Two patrol cars were off to the side, lights flashing.
An ambulance was parked in the center of the street, lights also flashing.
Maisie skidded to a stop, threw open the car door, and ran.
In the center of the chaos, between the two cars, was the one thing she didn’t want to see: Stuart’s bike.
CHAPTER 22
“Maisie, I need you to forget about everything else going on here and listen to me right now,” MacDougal said. “Can you do that? Can you listen?”
She couldn’t.
She couldn’t do anything except stare at Stuart’s mangled bike, stare at the sticky, wet blood that had seeped into the cracked asphalt like a crayon melted by the sun.
Blood.
There was a lot of it.
Enough to indicate someone had died here. But whom?
Stuart?
Someone else?
The driver of the coupe perhaps.
Yes, it had to be.
“Maisie?” MacDougal repeated. “Are you listening?”
The ambulance’s siren whined down the road while Maisie watched in stunned silence, unsure about whom was inside.
MacDougal placed a hand on her arm. “Maisie. Let’s talk. Okay?”
The tone of his voice was different today. Soft. Warm. Sympathetic.
Revealing.
“Why are you here? Why are you here instead of officers?”
He pointed at two officers standing by the SUV. “I’m not the only one here. See? I was on my way to work, saw the crash, and stopped to check things out.”
Maisie pointed. “That bike. It’s Stuart’s.”
MacDougal stepped in front of her, blocking the bike from her view. He wrapped his hands around her shoulders, stared into her eyes. “You’re right. It is Stuart’s bike.”
“What happened here? Where is he? In the ambulance? Is he hurt? How bad? I need to go to the hospital. I need to see him.”
“It was a college kid.”
Maisie moved a hand to her hip. “What do you mean? I wasn’t asking about a college kid. I was asking about Stuart.”
“I’m trying to explain what happened. A college kid was on his way to class this morning. His cell phone slipped off the seat. He reached down to pick it up, ran a red light, and smacked into the SUV. Then the SUV slammed into the car, and the car slammed into Stuart.”
She pointed at the pavement. “And the blood? Whose blood is this?”
MacDougal didn’t answer.
“I said whose is it?”
“I’m so sorry, Maisie.”
She slammed a fist onto MacDougal’s chest, once, then again, and again. “Don’t be sorry! I don’t need your sorry! I don’t need anyone’s sorry! I need Stuart! Alive!”
CHAPTER 23
Two days later, Maisie woke to the sound of rubber soles squeaking along her hardwood floor. It was a vile, despicable noise.
Squeak. Squeak. Stop.
Squeak. Squeak. Stop.
She opened her eyes, noticed Maude several feet away, hunched over, picking up empty, miniature-sized bottles of alcohol scattered along the floor and tossing them into a metal wastebasket.
“Could you be any louder?” Maisie asked. “I was sleeping.”
Maude stopped, stood, and glared at her sister. “You’re rude.”
“And you’re not? Why can’t you leave me in peace? I didn’t ask you to come over.”
“I’m trying to help, Maisie, which, from the looks of things, you clearly need.” Maude threw the last of the bottles into the wastebasket, pulled the bag out, and tied it off. “I’m going to toss this in the garbage can outside. I made you some breakfast. It’s in the microwave. Just needs to be heated. Maybe you should consider adjusting your attitude while I’m outside.”
Maude walked away. Maisie sat up, waited for her sister to return. “Thanks for coming over. It was nice of you. You didn’t have to though. I’m fine.”
“Whatever you say.”
Maisie walked into the kitchen, heated the plate of scrambled eggs, and sat at the kitchen table. Maude pulled out a chair and sat across from her.
“You’re not eating?” Maisie asked.
“Already did about an hour ago. How are you feeling today?”
Maisie stabbed a forkful of eggs. “I don’t want to talk about Stuart.”
“I didn’t mention Stuart. You did.”
“I need to call his daughter today, see how she’s doing and when they plan to have the funeral.”
