Playing Dead_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [108]
“Is that why Frank got emancipated?” Steve asked.
Regret crossed Ms. Lowe’s face. “Aunt Rose died and Frank thought she was leaving her house to him—he liked it out at her ranch. He’d been living there on and off about a year, in the apartment above the garage. Had a part-time job. Helped her when she needed it. Then she ended up having her house sold to some developer and giving the money to a conservancy group. Not that I’m knocking the need to help the environment, mind you, but it wasn’t like her. She was stingy. I expected her to want to be buried with her money. Giving it to a liberal charity? Naw.”
Her voice softened. “I was a bit of a free spirit back then. I let Frank do what he wanted. In hindsight, that wasn’t such a good idea. I didn’t discipline him enough, but see, my daddy always used a paddle on my butt, and I didn’t want Frank growing up being hit to stay in line. And he was a good kid, but for those sticky fingers. We’d just started getting things back on track when he died.”
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Steve said.
She sighed. “I miss them.”
“Them?”
“Frank and Tip. Tip moved to L.A. after the fire—I think he blamed himself in some ways—and he died of cancer two years ago.”
Mitch straightened, exchanged glances with Steve. “Do you know what Frank was offered as a plea agreement before he died?”
She was confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know he was arrested for home invasion robbery two weeks before the fire.”
“Of course, but he told me they gave him probation. Community service.”
So she didn’t know anything. “Do you have any of Frank’s personal effects?”
She shook her head. “No. Frank hadn’t lived with me since he was fifteen, I didn’t see any reason to keep anything, and he took what he wanted.”
“Do you have a picture of Tip Barney?”
“Why?”
“For our report,” Steve said.
She rose, crossed to a bookshelf, and took out a photo album. She sat back down, flipped through it. Near the back she pulled out a picture. “This was Frank and Tip at the bar about a year before the fire.”
She handed the picture to Mitch.
He stared. Showed it to Steve. Everything clicked into place. “May we borrow this?”
“Sure. I probably have the negatives somewhere.”
“We’ll return it,” Mitch promised.
They thanked Ms. Lowe for her time, then walked out.
“It all makes sense now,” Steve said.
“Frank survived the fire—or faked his own death—because he feared for his life,” Mitch said, holding up the picture. “Think he and his father went to L.A. together?”
“And when his dad died, he took his identity and moved back, close to home.”
“Now we just have to figure out why.”
“Back to Isleton.”
THIRTY
Claire parked down the street from the Rabbit Hole in Isleton.
She’d just gotten off the phone with Nelia Kincaid. Less than three hours from now Tom O’Brien would surrender at FBI headquarters and be taken to Sutter Memorial Hospital for evaluation and possible surgery.
She wanted to see her dad before he went into surgery. What if he didn’t survive? She shook her head. Right now figuring out who killed her mother and Chase Taverton was the single most important thing. She’d call Nelia when she was back in Sacramento and see if the attorney could get her in to visit her dad.
She took a deep breath and put her forehead on the steering wheel. She hadn’t slept much last night after her father and Nelia left. She worked on the case, putting together all the information she had and what she needed to check out, telling herself it was for her dad. And all that was important, but it was all rehashing the same stuff.
The truth was, as soon as she went to bed, she couldn’t get Mitch out of her mind.
She wanted