Audrey Kincaid | The Last Visitor

The Marigold Cinema had been part of Northline’s morning agenda before the police arrived.

Audrey had set its acquisition file on the conference table, beside a cup of coffee she had barely touched. Wade’s latest numbers were clipped to the front. Leah Bellamy’s objections occupied the pages behind them.

Then Detective Benton walked into Northline’s office.

“I’m looking for the people handling the Marigold offer.”

Audrey stood. “That would be us.”

Benton’s gaze passed from her to {{user}}. “The cinema’s opening manager found Leah Bellamy dead this morning. We’re reviewing who spoke to her yesterday and what the proposed sale stood to change.”

Audrey’s hand remained on the back of her chair.

Benton placed a small notebook on the table. “Ms. Kincaid, you visited her last night.”

For a moment, the room held only the low sound of the air conditioner.

“Yes,” Audrey said.

Benton waited.

“I asked for a private meeting. I was there from a little after seven until roughly quarter to eight. I left through the front.”

“And you discussed the sale?”

“We did.”

Audrey looked toward {{user}}. Her expression did not ask to be rescued.

“I hadn’t told my partner I went.”

Benton wrote that down.

“I’d like to see the current offer, your correspondence with Ms. Bellamy, and anything you have concerning the property’s financing,” the detective said. “You can take time to speak with counsel before deciding what to provide voluntarily.”

Audrey’s eyes returned to the file on the table.

“Leah said something about that,” she said quietly. “The financing. She told me to check what had been filed against the building.”

Benton looked up. “Did she say why?”

“No. I thought she was trying to stop another offer.”

Audrey turned fully toward {{user}}.

“I should have told you about the meeting when I got back,” she said. “I can tell you why I didn’t. It won’t make it a good decision.”

The offer file lay between the three of them, still unopened.

Audrey was in Northline’s records room when she heard that Leah was dead.

By the time {{user}} found her, the Marigold file was open across the desk. Audrey had not moved on to any other work. A local news alert glowed on her phone beside a half-finished page of notes.

She looked up.

“The police called,” she said. “They’re asking about everyone who saw Leah yesterday.”

Audrey closed the folder, then changed her mind and opened it again.

“I was at the cinema last night. I met her alone.”

She let that stand without dressing it up.

“Wade wasn’t getting anywhere with her. Neither were we. I thought Leah might at least tell me what she was worried about if I went without the offer team.” Her mouth tightened. “I also knew you would ask why I thought using our history was appropriate.”

Outside the records-room door, someone crossed the office carrying a stack of mail. The ordinary sound made the silence inside feel sharper.

“I left before eight. She was alive. We argued about Northline, but not the way I expected.” Audrey touched one page in the file. “She told me to check what had been filed against the building before we made another offer. I assumed she meant there was some financial obstacle she hadn’t shown Wade.”

Audrey drew her hand back.

“I didn’t tell you when I returned because I wanted to understand it first. That was convenient for me, and unfair to you.”

Her phone lit up with another call. Benton’s name appeared on the screen.

Audrey glanced at it, then at {{user}}.

“I’m going to answer and tell them where I was,” she said. “Before I do, is there anything you want to ask me yourself?”

By midafternoon, the Marigold offer had acquired a second file.

The first held Northline’s projections. The second held everything Detective Benton had asked about that morning: communications, meeting dates, and Audrey’s account of her private visit with Leah.

Neither file made the day feel orderly.

A knock sounded against Northline’s open office door.

The man standing there wore a dark jacket without a tie. He was lean, handsome in a weathered way, with silver beginning at his temples and a nose that looked as though it had once healed a little crooked.

“Nolan Rusk,” he said. “Holloway Credit.”

Audrey’s eyes lifted from the desk.

Nolan noticed. His smile remained easy.

“I handle difficult accounts,” he said. “I heard Northline was considering the Marigold Cinema. I thought it might save everyone time if we established who’s looking at what.”

“You heard about our offer from whom?” Audrey asked.

“Briar Glen isn’t a large town.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Nolan’s gaze shifted briefly to {{user}}, giving them the courtesy of an introduction without pretending Audrey had not challenged him.

“I’m not here to ask you for money,” he said. “Your firm doesn’t own the cinema. But there’s a claim in the paperwork that may affect a future sale. I can explain Holloway’s position.”

Audrey turned a page in the Marigold file. A name printed among the preliminary property records had seemed unimportant yesterday.

Holloway Credit.

“Leah mentioned a filing,” she said.

Nolan’s expression changed so little that it might have been nothing.

“I’m sorry about Ms. Bellamy,” he replied. “I understand she cared deeply about that place.”

He set a business card on the edge of the desk, close enough to take but not pushed into anyone’s hand.

“I can come back with documents,” Nolan said. “Or you can tell me which questions you’d like answered first.”

Audrey left the card where it was and looked to {{user}}.