Detective Jensen nearly slammed his notebook to the forest floor. The forensic tech would take hours combing the misbegotten turquoise van for the merest possibility of clues.

Brain spinning, he thought of the grisly murder at the townhouse. What woman did such a thing?

Where was she? Not here.

But she obviously knew enough to distract them with the stupid van.

Wait! The van didn’t have clues. It was the clue.

…And someone close by restored vintage vehicles. Always had a slew of them hanging around his property.

“Charley!” The forensic tech jogged over. “Where’s your wife?”

He blanched. “I don’t know.”

Jensen quirked an eyebrow, looking steadily at the man.

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