“Are you Jayden’s brother?” Maisie asked.
“Yep. Brandon. Well, I was. He’s ... umm ...”
“No longer with us. I know. They never caught the man who killed him, did they?”
“Or woman.”
“What makes you think a woman could have done it?”
“There are some crazy-ass bitches out there these days. You never know.”
He was right. And one of those crazy-ass bitches happened to be standing in front of him right now.
“Oh, sorry,” he added. “Probably rude to be swearin’ in front of you.”
She waited for the word ma’am to follow, pleased when it didn’t. “Did your brother have a lot of women in his life? A jealous girlfriend perhaps?”
“He wasn’t really the commitment type. He liked to date around. Made some girls angry though. He just laughed it off. He never thought it was a big deal, but now ...”
“Did he ever mention the names of any of the girls he was dating?”
He shook his head. “He mentioned things that happened with different chicks here and there, like when a girl freaked out on him, but honestly, I don’t even think he knew their names most of the time.”
“Sounds like your brother was a real ladies’ man.”
“Guess so.” He winked. “Kinda runs in the family.”
It seemed plausible that a girl Jayden was dating found out about another girl he’d been dating and lost it. And, if she had been in his dorm room before, she may have seen the gun and knew where he kept it. It still didn’t explain how Lane ended up dead, unless said girl had been friends with Zoey.
“What was the age difference between you and your brother?”
“Two years. I’m nineteen; he was twenty-one.”
“Did you two ever date together?”
“A few times. Why?”
“Did you ever know a guy named Lane Marshall?”
He shook his head.
“What about a girl named Zoey?”
“Mmm ... I don’t think so. Who are they?”
“They were my neighbors. Lane Marshall is dead, and Zoey Marshall is missing.”
“Right. I think my dad said something about those two. What do they have to do with my brother?”
“Let’s just say there’s a good chance Lane, and maybe Zoey, knew your brother.”
“Well, like I said, I don’t know either one of them. Plus, I think I’d remember a guy with a name like Lane. Pretty soft for a guy. Wonder what his mom was thinking.”
She was most likely high, which meant she wasn’t.
“Right before your brother died, was he having any problems with any of the women he was dating?”
“He always had problems with the women he was dating. They fought over him.”
“Were any of the girls worse than the others?”
He popped the sucker back in his mouth and swished it around, thinking. “You know something, there was this one girl he thought was harassing him. I think he called her Brittany.”
“Did he tell you her last name?”
“Think it was something like Carr or Farr.”
“What happened with her?”
“I dunno. He just thought she was messing with him.”
“What did she do?”
“He saw her at a football game. She was giving him dirty looks, and then when he left the game, all four of his tires were slashed.”
“How did he know? Did he see her do it?”
“No, but he said he knew it was her.”
“Did he tell the cops?”
He shook his head.
“Why not?” Maisie asked.
“He didn’t want to get them involved.”
“What about your parents?”
“My dad asked about it, but my brother said he didn’t know who did it.”
“So your brother lied.”
“Guess so.”
“Why didn’t you tell your father?”
“Jayden said to leave it alone, so I did.” A car sped into the driveway. A teenage boy put his window down and said, “Let’s go.” He grabbed a football from the table beside him, shut the front door, and hopped in the car with his friend.
Maisie walked up to the car. “One last question please.”
“Shoot.”
“Who was your brother’s roommate at school?”
“His name was Kyle.”
“Kyle what?”
“Kyle Grady.”
CHAPTER 28
Kyle Grady. It wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Could it? Pondering what she knew so far on the way back to her car, a shiny, red pickup truck pulled into the driveway and slowed to a stop. A man looked in Maisie’s direction, then hopped out. He was older, not as old as she was, but looked about the age of her son, and he had a similar build to Brandon, which lent to the assumption of him being Brandon’s father. She stopped a moment, considering whether she wanted to have a conversation with him, then decided against it. It was getting late, and she was tired. Stuart’s funeral was the next morning. Mr. Conrad would have to wait until later.
She unlocked her car door, but didn’t get in, instead pausing while the man in the red truck made his way over to her. He was handsome and polished in his slate gray suit, and pretty. Too pretty for her liking. He held his head higher than most, showing off a classic air of prestige she was used to seeing in men like him.
“Excuse me,” he asked. “Can I help you?”
“That depends. Are you Allan Conrad?”
He stuck a hand out. It was a bit formal in her opinion, but she shook it anyway.
“I’m Allan. Who are you?”
“Maisie Fezziwig.”
“Any relation to Mayor Fezziwig?”
She nodded. “He’s my son.”
“Good man. What brings you to my house?”
“I was looking for you or your wife, but since neither of you were home, I ended up talking to your son for a few minutes.”
“Why?”
“I’m interested in what happened to your son, and the connection it might have with the murder that happened on my street this week.”
“You’re talking about the Marshall kid, right?”
She nodded. “They haven’t caught the person responsible. They also haven’t found his wife.”
“Probably dead at this point. Anyway, I fail to see how any of this relates to Jayden. How’s it connected?”
