Chapter Thirteen #2
“I’m about to notify Randall and Anais,” Raines added. “Which means the interview with Randall might have to wait. But there’s one thing I can’t shake. Did the killer know we were on our way to Marion Cole’s house? And if so, did someone silence her before we got there?”
Garrett’s gaze met Isla’s across the table. Her eyes were sharp, glittering with the same thought that had just landed like a hammer in his chest.
“It could be Anais,” Isla said quietly, her voice threading with both logic and unease.
“She’s the one who gave us Marion Cole’s name.
Maybe she found the house, too. And remember, she told us about Marion right in front of Paula and Randall.
Maybe one of them realized there could be something there that would point to what happened with Harris. Something they didn’t want us to see.”
Garrett leaned back, coffee forgotten, jaw working. Too many suspects. Too many secrets. And now Leah’s death only twisted the knot tighter.
Raines let out a long breath, the kind that carried more frustration than relief. “Here’s another angle. Maybe Leah went there to burn the place down herself. Get rid of anything that could tie her to Harris. If that’s the case, she could’ve gotten caught in her own fire.”
Garrett stared down at the half-empty coffee mug in his hand, the sheriff’s words circling in his head. Leah torching her own secret made a kind of brutal sense.
“Are you sure you saw someone in the backyard?” Raines asked. “Could have been Leah.”
Garrett looked at Isla, and she gave the smallest nod.
“We believe we did,” he said. “But it’s possible.
If it was Leah, maybe she ran out, panicked, then for some reason ran back in.
” He shook his head, the image grinding in his thoughts.
“Doesn’t make sense. Why the hell would she go back into a burning house? ”
Isla’s gaze flicked toward him, mirroring the same gnawing unease that Garrett felt. Whatever had happened out there, Leah’s choices—or someone else’s—didn’t add up.
The quiet of the kitchen broke with the sharp ding from Isla’s laptop. She nearly spilled her coffee as she pushed it aside and hurried to the screen. Garrett watched her face pale, then flush with shock.
“I found something,” she whispered. Her fingers trembled as she tapped the trackpad. “The name of a nanny. Hired twenty-two years ago by Marion Cole.” She looked up, eyes wide. “Her name’s Lillian Markham. She’s living in San Antonio. Current phone number and address right here.”
Garrett leaned in to see the information flash across the screen. He felt his gut tighten. This was more than just scraps and shadows. This was a flesh-and-blood witness.
Before he could say anything, the sheriff’s voice came over the speakerphone. “Go on. What did you just find?”
Isla repeated the details, giving Raines the name and location.
He didn’t interrupt, but when she finished, his voice came low and measured. “All right. We need to move carefully. If this woman truly worked for Marion Cole, she may have answers you’ve been chasing for two decades. But she might also spook if she feels cornered.”
“What do you suggest?” Garrett asked, though he already knew where this was heading.
“We do a group call,” Raines said. “I’ll take the lead, use Leah’s death as the reason I need her help with an ongoing investigation. That should give us a way in without raising alarms. You two listen. No interruptions unless I open the door for you.”
Isla’s shoulders tightened. “You think she’ll talk?”
“She might,” Raines said. “Shock can loosen lips, and Leah’s death is a hammer blow I can use. But we need to strike before she has a chance to shut us down. Give me five minutes, then patch me into a conference line with her number.”
Garrett looked at Isla. She already had the number copied and ready, fingers hovering over the keys, her expression caught between anticipation and fear.
“Let’s see what she knows,” Garrett said, his voice flat. He felt the old mission burn in his chest. This wasn’t just about Harris anymore. It was about every damn secret buried under twenty-two years of lies.
Garrett kept his gaze locked on Isla while the phone line clicked and rang. He could hear the faint grogginess of a woman’s voice when she finally answered.
“Hello?”
“This is County Sheriff Raines of Crossfire Creek, ma’am,” the sheriff said, his tone calm but carrying authority. “Am I speaking with Lillian Markham?”
“Yes, that’s me,” the woman confirmed after a short pause. “Who did you say you were?”
