“It’s all good, A. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. You look like hell.”
“Thanks.”
I drop Avery at her home and make sure she’s okay before driving home. I can’t get Luke’s angry face out of my mind.
I thought we had the rest of our lives together.
So, did I.
Turns out fate had different plans for us.
38
Callie
Seven weeks after I start investigating Jolene’s case, I get the breakthrough I’ve been looking for. It’s also the week I receive the job offer of a lifetime and fate collides with heartbreak in ways I never imagined.
I’m stuck with the case and decide to pay another visit to the motel in the hope of finally convincing one of the women there to talk. I strike it lucky and manage to convince Amanda to share the truth of what happened that day.
“Fuck, not you again. I thought we’d seen the end of your visits,” she mutters when I approach the front desk.
“Nope. I don’t ever plan to give up.”
She must hear something in my voice—determination maybe—and she swears under her breath. “If I tell you the truth can you promise me that it won’t get back to my boss?”
“Who? Louise’s husband?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t see why it would have to. I’m not going to run to him and tell him everything. I just want to know who was here and what they can remember about the person who signed in. That’s all.”
She sighs. Defeated. “Fine. It was me—I was the one on shift that day. Louise was supposed to be here, but she asked me to fill in for her.”
I frown. “Why all the secrecy?”
“You’ve met her husband, right?”
I nod.
“He’s not only an asshole, but he’s also an abusive man who beats her up and cheats on her. She’s tried to leave him but he keeps finding her and dragging her back. Anyway, that’s a whole other story. On the day of the murder, she was trying to suss out some options she had to leave. He was out of town with some other woman, so that was the only day she had to get done what she needed without him knowing about it.”
I put it together in my mind. “So you guys didn’t want him to know she wasn’t on shift.”
She nods. “Right. That’s why we lied to the police, but honestly, I wouldn’t have been able to identify the person who checked in. I remember her, but she had a huge floppy hat on and dark glasses and a scarf around her head. The disguise worked because I couldn’t have been sure who it was.”
I stare at her in disappointment. I don’t doubt she’s telling the truth now. And that truth will get me nowhere. In desperation, I say, “Can we go over that day in detail? Maybe there’s something there that will help.” I really am clutching at straws now.
“Okay, but I don’t think it’s going to help much.”
“What time did you arrive for your shift?”
“Just after two that afternoon. I was rostered on until around eleven that night.”
“Was it a busy shift?”
“Not really.”
“What did you do to pass the time?”
She pulls a face. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“I cleaned the office for a while. I played some games on my phone. I read some of my book. Those kinds of things.”
“Did you get a break?”
“Not really. I just stayed here at the desk and ate some dinner around five.”
“And the murderer checked in at around five thirty, yes?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Just after you ate your dinner?”
She nods. “Yes, I remember she checked in just after my daughter left.”
“What was your daughter doing here?”
Her face lights up when she remembers this part of the day. “She brought my granddaughter by to see me. She was about six months old then and I loved taking photos of her. They’d just been to a party and she was all dressed up so my daughter dropped by for me to take a photo. I know it sounds silly, but these are the kinds of things a grandmother treasures.”
I smile. “It’s not stupid, Amanda. I love that.”
“Let me show you the photos. I still have them on my phone. She’s just too gorgeous to delete, even after all these years.” She rushes out to the office to retrieve her phone.
A minute later I’m looking at photos of not only her beautiful granddaughter but also of a woman whose muffin top and face I would recognise anywhere. Well, maybe not anywhere, but definitely in this instance.
I stare at her. “Was this the woman who checked into the room where the murder took place?” My heart is racing.
She peers closer at the photo and then blows it up. “God, yes, that’s her. She was right there near my grandbaby.” This thought appears to horrify her.
I motion at the phone. “Can I please see?”
She passes me the phone and I look at all the photos she has of that day with her family. It’s the very last photo that gives me what I’m looking for—concrete evidence of who killed Jolene’s mother.