Where the Blame Lies

But Rain smiled and shook her head. “Don’t be. We’re better off. But um”—she looked over Josie’s shoulder at the larger things she hadn’t yet moved into the garage—“I see you have a kitchen table and chairs, which is at the top of my priority list.”

“They’re yours if you want them,” Josie said, watching as Rain walked over to the pieces, looked at the stickers, and gave Josie a smile.

“Right in my price range,” she said. “It’s my lucky day.”

Jimmy approached them. “Need help lifting those into the van?” he asked, directing his question to Josie.

“That’d be great. Thanks,” she said.

Josie and Jimmy carried the pieces to the back of Rain’s van and loaded them inside as she stood back with Milo. She ended up purchasing several pots and pans, a set of glasses, and a standing lamp as well, and once she was all packed up, she put her little boy in his car seat and climbed up into the driver’s seat, rolling the window down. She reached over and wrote something on a scrap of paper from her console and handed it to Josie with a smile. “Like I said, we’re right up the road. My address and phone number are on there, if you need anything or feel like visiting.”

“That’s very nice of you,” Josie said. “Likewise on the visit.” She waved as the woman backed out and turned on the road, driving away. A raindrop hit Josie’s cheek and she walked toward the rest of the items that were still out, needing to get them back inside before the rain really started coming down.

And she supposed she’d need to set up her pots and pans under the inevitable leaks.

Despite the way the morning had started, she was grateful that she was ending the whole debacle on a positive note. All right, so the garage sale hadn’t failed by all measures, just most. The woman named Rainbow had brightened her day a smidge, and she’d met someone new who, for a few minutes, had made her feel normal, unbroken.

She’d take it.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The elevator dinged and Zach stepped off, walking toward the door with the placard that read, Archibald Phillips, Financial Services. The luxurious office he stepped into was empty except for a receptionist sitting behind a wide stone reception desk. Soft music played through overhead speakers and a massive fish tank took up a wall on the opposite side of the room, the sound of the bubbling water adding to the peaceful ambiance. “Hello, sir, may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Phillips.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Zach unclipped his badge and flashed it at the young woman with a black pixie cut, and eye makeup that swooped upward at the corners so she appeared catlike. “Detective Copeland. And no, I don’t have an appointment. But I’m hoping he can make time for me. It’s important.”

The woman, who seemed flustered, stood quickly. “Of course. I’ll just let him know you’re here.”

Zach gave her a tight smile and moved away from the desk as the woman’s heels sounded in the hallway beyond. He heard murmured voices and took the moment to look at the wall hangings. A diploma from UC, a few licenses related to financial planning. Zach turned when the heels sounded in the hallway again, this time accompanied by a second set of footsteps.

“Detective Copeland?” Archibald Phillips was a brawny man with broad shoulders and a high forehead. His hair was slicked back and when he offered Zach a smile, his teeth were large and obviously capped. Zach disliked him on sight. He had shyster written all over him. Plus, he’d harassed Josie. “A detective with the CPD? This is a surprise. What can I help you with?”

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Archibald’s eyes narrowed a fraction. He glanced at his receptionist. “Of course. Follow me.”

Zach followed the man down the hallway and into a large office near the end. It’d been raining off and on all afternoon and raindrops still stuck to the large window that offered a view of downtown Cincinnati. Archibald Phillips indicated a chair across from his desk and then sat down in the swivel chair behind it, rocking slightly, appearing impatient. Or maybe it was nerves.

Zach pulled back the chair next to the one Archibald Philipps had indicated, taking his time sitting, removing a card, and setting it down on the desk in front of him. “Mr. Phillips, can I ask where you were last night? About ten p.m.?”

Archibald’s low brows got even lower. He really was quite the Cro-Magnon-looking dude. “Why do you need to know?”

“It’s in relation to a crime.”

“A crime? What sort of crime?”

“Burglary.”

“Burglary? I have no idea—”

“Mr. Phillips, if you could answer my question about your whereabouts last night, we might be able to clear this whole thing up.”

Archibald Phillips looked annoyed, slightly hostile, as he sat back in his chair. “I was home alone. Working.”

“I see. Would you have anything that might corroborate that? An email with a timestamp perhaps? A saved file?”