After She's Gone (West Coast 3) - Page 72

But it hadn’t been in the trash.

Or missing.

Maybe that was a good, if slightly marred, sign.

He was just replacing the photo, standing it up, when he saw her pull into the parking area. Without her roller bag, she was out of the car and heading inside. He met her on the tiny porch.

“So you are still here” was her greeting.

“I missed you, too.”

She shot him a dark look. Obviously she wasn’t in the mood for levity. “Let’s go.” Passing through the living room, she spied the photograph, hesitated, then flipped it facedown again before storming into the bedroom.

He followed after her and watched as she opened drawers in her dresser and threw a few more sweaters and jeans into the open bags. Without looking up, she zipped up the first roller bag and said, “Why don’t you make yourself useful and help me take these out to the car?”

“Wrong side of bed?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. What I meant to say was why don’t you please make yourself useful and take these out to the car.”

He chuckled. Her head shot up and it looked as if she might let loose again, but all she did was shake her head. “You’re just being a little intense,” he pointed out.

“I’m busy and . . . you know, it’s been kind of a bad day.” Then she stopped short. Her face fell and all of the bristly anger he’d witnessed melted into sadness. “Oh, God, you don’t know.”

“What?”

“Holly Dennison is dead,” she said and bit her lip. “Murdered.”

“What?” He thought he’d heard wrong.

“She was the set designer on Dead Heat.”

“I know who she is. You’ve worked with her before.” He was stunned. “Murdered?” he repeated, and the bad feeling that had been with him for the last few days intensified. “When did this happen?”

“Last night, I guess. I just found out a couple of hours ago from Laura Merrick.” Calmer, she told him what little she knew and all that Trent got out of it was that Holly was found last night in the Venice area.

“My God, Cass.”

“I saw her the other night and . . .” Her voice trailed off and she cleared her throat, blinking rapidly.

“I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I, but I have to get back to Oregon. I’m sure the police will want to talk to me, but they can damned well do it up there. I had nothing to do with any of this.”

“I’m coming with you,” he said suddenly.

“No, you’re not.” She gazed at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“Already took back the rental and took a cab back. I’m good to go.”

“What? Why? Did you think you were staying here? With me?” She looked at him as if he were stark, raving mad.

“I came for you, Cass. I told you that.”

They stared at each other. He could almost see her calculating, trying to figure out how to ditch him again. But then she just made a sound of exasperation and said, “Come on, then. Let’s get out of here.”

With that she finished packing quickly and together they hauled the things she wanted to take with her to Oregon to her car. She locked the door of the apartment as he folded himself into the passenger seat and within ten minutes they were on the freeway, heading north.

Neither said a word.

Tags: Lisa Jackson West Coast Mystery
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