Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Suggesting Jane could be in danger. He scrubbed a hand down his face.
“Also,” she continued, “I confirmed Dr. Hotchkins bought a car last month. He answered an ad in the paper and paid cash. There’s evidence to indicate he stored it outside his neighborhood. Problem is, it’s not there, and local law enforcement hasn’t picked up any abandoned vehicles in town. I bet he drove it the night of his murder and hid it somewhere near the cemetery.”
This. This could be the break they needed. If the doctor gave his partner a ride, there could be prints inside the vehicle. “Find it,” he commanded. “Take a team and scour every inch of land.”
Frothing with determination, Conrad approached Summerhill Community Pediatric with Barrow at his side. A large metal building shaped like a barn showcased a wall of windows and a wraparound porch. Rose bushes and peach trees added another level of southern charm, a sight he might have appreciated at any other time. Here, now, he cared only about solving the case.
Inside the sunlit building, a crowd gathered to celebrate the life of Dr. Hotchkins. The very reason Conrad chose this day and time to visit. Everyone he wanted to interview congregated under one roof.
Bouquets of flowers abounded, most arrayed behind a long table scattered with personal and professional pictures of Dr. Hotchkins. Another table offered a smorgasbord of snacks.
At low volume, he told his partner, “Take pictures of the photos without being obvious.”
“Will do.” Barrow broke from him to comply.
Conrad scanned the sea of faces for Dr. Diana Holmgren. According to the company website, she was in charge of scheduling the volunteers. There. The forty-three-year-old general practitioner sipped something clear from a glass and spoke with a group of people, looking exactly as she did on the site’s personnel page. Stern and tidy.
He strode over, introduced himself and flashed his badge, then ushered Dr. Holmgren aside for a chat. Diving right in, he asked, “Did Dr. Hotchkins ever bring someone with him when he volunteered here?”
“Emma Miller and Caroline Whittington. Why?” She flattened her palm beneath her collarbone. “Do you think one of them might be the killer?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that.” He mashed his lips to cut off a sigh when her eyes lit with suspicion. Serving up the standard line always invited more speculation. “How often did he bring them?”
“Most times he came with Emma. Only sometimes did he bring Caroline. Once, he brought both. Why?” she repeated.
He side-stepped the query, asking, “Did you notice any signs of a romantic relationship with either woman?”
Her brows drew together. “I have no desire to speak ill of the dead, but for the sake of justice, I will share what I know.” She dragged in a deep breath. “I think he and Emma had something going on the side. I only saw them making eyes at each other but another volunteer believes he spotted them kissing in a car. Plus, Dr. Hotchkins tended to be extra handsy with Emma, always patting her shoulder in a job well done. And she wasn’t uncomfortable with the attention, either. Caroline, though, I’m not sure. He never patted her, but he may have called her muffin once.”
A romantic food nickname? A slip of the tongue? An innocent request for a snack? A reference to the cemetery’s guard dog? Something else to add to his growing list of tasks: Speak with Ms. Whittington again. Mrs. Miller had some explaining to do, too. The deeper he dug, the more her motive for murder expanded and solidified.
“There’s something else,” the general practitioner piped up. “Not too long ago, Emma’s husband stormed inside and slugged Dr. Hotchkins in the face.”
Hmm. No complaint had been filed, or Conrad would have found it. So. Anthony Miller had a violent temper, as suspected. “Did either man mention anything about gold, treasure or nuggets?”
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
His cell phone buzzed, signaling a text. He checked the screen.
Hightower: Dr. Hotchkins’s second car was hidden near the cemetery and wiped clean of evidence. We don’t think he drove with a companion, though. There’s an additional set of tire tracks to suggest they met.
Conrad: Do we know the make and model of the second car yet?
Hightower: Nothing so far. Techs think the pattern will be too difficult to properly identify.
He huffed a breath.
“Anything else, agent?” Holmgren asked, a bit impatient.
He pulled from his thoughts and prepared to respond, but the front door of the building swung back, allowing a brighter beam of light inside—Jane appeared in the center of it, and the words died on his tongue.
Punch. Conrad’s mind blanked. She wore a tight black dress that conformed to her curves. Hair like rich brown silk curled more than usual. She’d pinned back the sides. Beau towered behind her, clearly uncomfortable in a white button down and slacks.