She thought about the promise she made to Coraline earlier. “I’m not sure yet, but I believe your son knew Lane or Zoey Marshall, or maybe even both of them.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Again, I’d like to know how you came up with your theory. I’ve never heard of either one of them until I heard what happened.”
“If you want answers, you should call the police, see if they have any updates.”
He laughed. “Updates? I’ve pushed them as far as they could be pushed, pressed every button, squeezed every last bit out of them, thinking maybe, just maybe, they’d find my son’s killer.”
“Just because they haven’t found the person responsible doesn’t mean they still won’t.”
“They’ve found nothing. They’ve done nothing. And I’m sitting here having to accept a bunch of loser cops who will never get justice for my son. And now you, standing here, making observations with nothing to back it up. You know something, and yet, you won’t say what that something is.”
He was as arrogant as he was observant. “I have some information, but I can’t share it yet.”
“If you’re not going to be straight with me, you can leave. I don’t have time for games.”
“This isn’t a game. It’s me giving my word to someone and keeping it. I didn’t say I’d never tell you. I said not yet. There’s a difference. I get the feeling you’re used to getting your way, used to people doing what you want when you want them to do it. I suppose it’s time someone told you no.”
And she was more than happy to be the one to
do it.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, tapping his polished shoe on the asphalt. “I think you should leave.”
He could think anything he wanted. Didn’t mean she’d comply. “No. I don’t think I will.”
“Excuse me?”
Maisie shut the car door. “I said no. You do understand the meaning of the word, don’t you?”
“You’re leaving if I say you’re leaving. Get off my property.”
“I’m not on your property. I’m in front of it, on the street, the public street. I wonder ... did Jayden share your temper? Is that why he was killed?”
He clenched his jaw, pivoted, and walked toward his house. She may not have known why he’d become so agitated, but she’d definitely struck a nerve.
CHAPTER 29
Dressed in a tank top, leggings, and lime-green running shoes, Maisie stepped onto a treadmill at a gym Kyle Grady frequented and did her best to blend in. She despised gyms, and gym equipment, and tight spaces crammed with smelly people. She preferred to exercise outdoors, in the open, with fresh air and fewer humans.
Kyle exited the men’s locker room. Standing at a height of about six foot five, he was slender, yet toned, and sported dark-brown, feathery hair and a goatee. Gym bag in hand, he headed outside. Maisie hopped off the treadmill and crossed the room, meeting him at the front door. He smiled, pushed the door open and allowed her to walk outside first.
“Thank you,” she said. “You look familiar to me.”
“Really? I don’t think we’ve met.”
“You’re Kyle Grady, aren’t you?”
He nodded.
“Lane and Zoey Marshall were my neighbors,” she said.
“Oh. Yeah. Guess you know Lena then.”
“I do. I’ve been spending time with her family this week.”
“Me too. It’s hard seeing what she’s going through, but there’s not a lot I can do for her right now.”
“You used to be roommates with Jayden Conrad, didn’t you?”
“For a while. Why?”
“Do you know if he ever crossed paths with or knew Lane or Zoey?”
“Can’t say for sure, but I don’t think so. I mean, he probably saw them around campus. Well, Zoey, not Lane, since he wasn’t in school. Why?”
“I was just wondering. I heard they knew each other, and it’s just odd to me how he was murdered recently and now Lane has been murdered. I can’t help but think it isn’t a coincidence.”
He scratched the side of his head, looking confused and worried. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“When you were dating Lena, was she ever in your dorm room, or somewhere Jayden and Zoey would have interacted together?”
“Don’t think so.” He jangled his car keys in his hand, stared out into the parking lot, appearing nervous. “Well,” he said, “I gotta go.”
Maisie opened her mouth to push even harder, but never got the chance. Kyle sprinted across the parking lot and got into his car. Ten seconds later, he was gone.
CHAPTER 30
At a quarter past four the next morning, Maisie threw the blankets to the side and rose from bed. She’d been awake for over two hours, festering over Stuart’s funeral, which was to be a bit later in the day. Her insides were knotted and tight, like a heavy weight she couldn’t lift no matter how hard she tried.
Deciding fresh air was what she needed, she did something she hadn’t done in a long time—she pumped up the tires on her bike and hauled it out of the garage. It wasn’t grand or fancy like Stuart’s mountain bike. In fact, it wasn’t even a mountain bike at all. It was a turquoise and white beach cruiser with orange accents and a silly wicker basket attached to the front.
Riding a bike again after so many years was almost like riding for the first time. It made her anxious at first, but once she’d made it down the street in the dark, the jitters faded away, and a sense of peace set in. Peace she hadn’t felt in the last week. It was almost like Stuart was right there, riding along with her, like he wasn’t really gone.
An hour of fresh, clean mountain air later, a weary but refreshed Maisie rode back into her driveway like a seasoned pro. She hopped off the bike, set it against the side of the house, and eyed the garage door. It was open, which was a huge red flag. She’d closed it when she left. She was sure of it. Not wanting to jump to any premature conclusions, she considered the fact that the garage door had needed to be replaced for some time now. On occasion it had a tendency to pop back open once it was shut.
