determination, and lousy but effective free in-room coffee, she was primed and ready.
The first thing she did was reach for her notebook, but a quick and somewhat frantic search for it came up empty. She hoped she hadn’t left it back at the B & B. Sure, she often wrote in shorthand in case her notebook accidentally fell into the wrong hands, but unlike the rest of the world, it was highly likely some of the women in the Ladies Auxiliary were proficient in shorthand.
Think. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, thinking back to that morning. She clearly remembered stuffing the journal into the front pocket of her carry-on, which meant it must have fallen out after. Chances were, it was sitting in the rental; she had grabbed her bag in a hurry.
Since she was in her pajamas and it was still raining buckets, she decided she could do without it. Thankfully, she’d typed up her notes after talking to Lenny, so she hadn’t really lost anything, but her notebooks were important to her. She had an entire collection she’d built up over the years, each one holding memories of her trips and the people she’d met along the way.
“Thank God for the internet,” she muttered as she began searching police records in and around Sumneyville, starting with the last twelve months. It was a tedious task, especially since she didn’t have a name to go on, but she finally found what she had been looking for.
According to the reports, Dwayne Freed, son of Sumneyville Police Chief Daryl Freed, had broken into a private residence on Sanctuary property and threatened one of the residents, Cassandra Summers.
Lenny’s friend Sandy?
Not only had Freed threatened Miss Summers, but he’d been in violation of his parole terms by carrying a firearm. Miss Summers had fended off the attack with “a large, blunt object” until help arrived and Freed was subdued.
So, Lenny hadn’t lied, but he’d been very selective in what he shared, leaving out the breaking and entering and attempted murder and the fact that Freed’s injuries had been the result of a woman acting in self-defense.
Bree wondered what else Lenny had lied about. As if on cue, her phone rang. She looked at the display, recognizing the arson investigator’s number.
“That was fast,” she said in greeting.
“What did you stumble into, Miss De Rossi?” the investigator asked.
That didn’t sound good. “Why? What did you find?”
“Nothing definite—yet. But my gut’s telling me those fires were all set by the same person, and it wasn’t Samantha Applehoff. Another thing: whoever conducted the investigations is either a fucking idiot or has a hidden agenda. I strongly suggest you watch your back on this one.”
“Will do. Thanks.”
Bree disconnected, even more convinced that Lenny had been the one attempting to manipulate her, not Nick. The fact that the Sumneyville Fire Chief was Lenny’s dad hammered another nail into Lenny’s credibility coffin. That more than justified her decision to stick around and sort things out in her mind.
Bree called Toni next.
“Did you get in early?”
“No, I’m still in Pennsylvania. I’ve decided to stay a couple extra days. Is Hunter around?”
“No, he went back to his place. Why are you still in Pennsylvania?”
“Because there’s something here, Toni; I can feel it. Look up some names for me, will you? See what you can find out about Lenny Petraski and Dwayne Freed. One’s a cop, and one’s a criminal.”
“Holy hell, Bree. This was supposed to be a cream-puff assignment! Instead, you’ve slept with a mobster, called in an arson investigator, and have me stalk a policeman.”
“I know; I know,” Bree said, rubbing at the spot between her eyes. It wasn’t as if she went looking for trouble. It just kind of found her. “What can I say? I really want Hunter to pay for takeout.”
“You’re insane.”
Bree could picture Toni shaking her head. It made her smile. They were going to have a lot to talk about when she got back to California. “I know that, too. Call me when you’ve got something, okay?”
“Okay. And, Bree? Be careful. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Cage
He was such an idiot.
Sometimes, he forgot that Bree was a journalist. That she’d come to Sanctuary for a story, not for him. With his personal backstory and Petraski flinging shit like the primate he was, how could Bree not have doubts?
Sandy came over to join him at the table with her laptop in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. She took one look