Chapter 12
TWELVE
Conrad didn’t know why his truck drove him to the North Star Arena, why he pulled in and sat outside, hanging on to the steering wheel, Penelope quiet beside him.
Her brain had probably gotten stuck on Dead Guy in Her Potato Bin, and rightly so. But his seemed to keep rounding back to his father’s words. . . .
“You don’t need to unravel everything—you just need to put your reputation and your actions into God’s hands and follow His voice. Learn, yes, but don’t keep looking behind. Let mercy abound.”
But he couldn’t get past the sense that maybe he needed another go-round at an apology to truly break free of the past.
Of the hold Joe Johnson had on him.
So he took a breath, then reached for the door handle.
Penelope put a hand on his arm. “I know there’s a reason, but why are we at the Ice Hawks’ practice?”
“There’s something I have to do,” he said.
She just nodded and turned to get out, and he wanted to grab her back and kiss her. Something about her trusting him, not asking questions, felt like they might be a team.
And it hit him again, as she took his hand walking into the arena, that he could love this woman. Maybe he had already started to—the way she saw him, didn’t make him feel like he had to be a superstar, kept his secrets, and even needed him—yes, he wanted Penelope Pepper wearing his jersey, in his life, in his arms.
He tightened his grip on her hand as they entered the chill of the arena, shouts and the slap of the puck pinging in the air.
“Why do they have practice in the afternoon?”
“Presidents’ Day. No school.” He glanced over at the stands and spotted a few familiar faces. Parents who’d shown up at the game last weekend and even at practice.
No Joe Johnson, but he’d only given a cursory glance.
He lifted a hand to Simon, who spotted him from the ice. Simon was running the kids through a puck-handling obstacle course, round and round the rink. Conrad and Penelope walked over to the boards, and he leaned down, crossing his arms, watching. Searching.
And . . . there.
Jeremy Johnson, thicker and sturdier in his breezers and pads, wove through the cones, not sloppy as he handled the puck, so the kid had some talent. Okay then . Conrad didn’t know why seeing him out there released a fist in his chest, but?—
“Hey, King! Yeah, King Con! That game last night was a joke, man. You call that playing? My grandma could handle the puck better!”
He stilled, looked over, and spotted, aw , Steve Bouchard in the stands. Perfect. And it seemed the guy had started his day drinking, holding a beer as he got up.
“We pulled it together in the end?—”
“Pulled it together? Man, we need more than that! You’re the center—you’re supposed to be leading out there. The passing was sloppy, and it felt like you didn’t even show up until the third period. These kids here are showing more hustle than I saw last night!”
He held up his hands. “Not here, okay?”
Steve jumped off the edge of the bleachers, heading toward him. The other parents seemed to tense, watching.
“Listen—” Conrad started.
“It’s time to retire, old man. We got the Blade. We don’t need you?—”
“Hey.” Penelope stepped in front of Conrad. “Back off! You don’t talk to him like that. You have no idea how hard he works—both on and off the ice. This isn’t the time or the place.”
Perfect . Just what he needed—Penelope Pepper defending him. “Penny—let it go. He’s just a jerk?—”
“A jerk?” Steve stepped up to him. “I remember you, King Con—the hotshot from Duck Lake. Weren’t you the guy who drove over Joe Johnson with a Zamboni? Crippled him?”
Conrad stilled. Especially when he realized that the practice on the ice had stopped, kids lining up against the boards.
He cut his voice low. “Let’s just take it down a notch. This is a kids’ event. If you want to discuss the game, maybe let’s take it outside.”
“Oh, you want to go outside?”
More than he wanted to admit. He held up a hand. “Not like that?—”
“Yeah, buddy, let’s go outside!”
Penelope took a step toward Bouchard. Aw ? —
Steve took one look at her, smiled, and Conrad saw something ugly take shape.
“Sure, honey. You want to go outside?” He tossed his beer away. It hit the bench, splashed. Penny held up a hand to the spray, but Conrad had stepped up behind her, snaked his arm around her waist, and jerked her back.
He took most of the liquid on his pants and shirt.
But he turned, set her away, met her eyes. “Stay.”
Then he rounded on Steve. Lowered his voice, met his eyes. “You do not want to do this. Calm down.”
Bouchard swung at him.
Conrad stepped back, dodged the hit, the momentum jerking Bouchard off-balance. The man went sprawling.
Silence in the arena.
Except for Penelope. “Stay down, jerk!”
Conrad turned, grabbed Penelope’s hand. “Let’s go.”
“Steve!” Missy Bouchard had scrambled off the bleachers toward her husband. He pushed her away. His eyes lit, fire.
“That’s assault!” He pointed at Conrad. Smiled. “Missy, call the cops.”
Aw, seriously? “I didn’t touch you?—”
Steve popped up. “You pushed me.”
“C’mon, Penelope, let’s go.” Conrad made to shove past Bouchard, but Bouchard stood in the way, got in his face.
And that was just enough. “Bouchard, back off.” He put his arm out to push him aside, and wouldn’t you know it, Missy had jumped beside her husband.
