He fed Brody and took him out back to do his business. “What do we do now?”
Brody wagged his tail.
“Want to go for a ride and see Mr. Moore?”
The dog trotted to the front door, and Matt snapped the leash to his collar. One of the reasons Justin had chosen to rent the house near the tiny business district of Grey’s Hollow was its close proximity to his father’s auto shop. He could walk or bike to work. Justin had lost his job at the bank when he’d been charged with a felony.
Brody rode shotgun, and Matt cracked the passenger window for his sniffing pleasure. Ten minutes later, his headlights swept across the entrance to Moore’s Auto Repair. A handful of cars occupied the lot. Matt parked, stepped out of his vehicle, and waited for Brody to jump down. Matt picked up the leash, and they went into the office.
At six forty-five, business was winding down for the day. Mr. Moore stood at the register, explaining a bill to a customer. He acknowledged Matt with a wave and a worried frown before turning back to his client. Two more people waited in line to be checked out. Matt and Brody wandered to the window overlooking the actual shop. One of the four bays was empty. Two vehicles sat on lifts in the others. In the farthest from the office, a single mechanic bent under the hood of a Toyota Camry.
By seven o’clock, Mr. Moore escorted the last customer out. After locking the exterior door, he shook Matt’s hand and patted Brody’s head. “Matt, I’m so glad to see you.”
“I want to talk to you about Justin.”
“Yes, of course. I was planning to call you tonight.” Mr. Moore glanced through the glass at the mechanic, who was still working. “Let’s go into my office.” He led Matt into a cramped room with a cluttered metal desk. Mr. Moore closed the door, and Matt pulled a plastic chair to the front edge of the desk. Brody lay at his feet.
Mr. Moore’s eyes were bloodshot. He was a tall man, but his stooped posture made him appear shorter. His office chair squeaked as he collapsed into it. “The police came to see me.” His eyes misted. “I didn’t know what to tell them.”
“Tell them the truth.”
Anger flushed Mr. Moore’s face. “They act like Justin shot Erin. He would never hurt that girl. He loves her.”
“I know it.”
Mr. Moore removed his baseball cap and ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. “Justin is weak is all. He can’t kick those drugs.”
“He’s trying,” Matt said. “What happened with the gun?”
Mr. Moore bowed his head. “I don’t know. It was in my nightstand the last time I looked.”
“Do you remember when that was?”
Mr. Moore squinted at the ceiling. “A few weeks ago.”
“The gun wasn’t in a safe?”
“No. I wanted it handy.” Mr. Moore examined a line of grease under his thumbnail. He sighed, a long, heavy sound weighted with regret.
“Are you sure Justin took it?”
“No, but he was the only other person in my house recently.”
“When was Justin last there?”
“He comes for dinner a few nights a week. His budget is really tight. I can’t afford to pay him what he was making at the bank. I wish I hadn’t told the police it was missing, but they asked if Justin had access to a gun, so I checked mine. I was surprised it was gone, and I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“No, you did the right thing.”
Justin had grown up in the auto shop. He’d said he was grateful for the job, but Matt had seen him scrub his fingertips raw to get the grease stains out from under his fingernails.
“Why do you think Justin took the gun?” Matt asked.
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I didn’t tell this to the cops, but Justin was afraid.”
“Of what?” Matt asked.
“I’m not sure, but he’s been jumpy for the last week or so, checking the parking lot on the security camera feeds before he left the shop, stuff like that.” Mr. Moore propped his hand on his hip. “I didn’t tell the deputies because I was afraid Justin was buying drugs again. Should I tell them, even if it makes him look more guilty?”
“Don’t lie to the authorities, but you don’t have to volunteer information,” Matt said. “I’m going to look for Justin.”
Mr. Moore exhaled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Do you know where Justin bought his drugs?” Matt asked.
Mr. Moore shook his head. “Here’s another thing I didn’t tell the deputy: when he was using, Justin carried two phones, his regular one and one of those cheap prepaid models.”
“For buying drugs,” Matt said.
