Chapter 28
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
Wren’s fight with Marlowe still replayed in her mind as she and Nash headed into town. She knew she’d be thinking about it for a while.
She pulled her thoughts back to the present. She had more immediate things to deal with.
“It’s Sunday,” she murmured. “Luke might not even be at the office.”
“You know him well enough to try somewhere else?”
She did. “Turn left up here. He’s probably at home with his family.”
Nash took the turn. “Before we get there . . . how much are you going to tell him?”
She didn’t hesitate before saying, “Everything.”
His eyebrows rose. “That’s a big word.”
“I know.” She turned toward him. “But if Christian’s my brother, the truth won’t cost him anything. And if he isn’t—”
She left the rest of the sentence unspoken. But they both knew what she’d been trying to say. If Christian wasn’t her brother, then they needed to figure out who he was and why he was scamming them.
The road climbed. Through a break in the trees, the town’s trademark lake showed gray and foggy. Then the glimpse was gone again.
Nash’s phone rang through the truck’s speakers.
He glanced at the screen on his dash. “That’s Paige.”
Paige? Why would she be calling?
He answered.
“Is this—?” The woman on the other line sucked in a breath. “Is this the man who was here? With Wren?”
“Yes, Nash Hendricks. Wren’s with me. You’re on the speaker in my truck.”
“Okay. Okay. Good. Listen, I don’t know if this is anything.”
Wren didn’t like the sound of that . . .
Something had happened, hadn’t it?
“Tell me anyway,” Nash told her.
“After you left, a man came to the house. I thought he was from the funeral home. Someone called earlier, asking me something about a suit for the funeral.”
“I take it he wasn’t from the funeral home?” Nash said.
“No, he didn’t say where he was from, even though he seemed very official. He was dressed in khakis and a button-up shirt. He talked like a professional if that makes sense.”
Wren leaned closer to the speaker. “What did he say?”
“He was nice,” Paige said, her voice trembling still. “He was sorry about Roy. Then he got around to talking about the truck.”
Nash’s grip visibly tightened on the wheel. “What about it?”
“He said he’d been talking to Roy about buying it.
Since the summer. Said they’d shaken on a number, and he’d been waiting on Roy to make up his mind, and now he felt foolish even bringing it up.
” A chair leg scraped on her end. “He kept saying he didn’t want to press me. He must have said that four times.”
“Did you believe him?” Nash asked.
“I did. Roy would sell you the shirt off his back if you admired it.” Paige’s breath caught. “But then he asked whether anybody else had been out to look at it yet and whether I’d cleaned it out.”
Wren’s pulse went hard in her ears. “What’d you tell him?”
“I told him no. But I don’t think he believed me.”
Either that truck or those receipts were significant. She and Nash weren’t chasing an empty lead.
They were on to something, and someone else knew it.
Nash’s thoughts raced.
“Did this man give you a name?” Nash asked.
“I asked him twice, and he avoided the question both times. The first time he told me he knew my uncle from back when. Second time he changed the subject and said he’d call later, and we could sort it out properly. Then he left.”
“That’s suspicious,” Wren muttered.
“What’d he look like?” Nash asked. “Besides the khakis and button-up shirt?”
“Ordinary. He was middle-aged, I’d say. Not heavy, not thin. Nothing about his face I could pick out of a room. He kept his sunglasses over his eyes the whole time.”
Nash’s thoughts continued to race. “What was he driving?”
“A car. A dark one.” Her voice lilted with frustration at herself. “I’m sorry I don’t know any more. It was parked past the mailbox where I couldn’t see it very well.”
“Anything on it?” Nash asked. “Decals? A plate you caught?”
“No, not that I could see. I’m sorry.”
Nash continued driving, his jaw harder now. “You did the right thing calling me. Thank you.”
“Should I call the sheriff?” Paige asked.
“It can’t hurt,” Nash said. “I’d call the detective on the case and let him know.”
“Okay.” Her voice shook. “I will.”
Wren leaned even closer to the microphone. “Paige, are your doors locked?”
A pause stretched across the line. When Paige spoke again, her voice was shaky. “I . . . I think so. I’ll check.”
“Make sure they are,” Nash said. “Don’t answer for anyone you don’t know. And if that man comes back, you call Sheriff Wilder. After you call him, you call me again.”
“Should I be scared?” Paige’s voice cracked.
Wren glanced at Nash, waiting for his response.
He frowned before saying, “I don’t know. But we’d rather you be careful than comfortable.”
“That’s not a no.”
“No, ma’am. It isn’t.”