“Stuff can be replaced.”
“I know. I know. And I’m grateful to be whole and in one piece. Thank God my first client picked up her portrait yesterday. All the other pieces I have, well, I haven’t lost too much time. And the bulk of my stuff is in my Baltimore apartment.”
Frowning, Georgia sipped her coffee. “I keep forgetting you really live there.”
Jenna cradled her warm mug close as she sipped. “My life and job awaits. And whatever reason brought me here to Nashville, doesn’t make sense now.”
“Why did you come?”
“To find out why my family was murdered. I keep thinking there must have been a reason. But there was no reason. Just an insane man driven by unknown reasons.”
Georgia glanced into the depths of her coffee. “Finding reason isn’t always easy. That’s hard to accept.”
Jenna raised her mug. “Here’s to reason.”
“I’ll toast to that.” She clicked her mug against Jenna’s. She sipped and grew pensive. “I was hoping we’d grow on you and you’d stay.”
“Baltimore used to feel like home and then, suddenly, it didn’t. Then I came here. I thought maybe I’d find something but I might have jumped from the frying pan into the fire. And I do miss police work.”
Georgia raised a brow. “I bet I can give you more sketches. If we get a conviction on the Lost Girl case, my brother Deke might be willing to give me and a few of my friends a cold case to work on. I’m sure we could use your skills.”
“Tempting. But I’ll still have to pay the light bill.”
“Keep painting. I bet you could pick up commissions easily. Painter by day, crime fighter by night.”
She laughed. “Who have you enlisted in your merry band so far?”
“Well, you for now, but there’re others I have in mind. Rachel would be game. KC. The three of us would be a start.”
“I give you credit for trying to get something going.”
“If you build it, they will come.”
“Ah, a fan of Field of Dreams. Also a fan of all baseball movies?”
“All movies.”
The front door opened and Tracker rose up from the floor and, tail wagging, barked as he made his way to the foyer. Rick’s deep voice was filled with genuine affection as he greeted the dog.
As he moved toward the den, Jenna could hear the slight misstep of his pace. Most wouldn’t have noticed it but she realized when he was tired, his gait wasn’t even.
He appeared in the den, Tracker at his side. He’d loosened his tie, had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He smelled of smoke and cinder. “Good, you’ve made yourself at home.”
Jenna sat a little straighter. “Thanks to Georgia.”
“I’m trying to convince her to stay in Nashville and work with me on my cold cases.”
He frowned and Jenna wasn’t sure which part of the statement bothered him. “Georgia rarely takes no for an answer.”
“So what did you find at the crime scene?” Jenna asked.
Georgia rose. “Rick, sit. You want a cup of coffee? And I made muffins.”
He relaxed back into a chair as if he’d just released the weight of the world. “Coffee would be great. Instead of a muffin, could I get a sandwich?”
Georgia arched a brow as she studied him. If he’d not been bone tired, she’d likely have told him to get it himself, but she took pity. “Be right back.” She scurried into the kitchen.
In a low voice, he asked, “She didn’t try to give you any of her baking, did she?”
Jenna dropped her voice. “Yes. It was good.”
He shook his head as if he smelled a lie. “You’re a guest, so I understand that you have to be kind.”
“I tasted lots of love.” And clumps of flour. “I never say no to home cooking. My aunt wasn’t much of a cook. She tried, but most of our dinners were takeout.” She glanced toward the long farmhouse dinner table. “I imagine you shared quite a few dinners at that table.”
“We did.”
“Nice.”
“Sometimes. And sometimes it was World War Three.”
“Who was the troublemaker?”
“Deke is the oldest and he challenged Dad the most. Alex always had his eye on where he was going after dinner. Georgia was the baby, so she got what she wanted.”
“And you?”
He loosened his tie. “I was stirring trouble but just not as overtly as Deke. There were a few times when Dad called me down at the table. Not pretty.”
Despite his description, she pictured a scene right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. “And I bet you all laughed a lot at the table.”
“We did.”
“Nice. And very lucky.” She cradled her mug close, savoring the comforting heat. “I have only vague memories of my older sister teasing me.”
“Tell me about your sister.”
“Until recently, I’d have told you she was perfect. Cheerleader, good grades, boys loved her. But lately, I’m remembering that it wasn’t all as perfect as I’d like to remember. She and Dad fought a lot.”
“What did they fight about?”
“She was staying out past her curfew. I’d hear the front door open real quiet and then I’d see the hall light flip on as Dad headed her off before she could sneak into bed. He called her a drunk a couple of times. Said she was throwing her life away.”
“She was dating someone.”
“I think so. I think it was someone Dad didn’t like. Amazing how much parents say in front of the little kid and don’t realize what they’re doing.”
“What else did you hear?”
“My parents fought a lot. Over the years, I’ve built it up to be a happy home, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t happy at all.” She pulled at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt. “Susan Martinez said she knew my father.”
That one-two punch caught him off guard. “Say again.”
“She gave me a picture of my sister, Dad, and me at a football game. She said she took the picture.”
“When you met at your old family home.” The frown furrowing, his brow deepened. “Where’s the picture?”