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“Proof?”
“I video called Worthington. It’s all recorded that when I walked into that room, Metcalfe was already dead.”
“Who’s to say you didn’t murder him, then place the video call?”
“There’s no evidence of that. No blood on my clothes or prints on the knife.”
“You didn’t touch anything, right?”
Grant winced a little. “Yes and no.”
“Please tell me you did not touch his body or the knife.”
“The knife, no. But I did go through the drawers and his pockets. I had his cell phone when the police came in. But I used a handkerchief, so there are no prints.”
Mitchell slid his eyes closed and shook his head. “Where were you earlier this evening?”
“At home. With lots of people. Everyone can corroborate that. Worthington, Julia, Sierra, Kyle. Even Lydia.”
Mitchell bobbed his head up and down as he jotted down the notes. “That’s good. If we get a time of death from the M.E. maybe we can prove you couldn’t have done it.”
“Prove. As far as I know, I haven’t been formally charged. Do you think that’s coming?”
“Hard to say. The DA’s not going to plow into charges again and risk another embarrassment like he did the last time. But will they try to put some pressure on you? Maybe.”
Grant slumped in his chair. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Mitchell, you’ve got to get me out of this. I need to be home.”
“What were you doing there anyway?” the man asked.
“I got a call. Told me to go to that address if I wanted information on DG Industries. I was supposed to be there sixty minutes after the call. Worthington can confirm that and so can my call log.”
“Let me go see what I can do. Sit tight and do not say anything to that cop.”
“Done,” Grant said.
“And don’t lunge at him if he mentions Julia.”
Grant stretched his neck, then shook his head. “You’d be proud of me. He’s already done that, and I didn’t react.”
“Good. I’ll see what I can find out.” Mitchell disappeared from the room, leaving him alone again.
He sucked in a deep breath as he drummed his fingers against the table. With any luck, his attorney could make this go away. At least for now. He desperately wanted to know how his daughter was doing, and let Julia know the latest developments. She’d been the one who’d suspected Metcalfe first. He really wanted her take on the situation.
As he sat alone, he went over the conversation with the detective, patting himself on the back over his ability not to react. His stomach clenched as the man’s words echoed in his mind. You’d think she’d have run for the hills by now. Except she couldn’t. She was tied to him by a contract. Was that the only thing binding them together?
Not on his end. But maybe on hers. He recalled her words on the beach in Maine. Even after that terrible argument. We’re a team.
But he also recalled how she’d looked in another man’s arms. His hand tightened into a fist as he recalled her soft gaze up at her former fiancé, Luke. How easily she’d smiled at him. How he’d made her laugh.
At least the man wasn’t around now. Maybe a little distance would make her more likely to accept him rather than go running back to Luke the moment their contract ended.
He had to come up with a plan to address that. One that ensured success on his part. Maybe a trip to the cabin. Somewhere quiet where they could talk, and she wouldn’t feel overwhelmed.
Before he could put the final touches on filling the luxury cabin in the middle of the woods with roses to surprise her, the door opened again. Mitchell strode in, a stern expression etched into his aging features.
“I don’t like that face, Mitchell.”
“Sorry, it’s the only one I have,” he said as he settled into the chair.
