Sam shrugged. “Maybe Garvin was confused.”
“You don’t buy that,” Jo said, looking at him squarely. “She barged into the station, practically demanding information. That wasn’t justneighborly concern.”
Sam’s jaw clenched, a tell she knew well. “Politicians are good at lying, Jo. We can’t go accusing her without proof.”
Jo opened her mouth to argue, but the words faded as the door opened again, and Mick Gervasi sauntered in. Dressed in his usual black leather, the private investigator scanned the room with practiced ease before his gaze settled on them. Mick had known Sam since they were kids, and he’d helped them on a case or two when things got murky.
“Hey, Mick.” Sam gestured to the empty stool on Jo’s other side. “Perfect timing.”
Mick slid onto the stool, waving to Pete. “Whiskey on the rocks,” he said then turned to Sam and Jo with a grin. “What’s got you two looking like somebody died?”
Jo gave a dry laugh. “Somebody did.”
Sam gave Mick a rundown on Garvin’s death and Marnie’s suspicious behavior. “She’s denying any interest in his property, but Jo’s certain Garvin mentioned her.”
“Definitely did,” Jo said, her voice hard. “So why lie? What’s special about that property?”
Mick’s eyes narrowed as he thought it over. “Isn’t she tangled up with Convale?”
“No, that’s Beryl Thorne,” Sam said, frowning. “But Convale’s pumped a lot of money into Marnie’s campaign.”
Jo looked up, her interest piqued. “That’s right. I’d forgotten about that.”
Mick took a slow sip of his drink, ice clinking in the glass. “Want me to dig around? See what shakes loose?”
Sam nodded. “Wouldn’t hurt. Jo’s got a gut feeling, and it’s usually on point.”
Mick leaned in, voice low. “You know, speaking of Convale, my prior research dug up some rumors of an exposé a few decades ago. Journalist dug into Convale’s dealings but never published. Rumor is someone paid to keep it quiet.”
Jo and Sam exchanged a look. “Think it’s connected?” Jo asked.
Mick shrugged. “Maybe not. But my gut says there’s something there.”
Sam shook his head. “Doesn’t seem tied to Garvin’s death, but...” He trailed off, clearly thinking it over.
Jo sipped her whiskey and glanced around. A few regulars sat in booths along the far wall, hunched over drinks, and the occasional laugh or muttered conversation drifted through the space. Jo looked around, thefamiliar faces adding to the warmth of the bar despite the shadows in her mind.
Mick swirled his ice, breaking the quiet. “What about the Webster case? Feds finally packed up?”
Sam’s expression darkened. “Yeah, they’re done at Hazel’s place. Ricky’s there alone now.”
Jo shook her head. “Poor kid. He’s been through enough.”
“Hazel’s great-niece is raising hell, saying Hazel was framed,” Sam said, lowering his voice.
Jo raised an eyebrow. “Framed? After what they found?”
“Some people can’t face the truth,” Mick muttered.
A silence fell over them, each lost in thought. Jo’s mind wandered to her sister, missing for years. The old ache sharpened, familiar and raw.
Mick caught her expression. “They never found her, did they?”
Jo shook her head, unable to speak for a moment. Finally, she managed, “No. Which means...”
“Hazel might have another dump site,” Sam finished, his jaw clenched.
The weight of it settled over them, heavy and dark. Jo took another long sip of whiskey, letting it burn away the chill.