“All true.”
They walked back to the building and took the elevator down to a small, windowless room. The boxed skull remained in the center of the table, waiting for the identity that Jenna had promised.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Georgia asked as she set down the box.
Jenna placed her box next to the other. “No. It’s all me now. If your brother ends up with a missing persons report that fits let me know. Otherwise, I’ll catch up with you when I finish.”
Georgia slid her hands in her back pockets and had the look of someone who didn’t want to leave. Almost seemed to dread it.
As much as Jenna wanted to include Georgia this process was a personal, solitary job. “I don’t work with an audience.”
“Even one that’s quiet and sits in the corner.”
“Even one of those.” She smiled to soften the rejection. “I promise to keep you posted.”
Georgia moved toward the door. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”
“Georgia.” She hesitated, reaching for a word she rarely used. “Thanks for bringing up my name. This is a good deed I can do and I’m glad for the opportunity.”
She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. “I really want to catch this killer.”
Jenna nodded as she slowly pulled out a sketchpad. “I know. So do I.”
Rick dropped Bishop off at headquarters and after a quick walk with Tracker the two were back in his vehicle. “Ready to catch a bad guy, boy?”
The dog barked.
Soon the two were headed to the home of a woman named Lorrie Trent, Diane Smith’s sister, who had filed a missing persons report just hours before the fire. Lorrie Trent owned a small bakery in East Nashville.
With evening traffic building, the drive over the Cumberland River to the bakery took him about thirty minutes. When he arrived, he left Tracker in the backseat, the car still running and the air-conditioning blowing out cool air.
He crossed the parking lot and pushed through the front door of the bakery. Jangling bells above his head and the scents of cookies and cakes greeted him.
Two females stood behind the counter—one a teen and the other a woman who appeared to be in her thirties. The duo waited on several customers. Rick opted to stride toward the older one. She had dark hair, skimmed back into a tight ponytail, and wore a white shirt, faded jeans, and an apron that crisscrossed around her full waist and tied in the front.
As Rick reached for his badge, the woman’s gaze rose as if she’d been expecting him. She reached for a white towel, wiped her hands, and after speaking to the teen moved around the counter toward him.
He noticed a resemblance to Diane Smith. Though their coloring was different, their eyes shared the same watery blue and each had full lips that tilted at the corners.
He showed her his badge. “Ms. Lorrie Trent?”
She nodded. “Yes. You’re here about Diane?”
“Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
She flexed her fingers. “Why don’t we go into my office? We can talk there.”
Behind the counter and through a kitchen, they moved into a small, cramped office stocked with shelves crammed full of cookbooks and file holders. “You’ve come about Diane?”
“I have.”
She drew in a steadying breath as if reading his expression as a harbinger of bad news. “Have you found her?” She twisted the apron strings around her hands. “I tried to file a missing persons report. She missed our Monday dinner appointment. The officer said she’d only been gone a few hours and he couldn’t activate the report until today.”
Lorrie had a Monday dinner appointment with Diane. So why had Diane sent a text to her boss about an impromptu vacation and not her sister? Siblings fought. He had his own cold war going on with his brother Alex. “Ma’am, Diane was murdered.”
Blue eyes widened and filled with tears. “What?”
“We found her body in a burned-out building yesterday. We only made the identification today.”
Pressing fingertips to her temples she sat down in the lone chair in front of the desk. “She was burned alive?”
“No, ma’am.” He studied her pale face wondering how he’d react if he’d received similar news about Alex. A stabbing feeling cut, leaving him vacant and sad. Alex might be a dick but he’d never wish him ill. “We believe she was dead before the fire was set.”
Tears welled and spilled easily down her cheeks. She didn’t bother to swipe away her tears. Her hands trembled as she fingered the apron strings.
This kind of news rocked foundations. Devastated lives. Murder happened in other places, bad neighborhoods, to people who’d crossed some kind of line that divided good from bad.
Finally, Lorrie cleared her throat. “How did Diane die?”
“We aren’t releasing that information yet.” He shoved his pity aside for her. As sad as Lorrie appeared he took a mental step back. She could get comfort from a friend. What she needed from him was an objective mind. Diane deserved justice.
“I don’t understand why anyone would want to kill her? She was well liked and the sister that everyone respected. She had a super job and was making money hand over fist. She was the one that my parents had always pinned their hopes on before they died. I’m the fuck-up dreamer.”
Thoughts strayed to his brother Alex. Their dad had called him the Golden Boy. “Was she dating anyone? Was there anyone in her life that made you worry or think twice?”
“A guy in her neighborhood. And a guy at another real estate firm. I don’t remember names, but neither one liked the fact that she was smarter and wouldn’t allow them to be in charge. Diane’s a woman who knows her own mind.” She frowned. “Knew her own mind.”
He shifted his stance. “And you two got on well enough.”
“We fought sometimes. We’re sisters.” A sigh shuddered through her. “Stupid fights.”