Maude nodded, said nothing.
“She’s a delightful girl,” Maisie said. “Stuart did a great job raising her. His wife wasn’t ever around much when they were married. I suspect it’s one of the reasons they divorced.” Maisie squinted, peered out the dining room window. “Speaking of meddling ex-wives ...”
“What is it? What do you see?”
Maisie squinted, looked through the kitchen window. “It can’t be. I can’t believe this. She has some nerve!”
“Maisie, what’s wrong?”
Maisie shot out of the chair, walked to the counter and fumbled through a kitchen drawer, pulling out a thick wooden spatula.
Maude followed close behind. “Are you going to clue me in about what’s going on?”
“It’s not a what. It’s a whom. Stuart’s ex-wife Karen. Whatever she’s doing at Stuart’s house right now can’t be good, and I won’t stand for it.”
CHAPTER 24
“Stop right there.” Finger pointed, voice sharp, Maisie approached Stuart’s ex-wife. “Put the box down.”
Karen, who was twice Maisie’s size, looked down at Maisie and laughed. “Put the box down or what? You’ll smack my hand with your little wooden spoon?”
Spoon raised, Maisie replied, “Care to find out?”
Karen shook her head and kept walking like Maisie wasn’t even there. She reached her car and slid the box inside along with several others. When she turned around and headed back to the house to repeat the ritual, Maisie reached inside Karen’s car, removed the box Karen had just put in, and set it on the ground. “Unload it. All of it. Or I will.”
Angered, Karen whipped around, hips swaying from side to side as she made her way back to the car. She slammed the trunk closed and bent down, trying to pick up the box Maisie had just discarded. Before she was able to get her hands on it, Maisie’s spoon cut through the air, smacking Karen in the back of the neck.
“The box stays,” Maisie said. “All the boxes stay. These are Stuart’s things, not yours.”
“How dare you strike me!”
“How dare you think you have the right to lay claim on what doesn’t belong to you.”
“Stuart’s dead.”
“No shit,” Maisie said.
“He won’t be needing this stuff anymore.”
“Still doesn’t give you the right.”
Karen shrugged. “We were married for sixteen years.”
“I don’t care if you were married for sixty years. You weren’t granted these items in the divorce. They’re no longer yours. They belong to your daughter. And just so you know, I spoke to her before I came over, and she’s on her way here right now.”
“It’s just like you to get involved, Maisie. I should have known.”
“You’re right. You should have.” Maisie aimed the wooden spoon at the trunk. “Now, are you going to remove the rest of these boxes, or do I have to do it for you?”
Car keys gripped in hand, Karen made a mad dash for the driver’s seat of her car. Anticipating the move, Maisie cut her off with the assistance of her well-placed foot. Karen lurched forward, then fell, her hands scraping against the asphalt as she went down. The keys flew out of her hands, dropping to the ground right in front of Maisie, who snatched them up and slipped them inside her pocket. She returned to the back of the car, popped the trunk, and removed the next box. As she turned to set it down next to the other box she’d just removed, an enraged Karen swung at Maisie, missing her altogether, and i
nstead knocking the box out of Maisie’s hands. The box went flying.
A white Subaru sped into the driveway, the driver’s-side door opening before the car had even come to a complete stop. Stuart’s daughter Tanya got out, glared at Karen, and said, “Mother, how could you?”
With nothing left to do except behave like she was an innocent victim, Karen said, “I’m sorry honey. I just wanted to help you out. I didn’t think you’d want all your dad’s stuff. You’re going to need help cleaning the house out, and I thought I’d get a head start. I know his death has been hard for you. Can’t you see I just wanted to help?”
Tanya crossed her arms in front of her. “You didn’t want to help. You wanted to get your hands on dad’s things while you could. Unbelievable!”
“Don’t be so angry with me, honey. I just told you, I was only—”
“Leave. Now.”
