Another guard nearby, an older man with a clipboard, chimed in. “Maybe it was Dr. Leavitt,” he muttered, scratching his chin. “That guy’s always complaining about security issues.”
The first guard rolled his eyes but didn’t press further. He turned back to Sam. “I’ll need you both to sign in for the record.”
Jo went straight to signing the log book, which hadall the visitors’ names. A name jumped out at her. Marnie Wilson. “Marnie’s been visiting here a lot, huh?” she asked, keeping her tone light. “Running a campaign and dealing with a sick family member—it’s a lot for anyone.”
The receptionist barely looked up, but a nurse walking by hesitated, her clipboard clutched to her chest. “Oh, Marnie’s mother is doing so much better,” the nurse offered brightly, eager to share. “Practically a miracle.”
Jo shot Sam a quick glance, and his face stayed neutral, but she saw the flicker of realization in his eyes. “That’s good to hear,” he said, his voice steady.
As they stepped outside, Jo exhaled, the cold air cutting through the tension still clinging to her. She turned to Sam. “Thanks for backing me up in there.”
“Let’s just hope no one mentions you pretended to be here officially and I played along.”
Jo grimaced. “I know. Sorry about that. It was worth it, though. Marnie’s mother is here. That envelope Beryl gave her—it’s gotta be about paying for her treatment. She’s funding all of this.”
Sam’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening. “Which means Beryl isn’t just involved—she’s pulling the strings. And Marnie’s doing her dirty work.”
Jo nodded, the pieces clicking into place in hermind. “Marnie must be desperate to keep her mother alive. But what does this have to do with Garvin’s death and the land?”
“That’s what we need to find out. Let’s stop by Holy Spirits for a drink and figure out exactly how to do that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Jo nursed her Coors Light as she leaned against the bar at Holy Spirits, watching the amber glow of the stained glass windows cast a warm hue over the room. The converted church buzzed with the usual Friday crowd, but the noise felt distant. Her thoughts churned, circling everything they’d uncovered at Parker Studies.
Sam sat beside her, sipping his Mooseneck beer. He placed the bottle down with a muted thud and turned to her. “Marnie’s mother being there changes things,” he said, his voice low enough to blend with the hum of conversation.
Jo nodded, her fingers tracing the condensation on her bottle. “Beryl’s payments weren’t just about buyingland or keeping her quiet. She’s paying for treatment. Marnie’s wrapped up in this because she’s desperate.”
Sam’s jaw tightened. “Desperation doesn’t absolve her. But it does mean we need to handle Marnie carefully.”
Jo exhaled slowly, her frustration simmering just below the surface. “Right. She’ll do what she has to do to get her mother treatment.”
Sam frowned, his gaze narrowing. “It all points to Beryl. I don’t think she’d go this far without a bigger motive. She’s not just petty—she’s calculating.”
Jo took a long sip of her beer, letting the bitterness ground her. “So what’s her endgame, Sam? What does Garvin’s land have to do with all this? And why is Griggs suddenly in the mix?”
Sam’s hand froze mid-reach for his beer. “Griggs,” he murmured, his tone shifting.
Jo raised an eyebrow. “What about him?”
Sam leaned back, staring past her like he was piecing together a puzzle. “I saw him at Marnie’s campaign office a few weeks ago. I didn’t think much of it then—just assumed he was another hired hand—but when I went to question Clara Hartwell about Derek being there, she identified Griggs in the photo.”
“What?”
Sam explained how he went to Clara’soffice so he could have her officially identify Derek. “And when I pointed to Derek in the photo, she said not that guy… the other guy.”
Jo sighed. “And the other guy in the photo was Griggs. I never specified which man I was talking about.”
Sam nodded. “Griggs doesn’t just show up somewhere unless there’s trouble. And if he’s tied to Beryl and Marnie...”
Jo’s stomach twisted. “Then whatever this is, it’s bigger than just land disputes or campaign favors.”
Sam nodded slowly, his expression hardening. “I need to confront Beryl. If anyone knows what Griggs is up to and how it ties back to Garvin’s murder, it’s her.”
Jo smirked faintly. “Good luck with that. You know she’s going to dance around every question you throw at her.”
“Maybe,” Sam said, his voice steady. “But I’m not letting her walk away this time. Though maybe I should have Wyatt follow him just for good measure. Wyatt’s pretty good at tailing people.”