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It was wrong. But so was lying, and he’d done plenty of that.
She went to the door and turned the knob. He hadn’t locked it. Practically an invitation.
Pushing the door open, she could swear she heard something. She stopped on the doorstep and listened. The only thing she could hear were nature noises: birds and critters scurrying around. Then she noted an opened window.
She looked around. The cabin’s layout was the same as the one she shared with Miranda and Kylie. A joined living room and kitchen, two small baths, and three bedrooms. The furniture was different and newer. This must be one of the cabins built a few months back when the camp turned boarding school. Della inhaled, and the scent of paint hung heavy.
She continued to survey the home, and stopped when she saw the framed photograph of a family of four. A mom, dad, brother, and sister. Stepping closer, she recognized it as the one he’d kept at his other cabin, his much nicer cabin.
She picked up the picture. Chase had been young, fourteen or so. The photograph had probably been taken right before the plane accident that killed his family. As she brought the picture up, Chase’s scent grew stronger. She let the scent fill her airway—even inhaled a little deeper.
On the glass, she saw a fingerprint smear as if someone had touched the image. She knew it had been him. Could see him doing it in her mind.
Did he still miss his family?
Of course he did.
Her heart ached for him, then she turned to her own family issues. Would the pictures of her family be all she had of them someday?
Putting the frame down, fighting the pain, she saw an opened laptop and some papers on the kitchen table.
Nudging the achiness away, she recalled the reason she was here. To see if Chase Tallman was hiding something about her uncle—to ultimately get her father off of a murder charge.
“What are you up to, Chase?”
She picked up the papers and read the name “Douglas Stone.”
Immediately she remembered Burnett’s words: He’s saying a man named Douglas Stone killed your aunt.
She read on. Chase had several addresses and information on several different Douglas Stones in the Houston area. He also had the name “Don Williams.” She didn’t know who the Williams character was, but she’d bet a quart of O negative blood that he had something to do with her father’s case.
And damned if she wouldn’t find out.
She pulled her phone out and snapped close-up shots of the papers.
* * *
Della went back to the office to collect her things, then headed back to her cabin. She should try to rest, but the thought that Chase was somewhere hiding from her made napping impossible.
She’d drop her stuff off then find him. Then nap. She hadn’t seen her cabin when her nose caught the scent of one particular dog’s message. Then she was hit by the scent of his owner.
She took off, expecting to find him on the porch, but nope. Then she noted the door was ajar. The little twerp had just invited himself into her cabin. Who did he think—
Okay, maybe she couldn’t bitch too much about that.
Not that she didn’t have plenty of other things to bitch about. She flew up the steps, dropped her items on the porch with a loud thud, and went to confront the lying piece of poop.
Chapter Fourteen
When she flung open the door, he stood between the sofa and the coffee table. No doubt he’d heard her coming in time to make it to his feet. But the sofa hadn’t had enough time to lose the six-foot imprint of his frame. His eyes, she noted, still carried the lazy look of sleep.
“Sleeping on my couch, huh?” she accused, and felt Baxter bumping her leg with his nose begging for a petting. Bending slightly, she petted the dog, hoping that bit of kindness didn’t make her appear less than pissed.
Chase passed a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the evidence. “I was waiting on you.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket as if to see how long he’d slept. “What all did Burnett want?”
“Where’s my uncle, Chase?”
He frowned. “I could swear we already covered that.”