A burner, or prepaid phone, could be purchased without supplying personal information, making the user anonymous.
Mr. Moore hung his head. “That’s what I assumed.”
“Do you know if he currently has a burner phone?”
Mr. Moore looked away. “He did. He has a red case on his regular phone, and the other day I was putting out some trash and saw him using a black one in the parking lot. It looked smaller too, and it was bone-cold outside. He could have made calls from the break room or borrowed my office.”
“Did you hear any of the conversation?”
“Only a couple of words. He said, ‘Hold on, Nico,’ and waited for me to go back inside before he continued his conversation.” Mr. Moore paused, the lines in his craggy face deepening. “The only time he was ever secretive was when he was using.”
“You didn’t say this to the deputy who came to interview you?”
“No. He didn’t ask.” Mr. Moore set his cap back on his head. “I don’t know what to do, Matt. Do I trust the sheriff’s office or not? On the news, it sure seems like they’ve pegged Erin’s death on him.”
Because that’s what the evidence suggests.
“You’re in a tough spot,” Matt said. “Can you think of anywhere Justin would go if he needed to lay low for a few days?”
“I’ve been thinking about this all day, but I just don’t know. He likes to camp to clear his head, but not in this kind of weather.”
Matt made a mental note to check Justin’s garage for his camping gear. He stood. “I’ll do what I can.”
Mr. Moore wrung Matt’s hand. “Thank you. I know you’ll do what’s right.”
“Do you have a key to Justin’s house?” Matt wanted to search the premises after the sheriff’s department released the crime scene.
“I do.” Mr. Moore took a key off his own key ring and offered it to Matt. “Here.”
Matt slid the key into his pocket. Then he and Brody left the auto shop and returned to the SUV. Matt made the short drive to Justin’s house. The door was still sealed with crime scene tape. So, he couldn’t go inside. He parked at the curb.
“I’ll be right back,” he said to Brody.
He walked up the driveway and shone his flashlight through the small windows at the top of the garage door. Matt had helped Justin move in. He remembered setting boxes labeled CAMPING GEAR in the garage near the wall, next to Justin’s mountain bike. The boxes were gone.
Matt returned to his vehicle. He scratched Brody’s chest. “Where would he camp in this weather?”
Brody had no answers, and neither did Matt. Driving and hiking to Justin’s favorite spots would have to wait for daylight.
Matt pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. He paused on a name and number he hadn’t called in years. Kevin Locke. Would he even respond? More importantly, did Matt want to reconnect with his old confidential informant? Matt no longer had a badge or backup. What else was he going to do? He needed to find Justin, and he had exactly one lead to follow: the drug dealer. The clock was ticking. The fact that Justin had taken his camping gear made Matt think his friend might still be alive, but law enforcement all over the state was looking for him. When they found him, civilian and officer safety, not the suspect’s, would be the priorities, which was exactly how Matt would handle the situation if he were still a deputy.
He sent the text. HOW R U?
The response came back before he could blink. SOSO.
Same old, same old. Code for “meet me at the usual place.”
Matt drove to an industrial park on the outskirts of Grey’s Hollow. He cruised around the buildings. The warehouses closest to the street looked to still be in use, but the buildings at the rear of the complex were clearly vacant from the number of broken windows that fronted the buildings like missing teeth. The parking lot hadn’t been plowed beyond Building One. But most of the overhead lights still worked.
“He didn’t give a time,” Matt said.
Brody pricked his ears and tilted his head.
“I know.” Matt hadn’t liked dealing with CIs when he’d been an investigator. But sometimes it was necessary to deal with low-level scumbags to catch high-level scumbags, and Kevin had always been well informed.
Matt’s nerves prickled like tacks on his skin as he drove to the back of the lot and parked in the shadow of a building. The outside chill seeped into the vehicle. His hand ached from the cold. He removed heavy gloves from the rear seat pocket and put them on. He started the engine to warm up the vehicle twice. With his thick fur, Brody curled up on the passenger seat and went to sleep. Matt grabbed an extra fleece from the back seat and layered it under his coat. Then he settled in to wait.
