She glanced over her shoulder. One eyebrow arched in mock reprimand. “Behave. We’re still in the office.”
“Then be quick about it. We’re on the clock.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter.
The quickening of her step made him ridiculously happy.
She made him ridiculously happy.
On the counter, his phone buzzed. He reached for it. “Hey, Sharp.”
“Where have you been?” Sharp asked. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you for an hour.”
“No time for work now, Sharp. I’m on my way out.” Lance picked up his keys.
“Lance—”
“Come on, Sharp. It’s the end of the day. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“No.” Sharp’s tone was uncharacteristically grim and brought Lance to full attention.
“What happened?” he asked.
Morgan appeared in the doorway, wearing jeans and a thick wool sweater, her suit draped over one arm. Her brow furrowed. “Is something wrong?”
Over the phone, Sharp took a deep breath, his exhale audible over the sound of voices and wind. Where was he? “It’s about your father.”
The simple statement took the steam out of Lance. He eased into a chair.
“At lunch, one of my buddies told me that the sheriff’s department pulled a 1984 Buick Century out of Grey Lake,” Sharp said. “I’m sorry, Lance. It’s your dad’s car.”
Morgan walked to his side. She bent down and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. She must have heard what Sharp had said.
Lance closed his eyes and leaned into her. The bright kitchen light colored the backs of his lids blood red. Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. Sharp wouldn’t have sounded so glum if the vehicle had been empty. “Was he in it?”
Sharp’s next breath rattled. “Remains were found in the trunk.”
Shock washed over Lance, leaving him numb.
The trunk?
His father had been murdered.
“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” he said. “I always knew he wouldn’t have left us.”
A flood of memories washed over him: his dad teaching him to catch a ball, mowing the lawn, driving him to hockey practice. He’d been a good man, a kind man. Who would have killed him? And why? Bitterness rose into Lance’s throat.
After he’d processed Sharp’s news, Lance had one overwhelming concern. “How am I going to tell my mother?”
Morgan’s arms tightened around him. He squeezed her hand.
“I asked the sheriff to keep your dad’s identity out of the news until we could notify her,” Sharp said. “He agreed, but that’s not going to buy us much time. The license plate on the car was still clear enough to read. It won’t take the media long to find out who it was registered to.”
“This is going to devastate her.” Lance rubbed a hand down his face. “She’s been doing so well lately.”
His mother had a sort-of boyfriend. Except for their weekly group therapy sessions, she and her new man communicated entirely online. But it was the first relationship of any kind she’d welcomed in decades. She was also doing computer background checks and searches for Sharp Investigations. She seemed happy to be useful and enjoyed the investigation aspect. In short, she’d made huge strides forward in the past few months.
“This is going to bring everything back to her,” Sharp agreed.
And it would likely cause a huge setback to her fragile mental health, and selfishly, upend Lance’s life again, just when happiness felt like a real possibility.
“If you want to see the car, you need to get your butt out here,” Sharp said.
“I’m on my way.” Lance ended the call.
Morgan was on her cell phone.
He rummaged through another drawer for a portable phone charger and switched his phone to it. “I need to get out to the lake. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She lowered her phone and slipped it into her pocket. “I’m coming with you.”
“But you need to get home.” The last thing he wanted was for his problems to negatively affect Morgan’s three little girls.
“I’m coming with you,” Morgan said again, enunciating the words just a little more clearly. “I called Stella and let her know I’ll be late. She’s going to stay until I get home.”
Both her tone and the determination in her big blue eyes told him there was no point arguing with her. And if he were being honest with himself, he was grateful for her support.
“OK.” Lance headed for the door.
Morgan was right behind him. She grabbed her coat from her office on the way out.
The ride out to Grey Lake took thirty minutes. The road became more and more rural as they drove. It was full dark when Lance parked on the side of the road behind two sheriff’s department vehicles. He and Morgan got out of the Jeep. Crime scene tape fluttered between trees. On the bank of the lake, under stadium-bright portable lights, a rusted vehicle had just been loaded onto a flatbed truck.
The sight of the ruined vehicle filled Lance’s throat. Next to him, Morgan took his hand and held it in a tight grip.
Sharp spotted the Jeep and broke away from the group of uniformed men. He met them halfway across the weedy ground.
“The medical examiner just left. The car is being taken to the county impound garage.” Sharp narrowed critical eyes on him. “You all right?”
Afraid he’d choke on his voice, Lance nodded.
“The sheriff is handling the case?” Morgan asked.
“Yes,” Sharp said. “The original missing person report was filed with the SFPD, but Police Chief Horner isn’t going to fight the sheriff for a case this cold, and Grey Lake isn’t in Horner’s jurisdiction.”
Lance didn’t know if he should be relieved or disappointed that Horner wouldn’t be handling the case. Horner was more politician than cop, but the sheriff wasn’t any easier to deal with.
“Horner will send a copy of the case file over and wash his hands of the whole thing. The department is always shorthanded, and cold cases are notorious for racking up man-hours.”
“But it isn’t a simple missing adult case with no evidence of foul play anymore,” Sharp said.
“No.” Lance swallowed the truth. “It’s murder. But will the sheriff be able to solve it? You tried to find my dad for years.”
“I never had any physical evidence,” Sharp said. “But now we do.”
His dad had been in the trunk of his car on the bottom of the lake all these years.
Someone put him there. Had he been dead before the trunk filled up with water?
A sick feeling crawled over Lance.
Sheriff King gave Lance a solemn nod as they approached.
“What can you tell me?” Lance asked, his eyes fixed on the old Buick, memories of riding in it with his dad flashing in his mind. He pushed them away.
Not now.
“There isn’t much to say at this point,” the sheriff said. “The medical examiner took charge of the remains.”
“Have you sent the divers back down to search the bottom of the lake?” Lance asked.
The sheriff shook his head. “Not yet. We’ll evaluate the vehicle first. Whatever is down there has been sitting for twenty-three years. Another day or two isn’t going to make any difference.”
Underwater crime scenes presented unique challenges and costs. The crime had taken place too long ago to find any evidence on the lakeshore. Even the bottom of the lake was a long shot after all this time. The car and the bones were the keys to the puzzle. Lance understood, but he didn’t like the sheriff’s lack of urgency. But what could he do? He wasn’t a cop anymore, and even if he were, Grey Lake was in Grey’s Hollow, part of Sheriff King’s fiefdom.
“I’ll let you and your mother know when the ME officially identifies the remains,” the sheriff said.
“I’d appreciate a heads-up when you want to talk to my mother.” Lance debated how much information to give the sheriff and decided on, “She isn’t well. The news could affect her health.”
“Noted. Sharp mentioned the same thing,” the sheriff said, which was not the affirmative response Lance would have liked.