“Excellent. Hopefully, you can get the truth out of him.”
Sliding into the driver’s seat, Jo placed her phonein the console and stared out the windshield, the weight of the case pressing down on her.
She should feel triumphant. This was a solid lead, something Sam could use to pressure Derek. But the satisfaction was dulled by the nagging feeling in the back of her mind.
What’s Beryl’s angle in all this?
Jo drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, thinking back to everything they’d uncovered so far. Beryl had handed that envelope to Marnie, who’d delivered it to Parker Studies. And now, Derek was mixed up in the blueprints. Beryl Thorne was always in the middle of things, always finding a way to skirt accountability.
Jo clenched her jaw. She couldn’t let Beryl slip through the cracks again. If Beryl was tied to Convale, to Garvin’s death, to Derek’s lies, then Jo needed to figure out how it all connected.
Her eyes flicked to her phone. She’d already called Sam and sent him the photo. He’d take it from here. But that didn’t mean Jo was ready to sit back and wait.
Marnie took that envelope to Parker Studies.
The thought settled into her mind like a stone in still water. Jo hadn’t followed up on that thread yet, but it was time. Whatever was in that envelope,whatever connection Parker Studies had to this mess, it might be the key to unraveling everything.
Jo checked the time—plenty of daylight left. Her stomach rumbled, and she realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She’d grab a quick sandwich and head over to Parker Studies.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Ididn’t kill him, okay?”
Derek McDaniels sat across from Sam, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles had turned white. His eyes darted nervously around Sam’s office, like a man looking for an exit. The slight tremor in his voice wasn’t lost on Sam, who leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, keeping his expression neutral.
“Then I need to know where you were that day,” Sam said calmly. “The sooner you’re clear, the sooner we can figure out what really happened to your father.”
Derek swallowed hard, his gaze flicking to the window behind Sam’s desk, where the winter light filtered weakly through. The room seemed to pressin on him, his nerves stretched tight. He shifted in his chair. “I told you, I was back home. At a bar. O’Malley’s Tavern. I’m a regular there. I bet they have surveillance footage that can prove I was there.”
Sam nodded slowly, watching Derek’s fidgety behavior. It wasn’t only the standard nervousness of being questioned about a murder—there was something deeper, a current of fear running beneath the surface. “We’ll look into that,” Sam replied.
Sam leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Derek. “Your father ever talk about the bronze statue he kept?”
Derek blinked, his expression blank for a moment before recognition flickered. “Oh, that old thing? Yeah, he used to brag about it all the time. Said it was some big-deal piece of art. I always figured it was just one of those things old folks like to exaggerate about.”
Sam kept his tone casual, his gaze steady. “So you didn’t know it was worth a lot of money?”
Derek hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, I guess. I never really thought about it. It’s just been there, you know?”
“Do you know where it is now?” Sam asked, his voice calm but probing.
Derek shrugged, trying to lookindifferent. “Probably still in the house somewhere. On the mantel, maybe?”
Sam leaned forward, his voice low. “Afraid not. It’s missing. We think the killer took it.”
Derek’s eyes widened, his composure slipping for a second before he forced a nervous laugh. “Took it? Why would anyone want that thing?”
Sam didn’t blink. “Because it was the murder weapon.”
Derek paled visibly, his body stiffening. “The statue? You’re saying someone used it to...” He shuddered, shaking his head.
Sam studied him closely, watching every twitch, every shift in his expression. Derek was putting on a good act, no doubt about that. The question was, was it all an act? Could he really not know anything about the statue—or his father’s murder?
“I’m telling you, Chief,” Derek continued, his voice shaking just enough to seem authentic, “I had no idea about any of this.”
“Did you know your father was planning to change his will?”
Derek shook his head. “Not before this, no.”