Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The interview moves into details after that—how Grant can see Lynn’s body, what will be done for the burial and funeral. Dalton switches the recording to double speed, and I can see enough to know there’s nothing useful for my purposes.

“Next we need to build a timeline for Lynn,” I say. “Question everyone in town, and find out when they last saw her. Also check whether anyone else spotted her with someone during the storm—even if someone only saw two people and can’t confirm one was her.”

“I notice you’re not specifying that you’ll do this questioning, which I hope means you’re acknowledging that you don’t need to.”

I hesitate. I want to, obviously. I’m still stinging from Grant’s jab about me taking a nap. Off-loading this on others makes me feel like one of those senior detectives I hated working with, the ones who’d sit back and let the younger detectives conduct the routine interviews and then swoop in for the major ones when we neared a solution.

But if I were my usual self, with all my energy and zero restrictions, I still wouldn’t insist on personally interviewing all seventy residents. That’s inefficient. I’d ask Dalton and Anders to help, and the three of us would canvass and then I’d fully interview anyone who had something useful to say.

The last part is the most important. I need to talk to those who have something to say.

“I’ll ask you and Will to canvass,” I say. “Tell them about Lynn’s death and question them. If anyone has anything of interest, I’ll be at the town hall, sitting on my throne, waiting to grant audiences.”

“You want a tiara, too?”

“No, just a stool for my sore feet, a roaring fire for warmth, and a sleeping dog for atmosphere.”

“Can’t promise the last, but she seems pretty tuckered out. You’ve got a good chance.”

“Excellent. Then my royal pup and I shall relocate to our throne room.”

When the last person has been questioned, Anders pokes his head in to say that he’s meeting Grant at the clinic with Dalton, so Grant can see Lynn and decide what arrangements need to be made. I feel no obligation to be there for that, so I take advantage of the break to rest my eyes for a moment and then…

I startle awake to Dalton lifting me from my chair. When I scramble, confused, he sets me back down.

“I tried,” he says. “Can I carry you home? Or you gonna insist on walking?”

I rub my bleary eyes and give my head a shake. The baby kicks twice, as if in annoyance at the sudden flurry of activity. I rub my belly, and my nerves calm at this reminder that all is well. Our baby is kicking, and I feel fine.

I roll my shoulders. Then I remember where I am and what I’d been doing, and I snatch up my notebook like a student caught sleeping during class.

“I have a timeline,” I say.

“Can it wait until we’re home?”

I shake my head. “I’d rather go over it now, in case you see anything I need to follow up on.”

He makes a show of checking his watch. “It’s almost ten, Butler.”

I peer at the window and see only darkness. “Let’s just get through this.”

He sighs and dramatically flops into a chair. “Go on.”

“The period in question starts after Thierry allegedly left Lynn in the store, before the storm hit. You and Will made a list of everyone who spoke to her before that time, in case any of it is relevant.”

“We did, and I doubt any of it is, but we have the list.”

“Okay, so Thierry leaves the store at about noon. Then we have three people who went in before the blizzard struck. Carson was picking up things for his mother while Thierry was working with Max. He didn’t speak to Lynn beyond asking for the items. He says she may have asked some questions, but he can’t remember. It was just ‘normal stuff.’”

“The annoying mundane questions grown-ups ask thirteen-year-olds, and the kids forget the conversation two seconds after it ends.”

“Yep,” I say. “Carson leaves as Yolanda is coming in. That’s from Yolanda—Carson didn’t remember it.”

“Being thirteen and trying very hard to ignore the grown-ups.”

“Yolanda is looking for a new shirt. Lynn helps with that. They talk a bit about Kendra—Lynn is still freaked out and eager to help in any way she can. That’s the entirety of the conversation. No mention of Thierry, Grant, or any other man.”

“Huh,” Dalton says. “Weird. I definitely see Yolanda as the boy-talk type. A missed opportunity.”

Yeah, I can’t imagine anyone engaging Yolanda in that sort of chatter. That doesn’t mean she wouldn’t be up for it, but the vibes she gives off say she expects serious conversation only, and that is not serious.

I continue, “Up next is Mathias.”

“Who lied and said he didn’t go in the store.”

I lift a finger. “Uh-uh. Mathias never mentioned the store. Will asked whether he saw Lynn yesterday, and he said he didn’t. A technicality, and yes, I still gave him shit for that, because I don’t appreciate having someone else need to tell us they saw him go in the store. But, according to him, Lynn was gone.”

“Gone? With the door left unlocked?”