“Sheriff Raines,” he repeated. “I’m calling in connection with an investigation. Do you know a woman named Leah McCord?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I don’t know that name. What’s this about?” Her voice sharpened, still husky from sleep but laced with wariness now.
Raines did not hesitate. “I’m investigating Leah McCord’s death. In the course of the investigation, your name surfaced. I need to ask you a few questions. Did you work for someone named Marion Cole?”
There was another silence, long enough to make Garrett’s pulse hitch. Then Lillian exhaled hard. “Yes. Years ago. I was the nanny for her little boy.”
The words seemed to freeze the room. Garrett felt his chest tighten as Isla’s eyes darted to his, wide with the same unspoken thought.
Raines’ voice stayed even. “The boy’s name?”
“Daniel,” Lillian answered. “Daniel Cole.”
Garrett’s grip on the edge of the counter went tight. Daniel. Not Harris. Not on the surface, at least.
But the truth had just stepped one pace closer.
Garrett’s gaze flicked between Isla’s quick keystrokes and the phone on the counter, the speaker filling the room with Lillian’s husky voice.
“It was a live-in position,” she said. “Marion wanted me there because she traveled, sometimes gone a week or more. I never knew where, just that she’d come back, pick him up, and then return later with him.”
Isla already had her laptop angled toward her, the glow of the screen throwing light across her face. Garrett leaned closer, watching her search parameters scroll down in rapid succession.
That would fit, Garrett thought grimly. If it had been Leah behind the alias, there was no way she’d risk leaving the boy where her wealthy family might stumble across him.
“The routine,” Lillian went on, “if you could call it that, was always the same. Marion arrived, took the boy, and disappeared. Sometimes for a few hours, sometimes days.”
On the other end of the line, Raines asked, “Do you know where she went? Anywhere specific?”
Lillian gave a humorless laugh. “No. I always wondered, but she never told me.”
Isla made a low sound under her breath, fingers tapping fast. Garrett shifted so he could see her screen. Multiple results appeared, photos of three different men who fit the name Daniel Cole, all around twenty-two.
“Daniel mentioned going to a ghost town, too,” the woman went on. “Marion took him there, and they’d have picnics.”
“At a ghost town?” the sheriff questioned. “Any idea where or which one?”
“None,” she was quick to say. “But he said he loved running around the old buildings, and there was a stage where he’d pretend he was in a play or something.”
Garrett knew there were several so-called ghost towns in the area, but there were also some old movie sets. He wasn’t sure if it even mattered since the place might not still exist. Added to that, a ghost town wasn’t exactly chock-full of witnesses who might have seen Marion Cole and a little boy.
“How long were you the boy’s nanny?” Raines asked.
“Six years,” Lillian answered. Her voice cracked slightly, as if the years weighed on the word. “When he turned seven, Marion said he was being sent away. Boarding school, up in Vermont.”
“You’re saying you haven’t seen him in sixteen years?” the sheriff pressed.
“That’s right,” Lillian went on, her voice husky with memory. “One day I was putting him to bed, the next I was told my services weren’t needed. Just like that. I never saw him again.”
Garrett felt the frustration surge through him. Sixteen years gone. Sixteen years of silence. Too damn long.
The sheriff’s voice stayed even. “Ms. Markham, would you be willing to give a formal statement? I can come to your place.”
“Yes,” she agreed after a beat. “If it helps, I’ll tell you everything I remember.”
“Good,” Raines replied. “I’ll be in touch soon.” He thanked her and ended the call.
Garrett leaned forward, but before he could speak Isla’s fingers were already flying over the keys.
She tapped once more, then looked up at him, her eyes sharp.
“I have him. Daniel’s current address.” Isla glanced up from her laptop.
“He’s listed as a musician. Plays local venues.
Lives in a converted warehouse loft in San Antonio. ”
On the speaker, Raines cut in. “Text me the address so I can meet you there. How soon can you leave?”
Garrett glanced at Isla, and they spoke at the same time. “Now.”