Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

T he sun was low in the sky when Sam parked the Tahoe at Thorne Enterprises’ latest project, a big hotel and conference center that was swallowing a swath of wilderness whole. Sam hated it.

Lucy had sat alert on the passenger seat the whole ride as if she knew this was important. Her gaze swiveled from the structure to the construction trailer, her eyes narrowing as if she knew Beryl was in there and didn’t trust her.

Sam patted Lucy’s head. “I feel the same way, but we have to talk to her.”

Sam and Lucy got out of the car and walked up the rickety steps to the trailer door.

The door swung open before he could knock. Beryl Thorne stood framed in the artificial light, the day’s fading glow casting long shadows behind her. She was as poised as ever, but her gaze held a flicker of surprise, veiling the shrewd calculations beneath.

“Sam, and Lucy,” she greeted them with what Sam suspected was a fake smile. Unlike most people, she did not bend down to pat Lucy. She probably knew the dog did not like her. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“I have a few questions,” Sam said bluntly. “Mind if we step inside for a moment?”

“Of course.” She opened the door wider.

The interior of the trailer looked more like it belonged in a high-rise office building than a construction site. Across from the door was a large mahogany desk, and a sitting area had been set up at the other end. The filing cabinets were mahogany to match the desk.

Beryl had added some feminine touches since she’d taken over for her husband, Lucas Thorne, who was in jail. It looked like she didn’t expect him to come back.

“I see you’ve made a few changes,” Sam commented dryly.

Lucy sat by the door, silent but vigilant.

Beryl perched on the desk’s edge, every inch the composed executive. “Gotta make the place my own. I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk about my decor, though. What’s this about?”

Sam leaned against the filing cabinet, arms crossed. “I assume you’ve heard about Alex Sheridan?”

Beryl’s brow furrowed. “I have. Marnie told me. She said you suspect foul play.”

Sam nodded solemnly. “Yes. He was found in the bay, but experts in currents think he was put in at the site where you’re building the storage facility.”

He watched Beryl’s reaction closely. Her eyes widened, and she seemed genuinely surprised. “What? That’s terrible!” Then her eyes narrowed. “Surely, you don’t think I had something to do with that? I didn’t even know him.”

Sam held her gaze, searching for any hint of deception. “We have to consider all possibilities and ask all the questions.”

“The only time I go out there is with the construction manager to assess progress,” Beryl said.

“You don’t go and check it out at other times?” Sam asked

“No. Why would I?”

Sam nodded and waited a few beats before asking the next question. “We found limo tracks out there. Do you know anything about that?”

Beryl let out a delicate chuckle. “A limo? You think I visit my construction sites in a limo? I don’t even have one.”

“What about Victor Sorrentino?” Sam asked pointedly.

Beryl’s laughter faltered, her demeanor shifting. “What about him?”

“He seems like the type to ride around in a limo,” Sam continued, unfazed by her reaction. “I bet Convale has one at his disposal.”

“It’s preposterous to suggest Victor would be involved in murder,” Beryl countered quickly, a defensive edge sharpening her voice.

Sam locked eyes with her. “Found cigar ashes at the crime scene, too,” he added, watching the play of emotions across her face—a flash of concern, a mask of composure quickly restored. He pressed on. “Did Victor know Alex?”

Beryl’s eyes flashed with a mix of annoyance and defensiveness. “I don’t think Victor knew Alex at all. He never mentioned him to me.” She crossed her arms, her posture stiffening. “And what possible motive would Victor have to harm Alex? I don’t appreciate either of us being accused like this.”

Sam held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not accusing anyone of anything, Beryl. I’m just asking questions, trying to piece together what happened.”

Beryl’s expression softened slightly, but her gaze remained sharp. “That’s good, because you and I need to remain allies. We have a common interest, after all.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “And what interest might that be?”

Beryl leaned forward, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Keeping my husband in jail.”

Sam’s mind raced, trying to connect the dots. He kept his expression neutral as he replied, “Hopefully, the evidence will take care of that.”

Beryl’s lips curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Don’t be too sure, Chief. Lucas has a new lawyer, and he thinks the evidence is a bit... flimsy.”

Sam’s thoughts flashed back to the golf shoes Beryl had given him, the very evidence that had helped put Lucas Thorne behind bars. A nagging suspicion crept into his mind. Did Beryl know something about those shoes that he didn’t?

Sam moved toward the door, signaling the end of their conversation.

Beryl stood up. “Are you done interrogating me, Chief Mason?” Her tone was sharp, a challenge in her eyes.

Sam paused, his hand on the doorknob. “It wasn’t an interrogation, Beryl. Just questions.”

“Be careful, Chief Mason,” she said, her eyes glinting with a veiled threat. “Digging can unearth more than just answers. Sometimes, it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie.”

Sam nodded, acknowledging her warning. Lucy was already at the door, impatient to leave, her gaze still fixed on Beryl.

As Sam walked out into the crisp evening air, a thought nagged at him. Beryl had never denied that Victor had a limo. It was a small detail, but it stuck out in his mind like a burr.