Grant let a curse slip under his breath. “Get her out of this, Mitch.”
“Believe me, I’m trying. She’s not making it easy. She refuses to save herself and potentially incriminate someone else.”
He sucked in a breath as he shook his head.
“At least she doesn’t lunge across the table at the police like you do.”
“That’s no consolation. How much longer is this going to take before they do anything?”
“Hard to say. ME’s initial report could take hours.”
Grant’s jaw clenched as he shook his head, the feeling of powerlessness surging inside him. Mitchell’s gaze fell over his shoulder, his eyebrows knitting.
“What?” Grant asked, twisting to glance behind him. His posture stiffened as he spotted Worthington. What was his butler doing here? Maybe carrying a message from Alex Stone.
Grant crossed to him. “Worthington?”
“Yes, sir. I am here to help.”
“Help?”
Worthington’s jaw clenched as he curled his fingers into fists. “Yes, sir. You see, I believe I can…clear up this matter with Mrs. Harrington.”
“How?” Grant screwed up his face.
“It seems, sir, that Mrs. Harrington visited Mrs. Knight shortly after six. However, I visited her just before seven. She was alive when I entered that apartment. So, you see, Mrs. Harrington cannot be the killer.”
Grant’s stomach twisted as he stared at the man. Worthington had confronted Lydia? Could he have killed her, or had it been Sierra?
His heart sank as questions raced through his mind. The idea of letting a man who’d become part of their family take the blame tore at him. The weight of the decision pressed down on him like a physical burden as one final questioned blazed through his mind: could he let Worthington take the rap for his daughter?
CHAPTER 16
JULIA
Julia slid down into the chair as the detectives eyed her across the table. She swallowed hard, her resolve crumbling under their intense gazes.
Mitchell cleared his throat as he settled into the chair next to her. “Gentlemen, let me be clear that Mrs. Harrington is not admitting any guilt in this situation.”
“But she’s not claiming innocence either,” the detective said.
“Would it matter if she did?” Mitchell asked as he tapped his pen on his pad. “What questions do you have?”
“Did you kill Lydia Knight?”
“Don’t answer that,” Mitchell barked.
Julia chewed her lower lip, her mind a whirlwind of fear and resolve. Each question from the detective felt like a weight on her shoulders. She fought the urge to shout her innocence, to scream, about injustice but the image of Sierra’s face, so young and already so burdened, kept her quiet.Protect her.
Her thumb rubbed her wedding ring, a constant reminder of the reason why she was sitting in this position.
“All right, I’m going to go ahead and assume you did. So, let’s work through the evening, here, shall we?”
“Is there a question in there, detective?” Mitchell offered the man an unimpressed glance.
“What time did you leave the house when you went to Mrs. Knight’s?” he asked.
“Uh, around twenty after five.”
