Liar.
“Mary is dead too.” Morgan watched his eyes. “Did you know that?”
“No.” Warren’s gaze snapped back to hers. “I thought she’d left town.”
Maybe the truth. Some people lied so often, they had trouble keeping their facts straight. Warren struck Morgan as one of those people. Accomplished liars knew to keep their answers short and not to embellish.
“Mary was murdered.” Morgan said.
Warren backed up another step. “Well, I didn’t do it.”
But the news that his stepdaughter was dead didn’t bother him.
Lance stepped sideways behind Warren as if he were afraid Warren would run. “Why would we think you killed your stepdaughter?”
“Because you’re here.” Warren’s lips mashed flat. His arms folded over his chest in stubborn defiance. “I’m not answering any more questions.”
Morgan and Lance couldn’t make him, but they could tell the sheriff what they knew about Warren.
Warren walked away. Back in the car, Morgan watched him disappear into the shed.
“To quote Sheriff King”—Lance dropped his voice two octaves and drawled a decent impersonation of the sheriff’s voice—“he’s guilty of something.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
As they drove back to the office, Morgan added to her notes on the interview. She liked to get the details down while they were fresh in her mind.
Sharp was in the building when they arrived. Before Morgan could get to her coffee maker, he handed her a cup of green tea. “This won’t give you a headache.”
She sipped it on her way into her office. “All right, but no complaining if I’m slower than usual.”
He followed her in, chuckling. “There is nothing slow about you.”
Morgan hung up her coat and set her tote on her desk.
Lance came in, a mug in his hand, and stared at the whiteboard. “So, where are we?”
“We have suspects!” Sharp rubbed his hands together. “Finally.”
“Beats the hell out of not having any,” Lance agreed.
“Let’s have it.” Sharp curled his fingers in a bring-it-on gesture.
Morgan consulted her notes. “Number one: Warren Fox.”
“Who is he, and why do we think he might have killed Mary?” Sharp reached for a marker.
“Warren is Mary’s stepfather. Abigail Wright, who owns the Roadside Motel where Crystal sometimes worked, suspected he molested Mary.” Morgan’s tone turned to disgust. “She was ten when Warren married her mother.”
Sharp wrote child molester with a question mark under Warren’s name.
“When we told him she was dead, he didn’t ask a single question.” Lance leaned against the wall, folded his arms across his chest, and studied the board.
“He didn’t ask how Mary died or if her body had been found.” Morgan flipped the page in her notebook. “He wasn’t at all curious about his stepdaughter’s murder.”
“Either he doesn’t care or he already knows,” Sharp said. “Possible motive?”
Lance sighed. “Maybe Mary tried to blackmail him, and he killed her to keep her quiet.”
“How did your father get involved?” Sharp asked.
“PJ’s is the common link between my father and Mary. Maybe he saw Mary and Warren argue there?” Lance frowned. “That seems weak. Could there be some way my father saw Warren kill her or force her into his car?”
Sharp wrote the question on the board, then turned to face them again. “Suspect number two?”
Morgan read from her notes. “One of Mary’s customers, the mysterious Mr. Joshua.”
“Reason?” Sharp’s marker hovered in front of the board.
“He liked it rough,” Lance said. “Possibly too rough. Mary was strangled. That’s an intimate death. Could he have gotten carried away or perhaps Mary made him angry and he choked her?”
Sharp nodded. “She wouldn’t be the first prostitute strangled by a client.”
“Blackmail could work here as motivation as well,” Morgan added. “We don’t know Mr. Joshua’s real identity. He could have been married or there was some other reason that consorting with a prostitute would be devastating to his life or livelihood.”
Sharp capped his marker. “I went to PJ’s this afternoon. P. J. Hoolihan still owns the place. His son tends the bar now. P. J. had a stroke and retired a couple of years ago. He bought a house and chunk of land in Grey’s Hollow. I’m driving out to talk to him tonight.”
“Later tonight, Morgan and I are headed to the Roadside Motel to look at Abigail’s old hotel records.”
Sharp glanced at his cell phone. “Since we have an hour or two of downtime, we should break for dinner. We can’t go full tilt 24/7. It isn’t healthy, and we have no idea how long this case will drag on.”
“You’re right,” Morgan said. “I’m going to run home for dinner and see my girls.”
Lance nodded. “I should stop at the ice rink and give Coach Zach a hand with the team. I’ve been neglecting the kids lately.”
Morgan’s phone vibrated. She checked the screen. “It’s Mac. Excuse me. I have to take this.”
She went into the hallway and accepted the call. “Mac, is everything all right?”
“It’s nothing major,” Mac said. “Ava stayed after school to try out for the school play.” He cleared his throat. “She got into a fight. She’s in the principal’s office.”
Shock paralyzed Morgan for a heartbeat. “Ava got into a fight?”
“That’s what the principal said.” Mac sighed. “Do you want me to go get her or do you want to handle it?”
“I’ll get her. Thanks, Mac.” Worried, Morgan ended the call, returned to her office, and explained the situation to Lance and Sharp. “I’m sorry. I have to pick her up, and I don’t even have my car here.”
“I’ll take you, but this makes no sense.” Lance frowned. “Ava is the biggest Goody Two-shoes around.”
“I know! She is the Queen of Rules.” Morgan tossed some paperwork into her tote and followed Lance out to his Jeep.
He drove to the school. By the time he parked in the lot, Morgan’s stomach was tied in guilty knots. She’d been working long hours. Was Ava feeling neglected?
They crossed the pavement, and Lance opened the entry door for her. In the waiting area of the main office, a secretary faced a few plastic chairs. Ava sat in the corner. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and tears streaked her face. One empty chair separated her from a boy who looked to be at least eight and a woman Morgan assumed to be his mother. Mother and son had the same red hair, and there was a clear family resemblance.
Ava’s knees were drawn up to her chest, and she cringed into the corner as if she couldn’t get far enough away from the boy and his mother. No wonder. The mother was glaring at her, while the boy eyed Ava with a small, smug smile.
As soon as she spotted Morgan, Ava launched herself across the room. Morgan stooped and caught her, wrapping her arms around her daughter’s shaking body. “Shh. It’s OK.”
“It most certainly is not OK.” The red-headed woman stood and scowled at them. Her forehead wrinkled as she scanned Lance from head to boots. She turned back to Morgan with a frown. “Your daughter kicked my son in his, um, private parts.”
The principal walked out of her office. “Ms. Dane, you’re finally here. Now we can discuss the incident.” One eyebrow lifted over her stern dark eyes as she glanced at Lance.
Morgan introduced him. “Principal Small, this is Lance Kruger.”
She gestured toward a small conference room next to her office. “Mrs. Sloan is waiting.”
Mrs. Sloan was the music teacher.
“Wait here,” the mother said to her son as she walked toward the open door.
“I’ll be in after I’ve spoken with my daughter.” Morgan straightened, keeping one hand on Ava’s shoulder.
“We’ve already been waiting.” The principal crossed her arms over her chest.