The open garage door could be explained away, but something else could not.
The light in the garage was off.
And she’d left it on.
Erring on the side of caution, Maisie didn’t enter the house through the garage like she would have normally done had everything seemed all right. She crept onto the porch, punched the code in on her front door, went to her bedroom, and returned out the same door, pistol in hand. She entered the garage. All was quiet. And given the fact she always kept it clean and tidy, if someone had been inside, they weren’t there any longer. There was no clutter for anyone to hide behind, no nook or cranny to crawl into, save one: her unlocked car.
It was now a few minutes shy of six a.m., not yet light, but dawn was creeping in. Gun pointed toward the car, she flicked the switch on the wall, and the overhead light sparked on. It was then she confirmed she wasn’t alone. From her vantage point behind the car, she made out the silhouette of a person sitting in the front seat.
“Whoever you are, open the door and step out,” she said.
No movement.
“I said now. Get out of my car.”
She waited. Nothing happened.
“Fine. Don’t get out. But hear my words. You’re trespassing on my property, which gives me the right to shoot you if I so choose. And you should know, when I do shoot, I never miss.”
Still nothing.
She wanted to be tough, the steely ball of female badass she usually was, but she was also something else, something she didn’t feel often—afraid.
With slow, methodical steps, Maisie approached the car, her gun raised, ready to fire at the slightest movement of the person inside. In her haste, she realized she’d left her cell phone in the house, and she regretted not calling the police. Now, two feet away from the driver’s-side door, Maisie caught her first glimpse of the person inside the vehicle. It wasn’t a man. It was a woman, a petite woman, with a long mane of blond hair. None of it made any sense.
And then ... a sense of familiarity.
She took one more step closer.
No.
It couldn’t be.
Could it?
One more step and she was there.
She cupped her hands looked inside.
“Zoey!”
Maisie yanked the car door open, grabbing hold of Zoey’s shirt, yanking her forward. “Zoey! Say something!”
Zoey’s head slumped to the side, allowing Maisie to see the photograph pinned to the left side of her chest. It was a picture of Maisie in the Marshalls’ backyard, at the very moment she had pulled the gun from Caesar’s doggy grave.
Someone had been watching her.
But whom?
And for how long?
And ... was she being watched now?
She whipped around, the gun in her hand aimed left, then right, canvassing the street for any other signs of life, but there weren’t any. A wave of nervous anxiety spread throughout her body. She breathed in, centered herself, focused, then returned her attention to Zoey and the note pinned to the right side of her body.
A warning.
Mind your business, Maisie Fezziwig, or you’ll be next.
CHAPTER 31
“She hasn’t been dead long,” Maisie said. “She was still fairly warm to the touch when I first discovered her.”
“What are you thinking?” MacDougal asked.
“My best guess? Less than three hours.”
“You know we’ll need to process your car, ri
ght?”
“Yes, I know.”
MacDougal poked his head inside the car, looked around, then shifted his focus to Zoey. “She looks pretty rough, banged up.”
“It’s not like she was hit though, or smacked around. She doesn’t look like she was abused. It’s almost like her wounds were self-inflicted. Look at the cuts on her fingers. Six out of ten fingernails are broken.”
“You thinking she was trying to claw her way out of something?”
“The back of a car, a coat closet perhaps, maybe a room she was trapped in. She’ll need to be checked for rape, and Coraline should test her clothing, scrape her nails, get some swabs. Maybe something under those nails will give us a clue about where she’s been.” She paused, then said, “I mean, give you a clue.”
She was rambling, overstepping, talking to MacDougal like he didn’t know how to do his job, even though he did. Even more surprising was him not trying to stop her. No snarky comments were made. No reprimands. No quick comeback. Nothing. He’d become soft in recent days.
“You know, I just don’t get it. This guy, assuming the person we’re dealing with is a man and not a woman, keeps Zoey for several days and then stages her body inside your car while you’re out for a bike ride. Unbelievable.”
Maisie shrugged. “Crazier things have happened.”
“Have they? I’m not so sure.”
“My guess is he was planning on dropping her off on my lawn or on my porch as a good morning surprise. But when I left to go on a bike ride, it’s possible my garage door reopened, so he changed his mind, and decided to place her inside my car instead.”
“Yes, but why bring the body to you? What statement is he trying to make? We’re investigating the murder, and he hasn’t threatened us with letters or demands. He hasn’t dropped any dead people on our doorstep.”
“Your doorstep is monitored by surveillance cameras. Mine isn’t.”
An oversight she’d soon change. She’d always thought owning a weapon or two was enough. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
“Still, aside from the fact you’re the nosiest woman I know, or will ever know, why you? We’ve interviewed all the same people you have, and before you say you haven’t been talking to anyone and everyone about this case, don’t bother. I know you have.”
A View to a Kill Page 49
