But he couldn’t have anything to do with the vandalism or the . . . the finger. My life had absolutely nothing to do with his. So maybe these two things, whatever happened with Angela and what was happening with me, were completely unrelated. That had to be good news, I thought. Not sure that I believed that, but it felt that way to me.
“Mom,” I said, looking up at her. “You’re a genius.”
“I like to think that.” A faint smile appeared. “What did you find out over there?”
I drew in a deep breath. “I think the guy who was in the stairwell might’ve been Coach Currie.”
Unsure if I should take my suspicions to Detective Conrad, I called Cole, figuring he’d be able to tell me if I was wasting the detective’s time or not, but his cell didn’t even ring. Went straight to voicemail.
I tried to busy myself with the bookkeeping, but that lasted all of twenty minutes before I picked up my phone and went up to my apartment, finding the detective’s card on the coffee table. There was a good chance that my suspicions could be helpful to them, and there was also the probability that it meant nothing, but a girl was missing. Better safe than sorry.
Typing in his number, I hit call and then waited. It rang several times and then also went to voicemail. I left a quick message and then headed back downstairs.
The kitchen was silent, and I walked toward the front of the house, too restless to sit down at the computer. Exhaling roughly, I stood at the desk, staring at the reservation book, but not really seeing anything. I placed my phone on the top.
My mind wandered to this morning, and as I splayed my hands on the smooth surface of the desk, a small smile tugged at my lips. That had been beyond amazing. Actually, Cole was—
The inn doors opened, and my smile faded as I turned toward them. Two men walked in, both in matching dark trousers and black down jackets. They were middle-aged, their expressions serious, and I knew immediately they weren’t here to check in.
“Sasha Keeton?” the light-haired man on the right asked.
I crossed my arms, glancing between the two. “Yes. Can I help you?”
“I’m Special Agent Myers,” he replied, reaching into his jacket and pulling out the flashing badge with FBI written across it. “This is Special Agent Rodriquez. We need to speak with you about the murder of Angela Reidy.”
Chapter 22
“Angela’s dead?” I pressed my hand against my chest as I leaned into the desk, suddenly weak in the knees. Shock blasted through me, and I wanted to believe I hadn’t heard the agent correctly. “How?”
The darker-haired Agent Rodriquez slid Agent Myers a sharp look. “I’m sorry. Typically we prefer to not announce such tragic news so bluntly.”
Agent Myers simply raised a fair eyebrow.
I stared at them, but I really wasn’t seeing them, because all I saw was pretty Angela standing in the kitchen, smiling as she nibbled on a cookie. All I heard was Angela chattering on about nothing and everything.
She wasn’t going to smile anymore.
She wasn’t going to ramble on ever again.
Horror sucked the air out of my lungs. This couldn’t be happening.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry. You’ve caught me off guard. I hoped that she would be found alive. I . . .” Trailing off, I shook my head.
“We all hoped that would be the case, but unfortunately that is not what has occurred,” Rodriquez responded. “It is of the utmost importance that we speak to you in private.”
My stomach tumbled. “Of course. We can go into the—”
“Not here,” Myers cut in. “We need you to come with us.”
Unease blossomed at the base of my spine. “Go where?”
Meyer slid his badge back in his jacket. “The station down the street has a room available that we can use.”
“The police station?” My voice rose.
The other agent tried to smile reassuringly but failed a little. “It’s just a formality and it’s a secure location.”
That made sense. I guessed. “I’m the only person at the inn right now—”
“It’s imperative that we speak with you now,” Myers interrupted. Again. “Is there anyone you could call in?”
Pressing my lips together, I turned to where I’d left my phone on the desk. Mom was in the middle of grocery shopping with Daphne, and I knew there was a good chance she’d left her phone in her car. She always did that whenever she was out. I could text her and let her know what was happening, but she wouldn’t get it until she was done. Miranda was teaching.
“Let me try our . . .” I didn’t finish that statement. Calling James seemed suitable, but our chef was so not a people person. I don’t even think he’d ever stepped foot out of the kitchen once since he worked here. That left Jason. “Let me call one of my friends.”
The agents waited while I picked up my phone and hit his contact. I roamed away from the desk.
Jason answered on the third ring. “Hey, Sasha, what’s up?”
“Um. I have a huge favor to ask,” I said, voice sounding weird to my own ears.
“Yeah. Yeah. Ask away.”
“I hate to ask this, but can you come down to the inn and watch over things until Mom gets back?”
“Sure.” Not a moment of hesitation. He was such a good friend despite how terrible of a friend I was. “Is everything okay?”
I glanced over my shoulder, clearing my throat. I couldn’t tell him about Angela. Not right now with the agents standing right behind me. He would find out soon enough. “Yeah. There’s some agents here—federal. They need to talk to me.”
“Shit. Is anyone there to go with you? Cole?”
“No, but I’ll be fine.” My hand shook. “Are you sure you can do this?”
“Of course,” Jason replied. “Be there in ten minutes or less.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “I owe you.”
“It’s no biggie. Be there soon.”
I faced the agents. “One of my friends will be here shortly.”
Rodriquez nodded. “We apologize for the inconvenience.”
“It’s okay.” Coldness seeped into my bones. “How can I be inconvenienced when someone . . . someone is dead?”
The room in the police station down the street looked like the ones on TV. It was small, walls a plain white with fingerprint smudges at chest height. There was a small round table and four metal folding chairs that weren’t particularly comfortable.
The ginormous SUV they’d driven me down the street in had extremely comfortable seating. Heated seats too. I didn’t even know why I was thinking about seats, but it seemed a safer thing to focus on.
I really owed Jason. Right now he was sitting behind the desk at the inn, having no idea what he was doing, but he was sitting there until Mom returned. I’d texted her on the way to the police station. I also hadn’t told her about Angela, because there was no way one could break that kind of news over text.
A shiver coursed over my skin.
Did Cole know I was with these agents? He was a federal agent himself. Wouldn’t he know? Maybe that was a stupid thought. Not like the FBI had one giant hive mind.