CHAPTER NINE
Bree opened the front door, wiped her boots on the doormat, and stepped into the living room. The kids pushed past her and bolted up the steps to their rooms. She let them go. Adam’s house was all one room. They hadn’t had any alone time to process their mother’s death.
She dropped her overnight bag on the floor next to the steps and walked through the kitchen. Unlike Bree and Adam, with their grim moodiness, Erin had been an optimist, and her house reflected her attitude. The decor was cheerful, from the bright-yellow walls to the checkerboard floor tiles to the whimsical accents. A napkin holder in the shape of a black-and-white cow sat on the table. A cow clock hung on the wall. Unshed tears pressured the backs of Bree’s eyes. She breathed until the sensation passed.
The kids weren’t the only ones who hadn’t had the time or space to grieve Erin’s death.
Bree turned to the wide window that overlooked the barn. A light from over the door shone on the icy barnyard. She wandered around the lower level, stopping in front of a bookshelf full of framed snapshots. Bree touched the frame of a picture of Erin, Bree, and the kids standing in front of the Liberty Bell. Bree remembered Erin begging another tourist to take the picture and Bree telling her that’s how she’d get her phone stolen. Erin had left her wedding photo on the top shelf, a candid shot of her and Justin clinking champagne glasses. Women who hated or feared their exes didn’t keep their wedding pictures around.
Bree turned from the photos and returned to the kitchen. They’d missed dinner. She found a box of macaroni and cheese in the pantry and filled a pot with water to boil.
Luke walked through the kitchen and tugged on a pair of boots by the door. “I’m going out to feed the horses.”
“All right. Can you write down what they eat in case I need to do it?”
“Already written on the feed bin.”
“Great. I’ll make something for us to eat.”
He glanced back. “I’m not hungry. Maybe later.”
“OK. It’ll be here when you want it.” Bree didn’t know what else to say.
He turned and stared at her. “Am I going to school tomorrow?”
“Do you want to?”
His face was blank. “Is Kayla going?”
“I don’t know.” Bree rubbed her temple. “Why don’t we see how you both feel in the morning? If you want to take some time off, that’s fine. But if you’d rather stick to your normal routine, that’s OK too. I don’t think there’s any one right answer here.”
He looked relieved. “OK. I might go. Be better than sitting around here and doing nothing.”
Inactivity left too much time for thinking. That she understood all too well.
“You let me know,” Bree said.
“OK.” He grabbed a jacket from the coat-tree and went out back.
Bree made a mental note to contact both kids’ school counselors in the morning. She needed professional advice. Of all the things she’d done in her life, this was the one she couldn’t screw up. How these kids managed their mother’s death would stick with them for the rest of their lives.
What happens after the funeral?
Decisions would have to be made. Had Erin left a will?
Bree rubbed an ache in her forehead. She needed to go through her sister’s desk.
Would Bree have to track down the kids’ father? Thoughts of Craig Vance taking charge of Luke and Kayla sent a chill straight into Bree’s bones. Had he and Erin made any formal custody arrangement?
She doubted it. Erin had been in full avoidance mode as far as Craig was concerned. He had been her drug, and like an addict, she couldn’t be around the source of her addiction without risking a relapse.
Bree’s headache intensified. There was no point addressing the worst-case scenario until it happened. Unfortunately, that was where a homicide detective’s brain went every time. While she waited for the water to boil, she searched the kitchen drawers, but found nothing interesting. A basket of mail contained mostly bills and a few coupons, nothing abnormal. Bree turned to a whiteboard calendar mounted on the wall. Her sister had marked it with her work schedule, Luke’s basketball practices, and Kayla’s Brownie meetings. Bree stared at a square marked K violin lesson.
Bree had started playing the violin at the same age, right after her parents had died. Kayla was the exact age Bree had been. So many parallels between Erin’s kids’ lives and Bree’s past. Too many. Would they end up like Adam and her? Aloof or able to maintain only a few close personal relationships?
