“I think we need to pay Mr. Blair a visit,” I say.
We arrive at the Blair Manor, and I notice Daniel standing on the porch. He comes down the steps toward us as we approach. His hands move constantly, anxiously adjusting the sleeves of a new shirt and tucking his bracelet out of sight.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. “We've gone over the requirement for my brother to have an attorney when you question him.”
“And we've also gone over the fact that he's an adult, and he can make his own decisions. He doesn't need you to help him,” I fire back.
“This investigation is a joke. I hope you know that. You haven't come up with a viable clue about anything, and all you’re doing is harassing my brother, who is doing his best to grieve the loss of his son,” Daniel says.
“And his fiancée,” I point out.
Daniel's eyes burn into mine.
“We just found out your brother lied about his alibi. He doesn't have any proof of where he was the morning Everly died. We need to talk to him about that,” Sam says.
“Well, he's not here. He's at the office today. It's the first time he's gone back to work since everything happened.”
“Then I guess we'll drop by and wish him well for his first week,” I say.
Wasting no time, we get back in the car, and Sam drives to Michael Blair's office. We go inside, walking right up to the reception desk.
“We need to speak to Mr. Blair,” I say.
“Is he expecting you?” the receptionist asks.
“I highly doubt he is,” I say. “But you can let him know that it's Sheriff Johnson and Agent Griffin.”
She lifts a phone slowly to her face and mutters the information over the line. A few minutes later, the elevator doors across the lobby open, and Michael steps out, a concerned frown on his face. We meet in the middle of the lobby.
“What's going on here?” he asks. “You're coming to my work now?”
“Where were you when Everly died?” I ask, ignoring his protests.
“I already told you. Twice. I was at my cabin in the mountains, so I could have some time to think,” he says. “I told you to call Jared Perkins if you needed some sort of confirmation.”
“We did,” I say. “And he had some interesting things to say about your visit. Like, did you know there was a forest fire the night before she died?”
Michael’s eyes flicker over to the reception desk and then back to me.
“Come up to my office,” he says.
The elevator ride up through the tall building is tense and uncomfortable. We make our way through the building and into a cavernous office that doesn’t coincide with the personality I’ve known of him so far.
“Why did you lie to us?” Sam asks.
“I didn’t lie to you,” Michael says.
“Don’t keep going,” I tell him. “Jared Perkins had no idea you were supposed to be there for so long. Next time you want to create an alibi, at least make sure the person you’re including in it knows what’s going on. Because as far as he knew, you were just going through the worst time of your life and he thought you should stay at your cabin longer. You see, there was a fire that night before Everly died. Apparently just some campers who don’t know how to put their fire out correctly, but it spread a bit and blew a lot of smoke toward your cabin. Perkins went by to check on you to make sure it wasn’t bothering you and hadn’t reached your property. Only, you weren’t there. That means you weren’t at the cabin when she died. They set up roadblocks that kept anyone from traveling in or out of the area for almost two days.”
“This is looking really bad for you,” Sam adds. “You need to start telling the truth.”
“Alright. I wasn’t at the cabin, but I didn’t hurt Everly.”
“Where were you?” I ask.
“I can’t tell you that,” he says.
“I assure you, you can,” I tell him, irritation flaring up now. “Because if you don’t, things are just going to start looking a lot worse.”
“I didn’t hurt Everly. I loved her,” he pleads.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that,” I say.
I turn away from the desk and start leaving his office. I have no more patience for this man.
“I’m being blackmailed,” he finally blurts just before I get to the door.
That’s something. Turning around slowly, I look at him through narrowed eyes.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m being blackmailed. That’s why I didn’t tell you where I actually was. The night before Everly died, I was supposed to make a payment to my blackmailer. So I went. It was late, and I didn't feel like driving all the way back to the cabin, so I stayed in a hotel. Paid cash. I ended up getting drunk out of my mind and staying there for the next day and night. When Everly died, I was blitzed and passed out in a cheap hotel by the side of the road.”
“Who's blackmailing you?” I ask. “What are they blackmailing you about?”
“I don't know who it is. Every time I'm expected to make a payment, I get specific instructions, and I leave the money where I’m told. I’ve never seen anyone near it, and even when I’ve tried to hide and watch for it, I’ve never actually been able to catch anybody. Whoever it is, they’re blackmailing me about Everly. Her involvement in the cult. They threatened to make her association with the cult and her escape public if I didn’t pay them what they wanted, when they wanted it. I wanted to protect her, so I did it. She would have been humiliated and devastated if that came out. But it would also put her in danger. The people in the cult have threatened her and hunted her for years. Broadcasting that out to anyone who would listen would just be putting her up for sacrifice.”
“Can you prove what you’re telling us?” Sam asks.
“Of course. Everything is at my house. I can bring you there right now.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Rather than going through the ornate front door of Michael’s massive manor like we usually do, he leads us around to the back and a private entrance. We pass through a narrow white gate into a tiny courtyard that reminds me of The Secret Garden. From there, we go to a door with a small keypad beside it. He pushes aside a protective shield that covers the buttons and types in a code. The lock within the door clicks, and Michael pushes the door open.
“Do you get into the house like that often?” I ask as we step inside.
“Not really. Just when I’m specifically headed for my office or library. Usually I go to the front door.”
“But you do sometimes use this door. Like more than just every few months?” I ask.
“I suppose. It’s the one really fancy piece of technology I had added into the house other than the security cameras. When I first bought this house, I fell in love with the original woodwork and doorknobs and fixtures. All those little details you don’t think you will ever care about until you find a house you want to be in forever. Then all of a sudden, those details matter a lot. I happen to love the doorknob on this door. The only problem is, they used a very specific, very old key that was probably lost fifty years ago. There was no way to retrofit a key lock onto the door. So, in order to preserve the structure of the door and the doorknobs, I had it outfitted with an electronic lock. It only needed a few minor adjustments, and now all I have to do is put the code in and the magnets inside the door holding it closed release.
“Who else knows about this door?” I ask.
“Nobody that I know of,” he says. “People don’t go past the fence into the courtyard, and the area of the house this door leads into is my personal space. Not even Maggie goes in there. Why?”