CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Riley felt an unpleasant twinge of déjà vu as she stopped the car in front of the Farrell mansion. The last time she’d been here was to interview Andrew Farrell himself. It hadn’t been an enjoyable experience.
And now he’s dead, Riley reminded herself.
“I’d forgotten how big this place is,” Bill commented, gazing at the building’s impressive arches and columns.
“You can just park the car here in the drive,” Morgan said from the back seat. She sounded tired, as though she’d lost the enthusiasm she’d displayed outside the jail.
At the front door, they were greeted by a tall, lean butler. Riley vaguely remembered him from when she’d been here in February. He’d been cold and officious back then, but now a warm smile spread across his face.
He took Morgan by the hand. “
