The Little Grave (Detective Amanda Steele)
She looked over her partition and could see the top of Cud’s head. She’d be asking him about this. “Okay, thanks,” she said to Banks.
He ended the call, and she cupped her phone in her hands and got up, fully intent on questioning Cud about what he was thinking back then.
The sound of someone snapping their fingers had her looking over a shoulder. She groaned internally at the sight of Malone.
“You have that alibi?”
She opened her mouth and—
“No? I didn’t think so.” He looked at her sternly, and she consulted the clock—11:30 AM.
“Going to get it right now!” She ran out the door. She had thirty minutes to get back to the construction site in Dumfries.
Thirty-Five
Amanda pulled into the construction lot at five to noon. Three food trucks were there now, no doubt eager to satisfy the appetites of the hungry workers. Logan’s pickup was in the same place as it had been earlier, and now there was an available spot two down from it. She parked and would wait there. It was convenient if Logan was going to leave the premises for lunch and it afforded her a good view of the gate.
She pulled down the visor and looked in the mirror. The bruises weren’t that noticeable, but they weren’t exactly invisible either. She didn’t have a powder compact in her car, but she had some lipstick in a pocket, so she smeared some of that on and finished primping by fluffing and sweeping her hair over her shoulders. She examined the final product and clued in. What the hell was she doing? She flipped the visor back up.
This guy was her alibi, nothing more. She didn’t want anything more out of this. After all, he was married, and the other night it was quite clear he was screwed up. Then again, wasn’t everyone who went to bed with a stranger? Surely most had an emotional need or issue they were dealing with or wanted satisfied. She should know.
Workers started filing through the gate into the lot. The majority seemed on track for the food trucks. She scanned the crowd for any sign of Logan, and just when it was starting to feel like the possibility of seeing him was on par with a unicorn sighting, he walked through the gate. He was headed right for his pickup.
She got out of her car and approached him. He was holding a hard hat in his hands and wearing sunglasses. He slowed his stride at the sight of her.
“Logan, I need to talk to you.”
“Should I even ask how you found—” His gaze had landed on the badge she had clipped to her waist. “Never mind. Cop?”
“Detective, but yeah.”
They were standing face to face now, and he didn’t seem in any hurry to move on so that was a good thing.
“Just a second of your time is all I need,” she said. “I need to talk to you.”
“We tried talking the other night, but it didn’t go too well.”
“We?” She scoffed laughter. “No, I tried to talk. What was going on with you anyway?”
He took a few steps back at the personal question.
“Never mind. None of my business.”
He stopped and faced her. “You’re right about that,” he said and resumed walking.
“You’re giving me such a hard time considering you’re the one who’s married,” she spat.
He returned to her, his stride quickly eating up the bit of distance he’d put between them. Pain danced across his face. “Must be nice to have a badge. It makes stalking a whole lot easier.”
“I’m not stalking you, but enough. Listen, we had our thing the other night, but I need your help. There’s a case… I can’t get into the details, but—”
Logan’s shoulders lowered. “You said something about needing an alibi?”
Given how drunk he’d been, she was surprised he remembered.
“Yes. I need you to testify that we were together this past Sunday from seven until eleven.” The time-of-death window started at six, but she’d been with Logan starting at seven.
His gaze went past her, and it was enough to tell Amanda what he was probably thinking.