Bones Don't Lie (Morgan Dane 3)

“Maybe, but after all these years, would he still lie about that?” Morgan asked. “In my mind, he was doing something illegal, something that might still affect his life if the truth came out.”

Chapter Forty-One

Morgan settled in the driver’s seat, the steering wheel freezing under her hands. “If Stan has an alibi for today, he couldn’t have been at the hospital.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Lance’s breath fogged in front of his face like a personal storm cloud. “He’s lying about the night my dad disappeared. I’ve no reason to believe anything else he says.”

“But he has witnesses for today,” Morgan pointed out.

“He has employees who will say what he wants them to say. The hospital is a fifteen-minute drive from here. He could have slipped out and done the deed. With driving time, it would have taken less than an hour. The receptionist must take a lunch break.”

“I still feel like we’re missing something.” Morgan drummed her fingers on the wheel. “Our only suspects are Brian and Stan, yet both had alibis for at least some of the recent murders.”

“What if they were working together?” Lance asked. “Their original false alibi was joint.”

“It’s possible. But what was their motivation? If Brian killed Mary because she was going to tell his wife, how did Stan get involved?”

“Brian called him for help disposing of the body,” Lance suggested.

“It’s possible, but I feel like we’re still missing a key piece of information.” The theory wasn’t ringing true to Morgan. “It’s one thing to cover for your pal, but quite another to help him commit murder.”

“And it doesn’t explain what happened to my father.” Lance closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with both hands.

“Unless Vic saw Brian kill Mary.”

“And my father wouldn’t help them cover it up.” Lance dropped his hands into his lap. “Even though I know Brian and Stan both lied, I still have a hard time believing they would have killed my father.”

“What do we do?” Morgan asked.

“We get comfortable.” Lance cracked his neck. “I have no ideas other than good old-fashioned surveillance. Stan is our best lead at this point. I want to stick with him and see where he goes after work.” He glanced at Morgan. “He might be late. Do you want me to take you home?”

“No.” Morgan glanced sideways.

Lance seemed to have gotten his temper under control, but she didn’t trust him to go off on his own.

She reached behind the seat for her tote and pulled it onto her lap. Unzipping it, she dug for the case file and handed it to Lance. “Stan drives a black Mercedes. Let’s find it in case he goes out the back door.”

Lance read off the license plate number. Morgan started the engine and turned on the heat. She drove the Jeep up and down the rows until they spotted Stan’s car. She parked in the darkest spot she could find several rows away.

Turning off the engine, she fished her leftover candy bar from her bag. She tore the wrapper and waved it at him. “Want half?”

He shook his head. “Don’t eat that.”

Too late.

She chewed and swallowed. “It has peanuts in it. Nuts are healthy.”

Lance was always prepared for an impromptu stakeout. He kept his Jeep stocked with emergency supplies. He opened the console and took out two protein bars. From a bag behind his seat, he removed two water bottles and offered her one.

She took it but didn’t open it. Who knew how long they’d have to wait? After three pregnancies, it was safest to minimize fluid intake on stakeouts of indeterminate length.

She fished gloves from her pockets and turned up her collar. He handed her a protein bar, but she put it aside as well. The chocolate would keep her going for a while. It could be a long night. They’d have to ration their supplies. She settled lower in her seat. Lance did the same.

Time passed with a creeping slowness that reminded her of Salvador Dali’s melting clocks.

Just after eleven p.m., Stan exited the building.

Morgan perked up. “There he is.”

Hunching his shoulders against the wind, Stan hustled across the parking lot and slid into his Mercedes. The headlights turned on. A minute later, he drove out of the lot.

Morgan followed him. With the roads nearly deserted, she eased off the accelerator and stayed well back. When Stan turned into his development, she drove past, then turned around to double back.

“Kill the headlights before you make the turn,” Lance said.

Exterior lights blazed in the new development, eliminating the need for headlights.

Two blocks away, she slid the Jeep to the curb, choosing the darkest place between street lamps. They watched Stan park in his driveway. Lights shone in the front windows of the big house. Stan got out of his car. Closing the door, he stopped and scanned the street. Did he feel them watching him?

Stan went into the house. The first-floor windows went dark a minute later.

“Maybe he’s going straight to bed,” Morgan said. That’s what she would do.

“It’s late,” Lance agreed.

“Do we continue to watch him? If he was going anywhere else, he wouldn’t have driven straight home.”

“Unless he saw us.”

“If he saw us, we might as well leave. He won’t lead us anywhere if he knows we’re watching.”

Lance shifted in his seat. “Drive around the next block.”

Morgan cruised past Stan’s house and turned left three times.

“Pull over here,” Lance said. “Under that tree.”

Morgan parked at the curb around the corner from Stan’s house. “It’s so bright here. I feel exposed.”

Not only were the lots covered in landscaping lights, but the houses were close together. There were no dark places to hide.

“It’s the best we can do in this neighborhood,” Lance said. “From a home security perspective, I applaud the lack of dark shadows for burglars to lurk. But for our purposes tonight, it’s damned inconvenient.”

They climbed out of the Jeep. They locked the vehicle’s doors manually and closed their doors as softly as possible.

“Hold my hand.” Lance reached toward her.

She slid her hand into his.

Lance tugged her onto the sidewalk. “We’re just a nice couple taking a stroll.”

For a minute, that’s exactly what she wished they were. The crisp night air chilled her face, but her coat blocked the worst of the cold, and the heat of his body penetrated her thin leather glove. A snow flurry drifted down, slow as a feather, and landed on her arm.

If they weren’t on a stakeout, their walk would be romantic.

Tires crunched on asphalt.

“Look casual.” Lance pulled Morgan closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

Morgan glanced over her shoulder. “Uh-oh.”

A black-and-white sheriff’s vehicle pulled up to the curb a few feet ahead of them. Sheriff King climbed out of his car, crossed the strip of grass next to the curb, and stepped onto the sidewalk, blocking their way. “What are you doing here?”

“Taking a walk,” Lance said.

“Don’t smart-ass me.” The glare of the streetlamp overhead cast the sheriff’s face in harsh, angry shadows.

Waves of animosity—and testosterone—shimmered between the two men.