There’s a knock at the door. I turn in my seat and then it hits me. Damn, I forgot all about Rebecca and my investigation. I can’t let anything get in the way of figuring out the truth. This book will mean nothing if I’m rotting in a prison cell or worse, dead. I close my laptop and rush to open the door. Rebecca walks in before I even have a chance to invite her. Her hair is in tight curls under her hat, and her cheeks are a rosy red.

“That was quick,” I tell her as she removes her coat and hat and takes a seat on the couch.

“I work fast, and you don’t have much time,” she says, picking up The Corrections. She glances at it and sets it on the coffee table. “If only he could have been my writing professor.” There’s a smartass grin on her face.

“Then you wouldn’t have been at a community college, now would you?” I snap back, my jealousy coming through. I can tell by her eyes she knows the comment did its job. Her perceptivity is impressive. “Anyway, you’re right, I don’t have much time. Can I get you something to drink?”

She shakes her head, and I join her on the couch. Rebecca pulls out a couple of file folders and lays them out in front of her. “You ready for this?”

I nod.

“Okay, so Kelly or Jenna’s first husband’s name was Greg, and they were married for a year and a half—got married young, like twenty. You know about the murder, the misplaced evidence, and the fact that Scott Summers helped her get away with it. The two left Wisconsin after the case was closed and wound up here in Prince William County, Virginia.” She flips through the papers. I take pages here and there, reading them myself. Most of this I knew.

“Where’s the new info? Like his family or something?”

“I’m getting there. Yes—both his parents are still alive. But I couldn’t find much about them. The father works in commercial real estate, and the mother does a lot of volunteer work. They don’t seem like they would have had anything to do with this. They’re in their sixties. It just seems like a bit of a stretch,” she explains.

His sixty-year-old parents do seem a bit far-fetched. I mean, I couldn’t imagine my own mom being involved in some vicious murder. But then again, Harold Shipman, AKA Dr. Death was murdering people well into his fifties, and that couple in Missouri picked up the hobby of killing drifters in their seventies. So, age doesn’t really rule people out. If nothing else turns up, I’ll have her dig deeper into where they were when Kelly was murdered.