The water boiled. Bree cooked the mac and cheese, then went upstairs to look for Kayla. Her bedroom door was ajar. She sat on her bed, crying silently, hugging a stuffed animal that looked half pillow, half pig.
Bree tapped on the doorframe. “I made mac and cheese. Do you want some?”
Kayla shook her head and picked at a thread on the stuffed pig’s seam. Bree walked to the bed and sat down beside her. The little girl launched herself at Bree, burrowing her face in Bree’s shoulder and sobbing in great heaves. Her tears soaked into Bree’s sweater as she wrapped her arms around her niece, rubbed her back, and let her cry. Bree’s heart broke all over again.
Ten minutes later, Kayla sniffed and straightened. Bree plucked tissues from a box on the nightstand. She handed a fistful to Kayla to dry her face.
Kayla wiped her nose. “Can I sleep with you tonight in Mommy’s bed?”
“Sure, you can.” Bree had planned to sleep in the guest room. She hadn’t been prepared to use her sister’s bed, but she’d just have to deal. If that’s where Kayla wanted to sleep, that’s where they’d sleep. She thought of Luke. Had he come in from the barn? “Can you try to eat something?”
Kayla nodded and scrambled off the bed.
Downstairs, Bree filled two bowls with mac and cheese, now cold. “Can you nuke these for thirty seconds each? I’ll be right back.”
Kayla put a bowl in the microwave and pushed buttons. Bree stepped into her sister’s rubber boots by the back door. She grabbed a jacket before trudging across the backyard to the barn. The sliding door was partially open. Bree slipped inside without making any sound and walked down the aisle. The last stall door was ajar. Bree peeked inside. Luke stood next to the bay horse, his arms around its neck, sobbing into its mane.
Bree’s breath hitched. She backed away, giving Luke his privacy. At his age, he might be embarrassed. She went back to the house and ate with Kayla. The mac and cheese tasted like glue. Luke returned in a half hour, red-eyed and quiet. Bree heated his dinner without comment, but watching the kids’ misery, she’d never felt so helpless.
They were all exhausted. Luke did the
final barn check and went to bed by nine o’clock. Bree kicked off her shoes, stretched out on the bed, and turned on the TV to wait for Kayla to finish in the bathroom. Kayla emerged in her pajamas and climbed into bed.
What seemed like a second passed, and Bree jolted. A movie she didn’t recognize played on the TV. She checked the clock on the nightstand. It was just after midnight. Her sidearm dug into her hip. She’d fallen asleep in her clothes. What had woken her?
A bang sounded from somewhere in the house.
Bree’s nerves stood on end as she listened intently. Luke was probably getting a snack or a drink of water. She slid out of bed, leaving Kayla snoring softly, and tiptoed to the door in her socks. The hallway was dark, but Bree didn’t turn on any lights. She slid along the hardwood to Luke’s room and eased open the door. By the light of the moon streaming in the window, she could see his head on the pillow.
He hadn’t woken her.
She retreated to the hall. Something squeaked downstairs. The hair on the back of Bree’s neck stirred.
She drew her gun. A movement from Luke’s room caught her attention. He was standing in the doorway in flannel pajamas and a T-shirt. Putting a finger to her lips, Bree walked to him, leaned close to his ear, and said in a soft voice, “I heard something downstairs. It’s probably nothing, but stay with your sister while I make sure.”
Bree eased down the steps as Luke slipped into the master bedroom. She paused on the bottom step, then peered around the wall into the living room. Her gaze probed every dark corner of the room, but she saw nothing.
Old houses settle, right?
After checking the coat closet, she started down the short hall toward the kitchen. At the entrance, she paused, putting her back to the wall and glancing around it, careful to minimize her appearance as a target. A dark figure stood at the kitchen island. Using a small penlight, he was looking through the contents of a drawer.
The room was dark, but to Bree, the size and shape looked male. Was it Justin? She couldn’t tell.
CROSS HER HEART Page 7
