchen I could hear the steady rhythm of Giovanni at work, cooking up dinner, filet mignon for three.
Earlier, when I’d arrived home with Whitlock in tow, Giovanni had insisted the detective stay for dinner, saying, “There’s no reason to discuss the case on an empty stomach when we can do it over dinner.”
I agreed.
So did Whitlock, who quipped that he would never turn down a good steak, or Giovanni’s cooking.
As we sat in the living room waiting for dinner to be ready, my attention turned to the logs in the fireplace, cracking and groaning as soft shadows danced across the opposite wall.
Whitlock took another sip of whisky, shot me a wink, and said, “Can’t say I’m used to being invited to dinner by people I catch sneaking out of a house.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
He raised his glass, grinning at me as he said, “And I have no doubt it won’t be the last.”
We both laughed, and when it subsided, he redirected the conversation.
“How about we chat about Vaughn, and the lie you say he told.”
I took another sip of wine, setting the glass down beside me. “Logan never told Vaughn he was going away for the weekend with friends. Vaughn made it up.”
“Any idea why?”
“He said he was protecting his wife, making sure she didn’t worry about Logan not coming home. He told me he planned to come to the department and explain everything to you, but since he hasn’t, I’m not convinced he’ll do it.”
Whitlock leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Did Vaughn even have a conversation with Logan before the kid left?”
“Not before he left, but after. Vaughn said Logan called him to say he needed some time to himself. He told Logan not to worry.”
“Was anything else said during the call?”
“If it was, Vaughn didn’t say. He did mention that he’d told Logan not to stay away too long because his mother would get suspicious about why he hadn’t returned home.”
“By now, Logan must know his parents are worried.”
“If they are, they’re not acting like it. Not to me.”
Whitlock shrugged. “Maybe they’re worried and putting on a brave face so you and everyone else think everything is fine.”
“Maybe.”
Giovanni entered the room with Luka at his side, the robust scent of seared meat trailing in behind them. He picked up Whitlock’s glass, topping it off with a generous pour of whisky.
“Dinner’s ready,” he said, handing the glass back to him.
“Too much more of this stuff, and I won’t be able to drive home,” Whitlock said.
“What’s the rush?” Giovanni asked. “It’s not every day I get to enjoy your company.”
Whitlock smiled, and we rose from our chairs, making our way to the table.
As I took my seat, Whitlock jabbed a thumb in my direction. “This one doesn’t know how to take no for an answer. Then again, she never did.”
Giovanni raised a brow, a look of suspicion on his face. “What’s she done this time?”
“Broke into a suspect’s parents’ house while they were out to get a peek inside their kid’s bedroom.”
“Like I said before, there was no breaking involved,” I said.
Giovanni grinned and passed a serving platter filled with grilled vegetables. “And? Did you find anything worth the risk?”
“Funny,” I said, cutting into my steak. “Whitlock asked me the same thing. And yes, I believe I did.”
Both men paused mid-bite, knives resting on their plates, their attention shifting to me in perfect unison.
“Well …?” Whitlock asked. “Let’s have it then.”
“The first thing I noticed when I walked into Logan’s room was a half-sketched drawing of Audrey on an easel by his window. I didn’t think much about it, although I have been wondering whether he’d started the sketch before or after she died.”
“Does it matter?”
“Maybe not, but sometimes the simplest clues lead to the biggest discoveries. After I saw the sketch, I turned my attention to Logan’s desk. Cans of colored pencils sat beside several notebooks filled with drawings. I flipped through them, but nothing struck me as unusual.”
“What did you find that was worth the risk?” Giovanni asked.
“I’ll tell you, but can we finish dinner first?”
“Sure.”
I took my time eating, savoring my steak, and soon realized both men had wolfed theirs down, as if trying to rush so we could get to my discovery.
“All right, all right,” I said. “I see what’s going on here, you two.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Whitlock said with a wink.
“Yes, you do. You’re both dying to know what I found.”
I pushed my chair back and stood.
“Finish your dinner, cara mia,” Giovanni said. “We can wait.”
They could, but I got the feeling it would be a huge test of patience to make them wait while I finished my dinner.
I stood and walked to the den, reaching for my vintage Chanel bag. I grabbed the notebook out of it and returned to the table, slapping it down in front of them.
“You took this from Logan’s room?” Whitlock asked.
“Sure did. And guess where I found it? Taped beneath his desk. He was hiding it. The question is—why?”
“Do you have any answers?”
“I might.”
I opened the notebook and pointed. “This first drawing is interesting, but as to whether the place is real or imaginary, I don’t recognize it. Do either of you?”
Both men shook their heads.
“Look at this,” I said, flipping a few pages. “Logan started drawing a locket, and he even added a name, Anne.”
“Interesting,” Whitlock said.
“Why would he inscribe the locket with the name Anne if he was in a relationship with Audrey?” I asked. “And if the name is of no significance, why include it?”
“Good questions.”
Giovanni leaned in, taking a closer look. “Is this the only rendering of the locket?”
“There’s one more.” I flipped to the next page. “On this second one, he’s added a lot more detail.”
“I see.”
“I wish I could say there’s more, but this is the last entry in the notebook.” I paused, then added, “The other notebook on Logan’s desk is filled with drawings from the first page to the last. Since this one wasn’t finished, I figured it was the most recent one he’d been using.”
Whitlock set his plate to the side, crossing his arms in front of him. “You think this Anne person exists?”
“I do,” I said. “And if we can figure out who she is, maybe we’ll understand why he sketched the locket.”