“I thought I saw another car parked there the other night.” He motioned down the street. “I don’t know if it was anything or not. But that’s why I was watching closely and saw you.”
“Did you tell the police what you saw?”
“Oh yeah. I want them to find out what happened to Trent. He didn’t deserve it.”
“He didn’t,” she said. “Did he talk about being scared of anyone, or about anything weird going on?”
“He seemed a little edgy the last month or so, not quite as talkative. He just said he was really busy.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if something else was going on or not.”
“That’s what I hope to find out.”
Fred looked up and down the street, then back at her. “Well, Jo, good luck. You need anything, I live there.” He pointed to the house next door to Trent’s.
“Thanks.”
He started walking down the street, and when he reached the cross street, he looked all around, then sauntered around the corner and vanished.
Fred had been helpful, and she wondered whether she could talk to him again. He seemed to be a cautious man, though, and she wondered if he’d think twice about talking to her and end up calling the police. He was sharp, and she knew he’d taken in everything—the license plate and make and model of her vehicle, and her description. If he did report their conversation, when would the police start to focus on her?
She pursed her lips. If they hunted her down, she wanted to have answers before then.
Jo hurried to the Escape and pulled away from the curb. Once she’d made it a few blocks away, she googled Melanie Gorman. Finding an address, she started the car up again and headed that way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Melanie Gorman lived in a small tan-brick house in a quiet neighborhood half an hour’s drive from Trent Fontenot’s. As she’d been doing the last couple of days, Jo parked several houses away and surveilled the area carefully before deciding it was safe for her to talk to the woman.
She got out of the SUV and walked down the block, still alert. The sky was a crisp blue, the warm sun refreshing. Few cars were around as she crossed the street and approached the house. She stood on a porch shaded by a huge oak tree and rang the doorbell. Moments later, she saw a shadow pass by the lone front window, and then the door opened.
“Melanie Gorman?” Jo asked the woman who answered.
“Yes. Who are you?”
Jo took a second to study her. Melanie was tall and sturdy, with a few extra pounds, but it was obvious she had muscle, too. Her long, dark hair was cascading around her shoulders, and she wore shorts and a T-shirt. Jo was drawn to her eyes, red-rimmed and puffy. Jo hated to disturb her in these circumstances, but it couldn’t be helped.
“My name is Jo. I know this isn’t a good time, but I’d like to talk to you about Trent Fontenot.”
Melanie dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex. “I talked to the police yesterday.”
She thinks I’m an investigator, Jo thought. It was the opportunity she needed, so she rolled with it.
“I have a few more questions about Trent’s death. It’s a difficult time, but it’s important.”
Melanie motioned with the Kleenex. “Come in.”
She led Jo into a tiny living room and had her take the loveseat, while Melanie sat on a couch by the front window. The sound of a TV drifted in through a doorway that led to a kitchen. A marmalade cat stared at Jo for a moment, then moseyed away.
Melanie sniffled and looked at Jo, her whole demeanor tired and listless. She hadn’t asked Jo for any ID, any proof that she was with the police. Jo chalked that up to the woman’s weary state. She didn’t know how long it might be before Melanie figured out she wasn’t with any law enforcement agency, so best to hurry with her questions.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jo began.
Melanie nodded. “I’m still in shock. I couldn’t go to work, and I haven’t left the house.”
“You’re a nurse?”
“Yes.” She grimaced. “I can’t believe Trent’s . . . dead. I was stunned when I heard what happened, like my whole world was turned upside-down. I don’t even know what to say.”
In other circumstances, Jo might’ve tried to build more rapport, but she sensed she didn’t have much time for that, so she launched into the direct questions. “You discovered the body?”
“Yes.” Her brow furrowed. “I went over all this with the detective the other day.”
“I know, I’m just checking again. Sometimes people forget things.”
“Oh.” That seemed to mollify her. She stared at the floor. “Trent was supposed to come over for dinner, and he was late. Sometimes that happens, when he gets called into work, but he’s good about letting me know. I texted him, and he didn’t reply. Then I tried calling. I thought he might be busy, where he couldn’t get back to me, but after a couple of hours, I was concerned, so I drove to his house. He didn’t answer the door, so I let myself in. I . . .” She gulped. “I saw his body and called 911.” She choked up and swiped at her eyes.
“What’d you do next?”
“I went to the porch. I couldn’t look at him while I waited for the police.”
“He was shot.” The news articles Jo’d read had said that, but they hadn’t given any specifics.
“Yes.” Melanie moved a hand to the back of her head. “I saw blood there, and there was more on the floor nearby. It was awful. I’ll never get that image out of my mind.”
“You didn’t touch anything, or look around the house?”
“No.”
“Did anything appear out of place?”
She nodded. “Some of the couch cushions were pulled up, like someone had moved them. The police wondered if it might’ve been a robbery gone bad.”
“Did Trent have any enemies, any issues with anyone?”
She shook her head. “Trent was a good guy. He was well-liked.”
“How long had you been dating?”
Melanie sighed. “About five years. We’d been talking about getting married . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Trent was an investigative journalist?”
“He worked the crime beat at CBS 11.”
“And before that, he worked freelance?”
“Yes. He liked the flexibility in his schedule, and he could accept the assignments he wanted, which gave him time to chase down other stories he was interested in. But it could be risky.”
“Risky?”
