Twisted Innocence (Moonlighters Series Book 3) by Terri Blackstock

coworkers?
    Something about the uncomfortable look on Brittany’s face told Holly there was more. “So what’s going on? Is he in some kind of trouble?”
    “He didn’t do what they’re saying.”
    Holly tried to look irritated. “And that would be . . .”
    The girl wasn’t buying it. She looked over her shoulder, as if looking for her boss. Then she turned back to Holly and leaned on the counter. “Who are you?”
    Holly thought of lying, but she wanted to see if her name got a reaction. “I’m Holly Cramer.”
    Brittany stopped wiping and stared at her. “You had the baby.”
    Holly felt the blood draining from her face. So he had told others. A guy who didn’t care, who wasn’t going to intrude on her life, would have kept it to himself, maybe even denied that he could be the father. But someone who shared it with a confidante . . .
    “He told you that?”
    “Yes, last week. He said it was a girl. What do you want? Child support, when you didn’t even bother to tell him he was a father?”
    “No, that’s not why I’m here.” Holly’s lips tightened, and she reached into her purse for her cash. She slid the cost of the drink across the table. “I just want to know what his intentions are.”
    “Who knows? They’re trying to nail him with a murder rap.”
    “Murder?” Holly asked, trying to look surprised.
    “He hasn’t been charged with anything. Not yet.”
    Holly slid off her stool. “Do you know how I can reach him?”
    “Of course not.” That was all. The speed with which sheanswered made Holly think she was lying. This girl knew where he was. Maybe she would lead her to him.
    Holly went back out and sat in her car. Brittany probably worked the dinner shift. Maybe Holly could come back later and see where she went after work.
    While she waited, Holly drove to Creed’s parents’ address. Surprisingly, it was in a nice middle-class neighborhood, where people took pride in their lawns and homes. She found the address and slowed as she drove past. There was one car in the open garage, another in the driveway. She wrote down their tag numbers, then drove around the block.
    As she approached the house on her second drive-by, she saw that someone was walking to the car in the driveway. Dark hair, same height as Creed, but twenty-five years older. Creed’s dad? The man was clean-cut, dressed in a T-shirt and khaki shorts. As she drew closer, a blonde middle-aged woman came out of the house and got into the passenger seat.
    Holly pulled into a driveway a few houses up from them, idled there a moment. When the Kershaws had pulled out of their driveway, she followed them. Hopefully they would think she had picked up a neighbor, if they noticed her at all.
    Would his parents know where he was staying? Would Creed have dared to tell them? Maybe they were paying for a hotel or something. Surely they were worried about their son’s situation.
    But no—hadn’t the two Southport cops told her that his parents had called them, worried about suicide? Maybe they were in the dark about where he was.
    When Creed’s parents reached an athletic park with several baseball fields, she followed them in and parked at a diamond adjacent to the one they went to. She watched as they went tothe bleachers of a smaller field, where little kids gathered with their parents for a T-ball game.
    She got out and crossed the field to the game. Creed’s parents stood apart from the stands, their expressions grim. They both looked tired, as if they hadn’t been sleeping, but when a little boy called out, “Grandma! Grandpa!” their expressions changed. They smiled as he ran to them for hugs.
    As the boy went to join his team, a younger man and woman—the boy’s parents, probably—talked quietly with the Kershaws. Holly took a seat on the bleachers as they set up lawn chairs away from the others. She couldn’t hear them talking, but Mrs. Kershaw wiped tears, then hugged the young woman. Creed’s sister?
    She sat for