You Betrayed Me (The Cahills #3) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,48

the coffee table, but held tight to the handle of her umbrella. “It’s just you can never be too careful.” Her eyes narrowed. “So how’d you get in? I locked up after you all left the last time.”

“I have a key,” Rebecca said.

Rivers left it at that.

“Well, for the love of all that’s holy, I wish someone woulda told me. I hear my cat, Fritz, growling at a squirrel or something and look out the window to see what’s got him all riled up, and I see this place—that’s supposed to be locked, mind you—wide open! Light on. Thought someone was robbin’ it.” She sent Rivers a beady-eyed look. “You mighta let me know.”

“It was early,” he said.

“Hell, yeah, it’s early.” She let out a frustrated breath. “But it’s common decency, y’know, rather than scarin’ me half to death. I had half a mind to call the pol—oh, well.” She squared her shoulders. “I don’t suppose you have any news about Megan?”

“No.”

Emma-Mae eyeballed Rebecca. “She’s behind in her rent.”

“Is she?” Rebecca didn’t seem surprised.

“Again.” Emma-Mae nodded, her short curls bobbing. “It’s due by the fifth, but she told me she’d have the money by the fifteenth, but hell, that’s just around the corner, isn’t it?” Before Rebecca could answer, she asked, “You heard from her?”

“Not since the other night, no.”

“So what am I gonna tell the owner, huh? That I was foolish enough to let her slide on the rent, and now what? I’m gonna evict her?”

“Not yet,” Rivers said.

“I figured she was planning on moving in with her boyfriend. They were thick as thieves, at least for a while, and it seemed it was on her mind. She kept hinting she was probably going to move.”

“Did she?”

“Well, not in so many words. That’s why I didn’t bring it up when I talked to that deputy earlier, but I had the feeling she was going to leave, and I just guessed it was probably with him . . . You think he had something to do with her going missing?” Emma-Mae’s eyebrows arched. “That’s what I read in the paper.”

“We’re still trying to work out what happened,” said Rivers.

“Well, this is a fine pickle. Just a fine damned pickle.” Frowning, she crossed her arms over her chest. “So you done here, or what? I know you’re the cops and all”—she waved in the air dismissively—“but I got a decent place here to run, other tenants, y’know, so . . .”

“I’m finished,” Rivers said.

Emma-Mae cocked an eyebrow at Rebecca.

“Me too.” She was already moving to the still-open door.

Emma-Mae swept her pistol from the coffee table and stuck it into the pocket of her puffy jacket. “Good.” She snapped off the lights, and Rivers followed after her. The fact that she said her pistol was unloaded didn’t ease his mind, nor did the fact that it was tucked in her pocket or that she may or may not have had a license to carry. He’d learned along the way to never let a person with a weapon out of his sight.

He flipped the lock, then closed the door behind them.

Emma-Mae said, “Next time you all think you want in, you talk to me.” Then she snapped open her umbrella and hurried across the lot toward the only apartment with a light burning in a window.

“So why did you decide to show up now?” Rivers asked Rebecca as the door to the manager’s apartment closed behind her.

“Couldn’t sleep.” She eyed him as she walked to her vehicle, a small Ford SUV parked in a visitor spot in the snow-covered lot. Snowflakes caught in her hair, glistening a little in the streetlight. “You?”

“Same thing, I guess. Sometimes a case keeps me awake.” He glanced at his watch. “You’re coming in at eight?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you rather come to the station now?” he asked. “I’m on my way.”

With a shake of her head, she said, “I’ll see you later.” She slipped into her SUV, slammed the door shut, and was driving out of the lot within seconds.

As the taillights of her Ford disappeared through the snow, he walked to his Jeep and got inside, where he stared at the closed door of Megan Travers’s apartment.

His mission here this morning hadn’t accomplished much, certainly not what he’d hoped. No “vibes” telling him what the hell was going on inside Megan Travers’s head on the night she’d disappeared. No special insight.

But maybe he’d gotten something much better by catching her sister off guard. Not cool and composed. Not ready.