“Come on, sweetheart. Whatever Maisie said to you on the phone, it isn’t true. Think about it.”
Tanya shook her head.
Maisie pulled the keys out of her pocket, tossed them to Karen. “Your daughter asked you to leave. Whether you do or you don’t, it’s up to you. But if you don’t, I’m calling the police.”
CHAPTER 25
Maisie sat on her front porch swing, gazing across the street at Stuart’s house. The block she lived on was quiet now—too quiet—almost like the entire street mourned the loss of Stuart right alongside her. First Lee. Now Stuart. Both of them gone in a flash, in an instant, ceasing to exist except in the mind and memories of the loved ones they left behind.
A truck turned down the street, headed in her direction. She thought it would pass, but it didn’t. It stopped along the curb in front of the house, and a man got out.
He walked up, sat next to Maisie. “How are you?”
Tired. Frustrated. So mad she wanted to take her cake knife and stab somebody with it.
“I’m fine.”
“You look tired,” MacDougal said.
She tipped her head to the side. “Since when are you making observations on how I look?”
“Since now, I guess. You sure you’re holding up okay?”
“I haven’t lost my mind over Stuart, if that’s what you’re asking. I cared for him, and I’m sorry about what happened. I’ll miss him. But all we ever were to each other was friends.”
He smiled and nodded like he didn’t believe her.
“Did you learn anything useful from Brennan?”
“Not much. The kid’s torn up over Linda. I think he has a thing for her.”
“Any new information on Linda?”
He shook his head. “It’s like she evaporated. We’ve searched her dorm, talked to her friends. No one knows anything, and no one saw anything.”
Unless someone was lying. “Seems like my porch has become your favorite hangout these days. What brings you here today?”
“Thought you might like to know we still haven’t gotten as far as we’d like to on the Marshall case, but there is a new development, thanks to the gun you dropped off.”
“Which is?”
“We’ve located the owner. The gun’s licensed and registered to a man named Allan Conrad. I talked to him this morning. He claims it was a gift he bought for his son Jayden for high school graduation a couple years ago.”
“How did it end up in the Marshalls’ backyard then?”
He shrugged. “No idea.”
“Could there be a connection between Jayden and Lane? Were they friends? Is it possible Lane was hiding the gun for him because of something Jayden did?”
“Jayden and Lane didn’t go to college together.”
“Of course they didn’t,” Maisie said. “Lane didn’t go to college.”
“They didn’t work together. They didn’t share any of the same friends. And they didn’t run in the same circles. On the surface, it appears they didn’t know each other at all. I don’t believe it though. They did. They crossed paths somehow. I’m thinking it may be through Zoey, or maybe even Linda.” McDougal stood. “I need to go. I have another appointment. I just thought I’d look in on you for a minute.”
“You’re being especially kind to me today. You’re even sharing information with me. Why?”
He reached his car, then turned back. “You found the gun. You brought it to me. I thought you deserved to know what we found out about it. No big deal.”
Maisie stepped off the porch, walked toward him. “Now wait a minute. If you don’t know what the connection is between Jayden and Lane, or Jayden and Zoey, why not speak directly to Jayden and ask him about it?”
“I can’t.”
“You mean you can’t find him, or you can’t talk to me about it?”
“I mean neither. Jayden Conrad is dead.”
CHAPTER 26
If there was ever a juicy tidbit to get Maisie’s mind off Stuart’s death, learning of the demise of Jayden Conrad was it. The gun was linked to him, which, in turn, was linked to Lane and Zoey. If Maisie or MacDougal could connect the two, there was a good chance the murder would be solved.
Knowing the quickest way to dig up dirt on a person was over the Internet, Maisie did a Google search for Jayden. Four minutes later, she located his obituary. Two minutes after that, she found a newspaper article, which made her feel like she’d won the lottery. It stated Jayden had been murdered, found dead in an alleyway behind Polygamy Pub in downtown Salt Lake City.
