Chapter Thirty-One
I could have left it at that and gone back to the life I had waiting for me in Phoenix. I missed my bed and plain-old-Jane routine—clients, dog training—just normal, everyday stuff, without any murderers, blackmailers, or other unsavory types lurking in the shadows.
Edwards still lingered in the latter category in my book. He had not murdered Ellen Decker, and though his limited association with her resulted in her murder and brought Decker and her father a lifetime of heartache and missed memories, he, too, had been a victim.
At last report, he continued to improve and demanded to be moved to a more suitable location for recovery—some ostentatious penthouse sweet atop one of the city’s most coveted hotels.
Danielle and I had reconnected shortly after she was release