I lean back in my chair. “When it comes to Mathias, ‘gone’ is open to interpretation. He went in to get bootlaces, didn’t see her, and grabbed a pair from the shelf. He made no attempt to find her. She might have been in the storeroom or stepped out for a moment. Or she may have actually left before the storm and didn’t lock up.”

“Which she could have done by accident—being in a rush to beat the storm—or intentionally—in case anyone needed anything after she left.”

“Yes. And I really wish it had been anyone other than Mathias, someone who would have at least made some attempt to find Lynn.”

Dalton snorts. “I’m guessing he didn’t even leave a note saying he took the bootlaces, for inventory.”

“Of course not. But that isn’t why he wouldn’t have tried finding her. He just counted himself lucky he could get his laces without interacting with humans.”

“Some days, I get that.” Dalton stretches his legs out. “But it’s fucking inconvenient for us when he’s the last person in the store. And after that? No one on my list saw her once the storm started. Can I hope Will’s interviewees did?”

I shake my head. “Yolanda was the last person to see Lynn at the shop, and the only other person to see her after that was Marlon.”

“Who identified her by her scarf. Which we haven’t found.”

When I glance over, he shrugs and says, “Maybe I’ve been reading too many of April’s mystery novels, but if someone was identified only by a well-known scarf, it’d be a sure bet that wasn’t actually them.”

“It was the killer’s accomplice wearing the scarf? To muddy the timeline?” I tilt my head and consider. “That would only apply if spotting her in town at that time did muddy the timeline, which it doesn’t.”

“Yet.”

“True. I’ll bear it in mind. Marlon made the ID based on a scarf. Otherwise, no one saw her after Yolanda did, shortly before the storm started.” I push to my feet. “I want to have a look at the store.”

“It can’t wait until morning?”

I look at him. “I don’t know. If it’s clear enough to fly out in the morning, are you okay with waiting until I’ve searched the store? I can’t let a potential scene sit until I come back next month.”

He grumbles under his breath. “Fine. We stop by the store.”

“Has anyone been in there?” I say. “Besides me, when we were searching for her?”

“Not that I know of. It’s been closed since the storm.”

“Let’s see whether Lynn left any clues behind.”

I’d been in the store earlier, doing a cursory search right after we discovered that Lynn had gone missing. Now I’m looking at the scene with fresh eyes. I start with the accounts book at the counter. The last note is that Yolanda picked up a new shirt. Earlier, I’d noticed that the book was open, but now I pay more attention to how it’s been left open—facing toward the store, with a pen on the page. In light of what Mathias said about the store being empty, the placement of the book suggests Lynn hadn’t been grabbed or lured out unexpectedly. She’d opened the book, turned it toward the customer side of the counter, and left the pen there. That’s what she’d do if she just stepped out for a minute, trusting that any resident who isn’t Mathias would note what they took in her absence.

So the question becomes whether she popped out for a moment or did indeed leave ahead of the storm, keeping the store unlocked in case anyone needed something.

There’s no washroom in the store. Given the town setup, toilets are kept to a minimum. Inconvenient yes, but also efficient, minimizing the number of plumbing setups required.

Being the only person on staff, Lynn would need to leave to use the bathroom or to grab food or to get something from the main storerooms. In all cases, while she could lock up, we’d see no problem with leaving the store open.

If she went for food, someone would have seen her. The toilet or storeroom then.

We found one of her gloves, and Marlon saw her wearing her scarf. I double-check, but there’s no sign of any outerwear left behind. Would she put all her outerwear on to go to the toilet or storeroom? Probably not, given that the temperature had been above freezing. She could have, though. So while I suspect she’d been leaving for good, ahead of the storm, I can’t rule out the possibility she was only intending a quick stop before she returned.

If so, did she return? Just because no one saw her doesn’t mean she couldn’t have popped out before Mathias arrived and returned after he left. If she really had closed early for the storm, that wouldn’t explain Marlon seeing her being escorted through the whiteout.

Unless she’d left early… but hadn’t gone home.

Lynn uses the storm as an excuse to leave work early and visit someone. She spends some time with that person and then heads home in the storm, which is when she was taken and Marlon saw her being “escorted.”

Is that the story? Is whoever she visited lying because he fears being blamed for sending her into that storm?

Or did she visit someone who then pretended to lead her home during the worst of the storm?

I turn to Dalton. “She was seen at—”

A shout from somewhere in town. Dalton strides to the door and throws it open. In the distance, a voice that is unmistakably Grant’s bellows, “Come out you son of a bitch! You did this to her, and I am going to fucking end you!”

“Shit,” I say.

Dalton glances back, as if ready to say he’ll handle this. Then he shakes his head and lopes off. And I follow.

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