Details of Jayden’s death were scarce. Little was known about the manner in which Jayden died aside from the obvious bullet he’d taken to the chest. The last person to see him alive was the bartender at the pub who stated Jayden had arrived alone and left alone, staying around two hours. He’d ordered three beers, chatted with a couple females, then paid his tab. Before walking out he told the bartender he was headed home to study for a college exam he had the following day.
Less than an hour later, Jayden’s lifeless body was found in the alley by an employee who’d gone outside for a smoke break. Jayden hadn’t even made it to his car before he was attacked, leaving Maisie to wonder whether he was followed, whether someone was waiting for him to leave the bar that night. Had his death been premeditated? It sure seemed like it.
Maisie reached for her phone and dialed. On the second ring, a chipper female voice said, “Hi, this is Cora.”
“Coraline, this is Maisie.”
“Maisie! It’s been ages. How are you?”
“I’m fine. How are you?”
“Better now that you called. I thought you said you were going to stop in at the lab from time to time. It’s been six months since I saw you, at least.”
“Sorry, dear. I get busy and I forget.”
“Well, you’re welcome anytime, you know.”
“The reason I’m calling is because I wanted to ask you a few questions about Jayden Conrad.”
“Sure. What do you want to know?”
“You did his autopsy, right?”
“I did.”
“Was the bullet in his body recovered?”
“It was.”
“MacDougal is in possession of a gun I believe was the same one used to kill Jayden Conrad. Has he ordered any testing?”
There was a pause, and then, “What does any of this have to do with you, Maisie?”
“Never you mind why I’m asking. I just need a straight answer.”
“He brought me the gun, yes, and I’ve conducted various tests.”
“And?”
Another pause.
“You know I’d tell you anything. It’s just ... I haven’t even given MacDougal the results yet. I was just about to when you called.”
“You can trust me, Coraline.”
“I know I can.”
“Whatever you say stays between us. He’ll never know you told me. No one will.”
“Well ... okay. We test-fired it in water, then microscopically compared the bullet with the one we removed from Jayden Conrad’s body.”
“And? Wha
t did you make of the lands and grooves? Is it a match or not?”
“The ridges and valleys were exactly the same, Maisie. We’ve gone over and over the bullet multiple times, and there’s no mistaking the results. The gun MacDougal gave us is definitely the same one used to murder Jayden Conrad.”
CHAPTER 27
Questions stacked up, one on top of the other in Maisie’s mind, like the layers on her cakes. Was Jayden carrying his gun the night he died? And if he was, had it been taken off of him in a scuffle with another person, wherein he was accidentally shot? Or was he shot on purpose? And if he was, was it possible someone else knew about Jayden’s gun and where he kept it? Had it been stolen with the intent of killing Jayden so it couldn’t be linked back to the killer? If true, could the killer have been Lane Marshall? If so, what was his motivation?
Since the beginning of her queries, Lane had been described as a kind, non-violent person. If he was responsible for Jayden’s death, what was his motivation?
While the questions made their rounds in her mind, Maisie arrived at the home of Allan Conrad, Jayden Conrad’s father. A teenage boy came to the door when she knocked. Dressed in a muscle shirt, gym shorts, and tennis shoes, all bearing the Nike logo, he had a solid, buff physique, and the kind of arms she wanted to reach out and squeeze. He didn’t talk. He didn’t move. He just stood there, sucking on the sucker dangling from his lips.
Unsure of how best to connect with the kid, Maisie opted for a cool, laid-back approach. She crossed her arms in front of her, leaned back, and said, “Wassup?”
The boy’s head rolled back, and he roared with laughter. He removed the sucker from his mouth, pointing the sucker end at Maisie. “You’re freaking funny. Who are you here for—my mom or my dad?”
“Either one will do.”
“Well, they’re not here right now.”
He seemed nice and polite, but his dark, sleepy eyes were rough and piercing.
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