“Do you trust all your friends?” Reid asked.
“Since I have all of two, yeah, I trust them.”
“Any reason the woman you dated would have for giving it out?” I asked.
“Not that I know of. She’s an artist too. Quiet like me.”
“And maybe ripe for the picking,” I said.
“Tell us again exactly what the guy said,” Reid said.
“He just said he had information about Dad’s murder, and then he hung up. I tried calling back but it rang and rang and rang and never went to voicemail.”
“Sounds like a hoax,” I said.
“Let’s get the number traced, first of all,” Reid said.
“Already on it,” Roy replied. “It’s an area code in—get this—Montana.”
Chills skittered across my skin. “Montana?”
“Yeah. Weird, huh? But that’s where you were when Dad was killed, and somehow, someone got your prints on the gun that did it.”
“We should tell that detective who’s working on the case,” Reid said.
My stomach dropped. I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t want Roy running to that cop with this information. “Why should we do that? Let him do his own damned job.”
“He can find out if this is a hoax,” Reid said.
“Look,” I said. “I hope it is a hoax. But what if it’s not? What if someone is trying to frame me for murdering Dad?”
“They can’t frame you, Rock,” Reid said. “You weren’t in New York when it happened.”
“I know that, and you know that. But what if they decide to say I ordered it or something?”
“Then why would your prints be on the gun?”
“Maybe it was my gun.”
Reid shook his head. “Fuck. You own a gun?”
“I own several, actually.” Including one identical to what had offed my father. I wasn’t quite ready to voice that little tidbit yet. “I was joking, for God’s sake. If my gun had offed him, the cops would know it. All of my weapons are registered to me in the state of Montana.”
“Was one of them recently stolen?” Roy asked.
“I have no idea. I keep most of them in a gun safe, and I don’t look at them every day. The last time I went shooting was over a month ago.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Reid said. “If the murder weapon was registered to you, the cops would know it.”
I rolled my eyes. “I think I just said that. Except that gun at the scene wasn’t registered to anyone, and there’s a problem with the serial number. Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.”
“So your prints are on it,” Reid said, “but the gun isn’t registered to anyone.”
“Good job, Holmes.” I rolled my eyes again.
“Chill, Rock,” he said. “I’m just trying to figure this out.”
“I don’t want the cops involved any more than they already are,” I said.
“You got something to hide?” Reid asked.
“Of course not.”
I was innocent. That I knew for a fact. But there was a lot my brothers didn’t know, not the least of which was that I’d tried to off my father when I was fourteen.
My mother did, though.
Fucking Mommie Dearest.
Of course. I should have known. That was why she was in my office earlier demanding one point two million dollars per year in an agreement just between us.
She was going to go to the cops with her story about my past.
Would she, though? Would she frame her own son just to get money?
I wasn’t about to find out.
If she relayed that story to the cops, it wouldn’t be hard for them to put together a case against me. Despite the prints, they wouldn’t be able to prove I’d pulled the trigger. They could easily prove a motive, though, and make a case that I’d hired the killer to use a gun I’d handled.
First thing tomorrow, I’d make arrangements for her to be paid. Anything to keep her off my back. Besides, I knew this woman. If I didn’t act soon, the price would go up. Then up some more.
Connie herself was innocent as a lamb when it came to Derek’s murder. She wouldn’t off her meal ticket.
But she was damned angry at whomever had, and determined enough to restore her financial status that she’d blackmail her firstborn to keep the green flowing.
Anger boiled in me. Maternal instincts were definitely missing in Connie Larson Wolfe.
Reid was nursing his whiskey, but Roy looked visibly rattled. From one phone call?
What was my reclusive brother not telling me?
I’d been gone for a while, but I could read my brother as if it were yesterday. He was hiding something.
Who was I to talk? I was hiding a ton, not the least of which was what my mother had to hold over my head.
I’d cut Roy some slack. This phone call had him seriously spooked. More spooked than it should, but I’d give him time.
“…might get cold,” Reid was saying.
“Sorry…what?” I said.
“If we don’t jump on this, the trail might get cold.”