One Last Breath by Sarah Sutton (macos ebook reader .TXT) 📕

open. Mr. Brennan looked startled as he quickly sat up straight, trying to regain his balance and not fall out of the car.

“Where’s Sofia?” Warren barked at him.

Mr. Brennan stared up at him in drunk confusion. “Who?” he muttered.

Warren grabbed her picture from the envelope that was found in the filing cabinet and forced it in front of his face. “Her,” Warren said brusquely.

A look of shock crossed his face. His eyes opened wide with fear. He hadn’t expected them to find those pictures. At first he didn’t answer, swaying slightly back and forth, still trying to hold himself upright. Warren asked him again. He hesitated, but his mouth opened. He was about to say something, but before the words could form, his face turned a shade paler. Tara could see sweat had broken out on his forehead. He continued to sway. He was about to be sick. Warren sensed it too and stepped back just in time as Mr. Brennan hurled all over the ground where Warren just stood.

Warren rolled his eyes as he turned to Tara. “He’s going to need to sober up before we ask him anything.”

Tara agreed. “I say we talk to his daughter in the meantime,” she suggested. They both knew it was likely she held answers. Warren nodded as he made his way to driver’s side of the car.

As he opened the door, he looked over the hood. “Let’s drop him off, and then we’ll go pay his family a visit.”

Chapter Eighteen

A row of condos came into view as Warren neared the end of the road. They had already dropped Terry off at the station. The cops there were helping them by trying to get him to sober up. They had also handed his keys off to forensics, and Tara assumed they were now over at his apartment complex, combing through his vehicle for anything of substance.

Now, Tara and Warren were nearing the home of Mrs. Brennan and her daughter. Unlike Terry’s complex, this one was on a nice side of town, sitting on a dead-end street, facing the beach. They pulled into the parking lot. A glare reflected into Tara’s eyes, and she turned to see two young children riding their bikes around in circles as a father helped one of them gain their balance. Light reflected on the metal rims each time they turned into the sun. Tara smiled. It was refreshing to see a positive parental relationship, when she knew very well she was about to speak of a troubling one.

Warren parked, and they were soon standing two doors down from the father and children. Tara could feel his eyes on them as Warren pressed hard on the doorbell and they waited. A moment later the door swung open. A middle-aged woman with short, curly blonde hair and a toothy smile was in mid-laugh as she opened it. But her face fell upon Tara and Warren standing before her. The smile simmered, replaced with a questionable glare.

“Can I help you?”

A girl moved briefly to the door, as if to check who it was, and then disappeared into the kitchen. Tara assumed it was Terry Brennan’s daughter.

“Are you Mrs. Brennan?”

The woman nodded questioningly. She wore an apron covered in white powder, and she wiped a smidge from her cheek. She had clearly been baking.

Tara flashed her badge. “We were wondering if we could speak to you and your daughter,” she started. “We know your daughter was friends with Reese Tanner. We were hoping she might be able to help us.”

The woman raised her brows in surprise. “Oh,” she said, startled. She sighed, shaking her head briefly. “It’s a shame. That poor girl. She was a sweetheart.” Her mind drifted a moment at her words, and then she abruptly looked back at Tara. “Come in,” she added as she stepped aside, opening the door wider.

The condo had a cozy feel, with family pictures neatly placed on surfaces and in frames on the walls. Tara looked at them briefly as she took a seat on the couch. They were of Mrs. Brennan, her daughter, and others, which Tara assumed were extended family. Not one picture had Mr. Brennan in it. A wooden sign hung over the frames with the words Home, Sweet Home etched into it.

Mrs. Brennan took off her apron as she walked into the dining room and placed it over a chair.

“I’m sorry, my daughter and I were just baking. My niece’s birthday is tomorrow.” She was talking to Tara and Warren, but she was now in the dining room, facing the kitchen. “Julie,” she called as she waved her hand for her daughter to come near. A shy-looking teenager moved to the doorframe. She locked eyes with Tara from across the room. She suddenly blushed and her eyes fell to her feet. She wore an apron too. She took it off, laying it over her mother’s before pushing her pin straight hair behind her ear and sitting on a loveseat across from them. Her mother sat next to her.

“Reese used to come over quite often, actually,” Mrs. Brennan said as she looked from Julie to Tara and Warren.

Julie was staring at the floor. She bit her lip at her mother’s words, trying to control her emotion. It was clear just from her sitting there that Reese’s death had really shook her up.

“You two were close?” Tara asked.

Julie’s eyes moved to Tara, and then they closed as they began to well up. She sighed and nodded. “We were.” Her voice shook slightly. Mrs. Brennan grabbed her hand.

“Do you have idea who would’ve wanted to harm her?” Tara asked. She and Warren already had their theory, but she wanted to see what Julie would say. Julie thought for a moment before sharing a brief look with her mother, but then she looked back at her feet and shook her head. In only confirmed that Julie didn’t instinctively suspect her father of murder, even though she knew he was violent. But it