Ramsey took down the phone number. “Where does he work?”

“Pete’s Bar, like me.” She shoved her phone in her pocket. “Can I get you a coffee?”

“No, thank you,” Melina said. “When is the last time you saw your sister?”

“About two weeks ago,” she said. “We had lunch.”

“Do you keep up with her?”

“Yeah, I mean we try. Busy lives get in the way.”

“Was Jennifer dating anyone?” Ramsey asked.

“She dated Kyle about six months ago, but he moved back to California. He wouldn’t have hurt her. He’s such a stoner I don’t think there’s an aggressive bone left in his body.”

“What did your sister do for a living?” Melina asked.

“She was a tour guide when she wasn’t following one of her favorite bands.”

“She was a groupie,” Melina said.

“Yeah. Though she thought of herself as having higher standards.”

“Who did she follow?” Melina asked.

“I’m not sure of the latest band. It changed with her mood.”

“You said she’d been on the road?” Melina wasn’t fooled by Ramsey’s silence. He was processing every detail about Kelly and her house.

“Yeah, she’d been on tour for most of the spring, traveling around the country. She’d only just gotten back a few weeks ago. She told me the tour went fine. Sometimes groupies can cause trouble for the band, but she said this go-around it was pretty smooth. No troubles. And like I said, she has been clean and sober for the last five years.”

She and Ramsey would be meeting with the medical examiner in the morning. It was standard to run toxicology tests, which would determine if Jennifer had been truthful with her sister.

Kelly sat down on the couch and rubbed her face with her hands. “I’m still trying to wrap my brain around what you just told me. I mean, she was only thirty-nine. Shit. Can I see her?”

“I can arrange a viewing with the medical examiner,” Melina said.

Moments like this could be the most telling. Shock caught people off guard, and sometimes the masks dropped for just a few seconds, revealing the true person underneath.

Kelly reached for a crumpled packet of cigarettes on the coffee table, fished out a lighter tucked inside, and lit one. She took a long pull. “You haven’t told me how she was murdered.”

“We have to wait for the medical examiner’s report.”

“Are you telling me you won’t tell?” Kelly demanded. “You must have some idea.”

“I’d rather have the official story and let the medical examiner explain it to you,” Melina said.

Kelly inhaled and shook her head as she blew out smoke in a quick breath. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

“What was the name of the tour company where Jennifer worked?”

“Nashville Tours. She gave guided tours of the city. She could tell you anything and everything about the area.”

“Anyone on the tours give her trouble?” Ramsey asked.

“Not that she mentioned.”

“What about parents or friends we could talk to?” Melina asked.

“Dad’s been MIA since we were kids, and Mom died a few years ago. Cancer. It’s just the two of us. Me, now.” She raised a trembling finger and pressed it against her brow as if her head was throbbing.

“Do you have the name of her boss?” Melina asked.

She rose, and with the cigarette perched between her lips, she rummaged through the junk drawer of a desk until she found a dog-eared pamphlet. She handed it to Melina. “I’m not sure of his name, but you can find their offices at the end of Lower Broadway facing the Cumberland River. They’re in a small trailer, and if you arrive early or late in the day, the two red tour buses are parked out front.”

The killer they were chasing had already proven he had a particular type that Jennifer perfectly matched. Whether he had first spotted her on the tour or somewhere else, Jennifer had landed in his crosshairs and was now dead.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Wednesday, August 26, 9:00 p.m.

Melina stared at her phone, trying to read emails as Ramsey drove from Kelly Brown’s house to the active crime scene at Jennifer’s residence. She was having a hard time concentrating. Her mind kept returning to Bonnie and Sonny.

“You said earlier you had your DNA tested?” Ramsey asked.

His deep voice pulled her out of spiraling thoughts. “What?”

“DNA. Tell me again why you haven’t analyzed your results?”

“You mean why does the missing persons agent find everybody but herself?”

A half smile tugged the edge of his lips. “Basically, yes.”

“I could say that I’ve been really busy the last year, which would be true. But I’d be lying to you and myself. I didn’t want to know. My life is really good as it is.”

“You aren’t curious about your past?”

“Sometimes. But I made it a habit a long time ago after a very frustrating ancestry assignment in elementary school not to look back.” She shook her head. “All the teacher wanted us to do was build out a family tree, and I couldn’t do it.”

“When you see a mother and child and note the physical similarities, do you wonder who you look like?”

“Sure, I do. I don’t look like my parents, who are fair skinned. I also don’t share their temperament. They are fairly laid back while I’m high strung. I wonder why I like to chew ice or can’t sleep more than six hours.”

“Yeah. All that.”

“We can’t choose our family, Ramsey.”

A very slight shrug lifted his shoulder. “Knowing your genetic history isn’t always a blessing.”

“How far can you trace your family back?”

“No more than most.”

“Bet a paycheck you can go back at least three hundred years.”

“Give or take.”

She laughed. “I’m picturing a portrait gallery in some dusty home in the Hamptons.”

“It’s not dusty. We have a staff that cares for it.”

“Jesus, do you have portraits of ancestors hanging on the walls?”

“Yeah, a few. My mother is the keeper of the family tree. I’ve not had much interest in it.”

“Because it’s right there and you can see it anytime. It’s not a gnawing unknown that will always be out of reach.”

“That’s the way it is for you?”

She shrugged. “Don’t ever tell my mother, but yeah, sometimes.”

“Look at the DNA test. You might get a hit.”

“If I get any more hits like Bonnie or Sonny, I’m not sure I could stand the excitement.”

“What about genetic questions? General medical health history?”

“All important questions. But you’re searching for logic in my emotional quagmire, Agent Ramsey.”

“Logic isn’t the root of the problem.”

She pressed her fingertips to her temple. “And what is?”

“Fear. Fear of the unknown. You don’t mind the unknown in general or in other people’s lives, but you don’t like it for yourself.”

She nodded. “Makes me feel a little out of control or as if I’m standing on a shaky foundation.”

“For what it’s worth, you’re handling all this well.”

She liked the deep, rich timbre and the way the creases at the corners of his eyes deepened. “I know you’re not married. What else can you tell me about you?”

“You tell me, Agent. What do you see?”

“You want me to profile you, FBI man?”

“I can dish it out, so I better be able to take it.”

She regarded him for only a couple of seconds before saying, “You’re worried about losing your edge. It’s why you’re here. You could have sent another agent, but you came instead. Are you approaching a big birthday? What, fifty or sixty?” she teased.

“Ouch. Thirty-nine and one hell of a promotion. Means moving to the Washington office.”

“But you aren’t going to take it, are you?”

He was silent for a long moment. “No. Though that information is not public yet.”

“I’m a vault,” she said. “What is plan B after the bureau?”

“No idea. Which scares me almost as much as the idea of years filled with politics, congressional hearings, and budgets.”

“I have the unknown past and you have the unknown career future. Aren’t we the pair?”

“If you decide to look into those results and need help with the genealogy charts, Andy from my team is good at that kind of thing.”

He had flipped the conversation back to her, steering it away from feelings he would rather not think about. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Tackle the genealogy from a different angle,” he offered. “It’s not about you right now. Find out more about your history, prove or disprove Bonnie’s claims, and hopefully figure out who the guy is with the pickle jar.”

“I see the logic,” she said.

“And?”

“I’ll have a look at it tonight. If I have questions, I’ll reach out to Andy.”

“Glad to be of assistance.”

They pulled up to Jennifer Brown’s home and angled the car behind the state forensic van and a couple of cruisers.

During her first trip to the house, Melina had not had the time to study it closely as she had processed the controlled mayhem of the forensic team and uniformed officers doing their jobs.