Page 49 of The Secrets We Hide
“The chief ordered me to take you to the wake at Taybee’s farm.”
“That’s not happening.” Jude couldn’t be pecked to death by hundreds of Cliftons right now. “Your mother’s going to be pissed when she gets back here and sees you.”
“Are you saying I should go to the farm?”
“I’m saying the way you get onto a case is to make yourself valuable to the case.”
She could almost hear the wheels turning in his brain. He tried, “I can help search the woods.”
“If the killer was in the woods, they would’ve found him already.” Jude saw Sherry walking toward the front porch. It was too late for the Socratic method. She rattled off a list of things for Cole to do, from checking with neighbors to pushing for search warrants. She was about to send Cole off when she thought of one last thing. “Sweetheart? What did you call Papa when he was in charge?”
“Boss.”
“Then that’s what you should call your mother.”
He gave one of his thoughtful nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
Jude quickened her pace so she could catch Sherry before she disappeared into the house. “Special Agent Robertson?”
Sherry had been in the process of putting on her mask. She let it drop, a smile spreading across her face. “Dr. Archer, please call me Sherry. I’m trying not to fan girl. I cited your study on community-wide trauma responses to childhood abductions in my college thesis.”
“How wonderful.” Jude felt approximately ten thousand years old. “Do you mind if I shadow you inside?”
Sherry’s smile glowed. “I’d be honored.”
Jude made quick work of suiting up, navigating her dress, feeling like a ridiculous TV detective as she slipped a pair of booties over her high heels.
Sherry handed her a mask. “Ready?”
Jude stepped inside the foyer. Everything was a depressing shade of brown.
Sherry pointed to a purple velvet bag on the hall floor. “Not sure whether the killer dropped it or Allison did.”
“When I first started on the job, we weren’t allowed to wear holsters. Too unladylike. We put our guns in Crown Royal bags so the firing pins didn’t build up lint inside our purses.”
Sherry looked at the bag with renewed interest. “If Allison pulled her gun, we haven’t found it yet.”
“Early days.” Jude kept looking around. The house was at least three thousand square feet. The team was going to be here for a while. “Can you take me through it?”
“One shot fired here in the foyer, two more in the kitchen, then two upstairs.”
Jude was more interested in the state of the dining room. Papers, photos, files, a broken laptop. She knew the answer, but she wanted to show deference to Sherry. “Do you think the killer searched this area?”
“Definitely. Allison didn’t leave messes like this.”
That much was clear from the house. Barring what had happened upstairs, there wasn’t a speck of dust or a sign of clutter anywhere but the dining room. Jude imagined that the papers had been neatly stacked prior to the shooting. She walked closer, stepping around a broken pack of Crayola sidewalk chalk. The blue, red, purple, green and orange sticks had shattered into pieces. Jude used her foot to angle the cardboard pack. The yellow was missing.
Sherry said, “Most of these photos are from the local hook-up spot, the Dew Drop Inn.”
Jude knew the spot. “Allison was working as a private investigator?”
“Yep. She took retirement last year. Should’ve probably done it sooner, but she wanted to hit her full twenty.” Sherry shrugged. “A case went sideways. She got the blame. You can get away with a lot in this job if you’re a man, but a woman screwing up like that—no way. Not to mention her marriage was a mess.”
Jude waited for more.
“Bill was abusing her. Emmy and I tried, but she wouldn’t leave him.’”
Jude felt some of Emmy’s earlier silences take on a deeper meaning. She skimmed the photographs on the floor. She easily recognized the Dew Drop Inn, which hadn’t changed since she’d sneaked into vacant rooms to get drunk and high with the wrong kind of man back in high school.