Conrad’s gesture whacked her, not hard, on the arm. She stumbled back.
Screams as Missy hit the bleachers, fell. Landed on the pavement and then howled.
She held her wrist, writhing.
“Missy!” Conrad started for her, but Penelope pulled him back as Bouchard rounded to his wife.
“It was an accident,” Penelope said, glancing at him.
“Call 911,” shouted Steve.
And then everything just started to blur. Conrad’s breath seized, a sweat broke out up his spine, and as Penelope came around to the front of him, backed him into a bleacher to sit down, his vision started to close.
She stood in front of him, her arms on his shoulders, as people started shouting, gathering around Missy, as Simon tried to corral the kids to no avail.
It all became clutter and noise as he held his head in his hands, just Penelope’s voice cutting through. “Breathe, Con. Breathe.”
He spotted EMTs as they came in, and with them, the police. Deputy Jenna Hayes came over, crouched in front of him, asked for a statement. But really, he couldn’t speak watching the EMTs splint Missy’s arm. Steve had leveled a litany of accusations at him, but he’d stopped listening, and then the man had turned to the cops, and who knew what he’d said.
Jenna led Conrad away, through the crowd, Penelope with him, and then said quietly, with a hint of regret, “I need to arrest you for assault, Conrad.”
Oh.
“It’ll be okay,” Penelope said. “I’ll call your lawyer?—”
He looked at her. Shook his head. “You should go. Don’t get tangled up in this.” He reached into his pocket and handed her the keys to his truck. “Please, leave.”
Her eyes widened, her mouth opening as she took them.
Then he hung his head as Jenna turned him, cuffed him, and read his rights.
He let her lead him out to her cruiser, still sweating, managing not to lose it as she pushed him into the back seat of the car.
He leaned his head back, listening to his heart beat, his jaw tight. But as Jenna pulled out, he looked out the window.
Penelope stood holding his keys, wearing an expression he couldn’t place. Fierce, maybe even angry.
And behind her, a man, leaning hard on crutches, mid-forties, graying hair, brown eyes, his mouth a grim, tight line.
Joe Johnson.
So yeah, that had been a good idea.
“We’ll get this sorted,” Jenna said as she pulled out. “We just needed to get you out of there before a brawl started.”
“It was an accident.”
“They’re taking statements,” she said. “But you should let your girlfriend call your lawyer.”
His girlfriend.
Yeah, she might wish it were fake, if she wanted to hold on to those social media followers.
“And she should get one for herself, given Steve Bouchard’s accusations about her starting the fight.”
“He’s just looking for money.” And that thought turned him cold.
Yes, he needed to distance himself from Penelope as fast as possible if he hoped to save her reputation.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” he said. “She’s just working with EmPowerPlay. We both are.”
Jenna met his gaze in the mirror, her eyebrows up.
He looked away. His stomach had settled by the time they reached the station, and he spent the next three hours giving his statement and talking to—for the second time today—Weston Winter, who told him to say nothing until he got there.
Which meant by the time he finished with his statement, any hope of a bail hearing had passed, and Jenna asked him what he’d like to have for dinner as he sat in overnight lockup. Apparently, they brought in takeout.
Instead, they let him call Jack, who showed up with a pot roast in a Tupperware container. They let Conrad eat it in the interrogation room with Jack, so he got an update on Missy. Not a broken wrist, but yes, Bouchard had found a lawyer.
And no, Jack hadn’t seen Penelope. Maybe, for the first time, she’d listened to Conrad.
“I’m going to miss practice,” Conrad said to Jack as he finished off dinner. “They’ll suspend me.”
Jack closed the Tupperware. “We’ll get you out tomorrow, bro. It’s going to be okay.”
He didn’t mention the memories that had suddenly crept back to haunt him. Only, this time he wasn’t seventeen, arrested and on his way to juvie hall for interrogation, the horror of Joe Johnson’s screams in his head.
“I don’t think it’s ever going to be okay,” he said and motioned for Jenna to return him to his cell.
Where, probably, he belonged.
* * *
She’d made a mess of everything.
Penelope stood in front of the coffee maker, watching it drip, listening to Conrad’s words yesterday thrum through her. “You should go. Don’t get tangled up in this.”
He couldn’t have meant it the way it’d hit her.
Because she was already tangled up, right? If it hadn’t been for her?—
“You’re up early.” The words from her mother, who came into the room dressed in a pink velour day suit, her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, diamond earrings and her makeup already applied despite the dawn’s early-light hour.
Penelope sighed and stared back at the lake, where the snow reflected the sunset in a glowing fire, now sliding over the white toward shore. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Her mother kissed her cheek, then grabbed a mug from the cupboard. “Isn’t Annette up yet?”
“I can make my own coffee, Mother.”
Her mother patted her hand. “I know. You’re so independent. It’s nice having you around.”
“I’m not really here, Mom. I just . . . well . . .”
Well, she hadn’t known who else to call yesterday when she’d arrived at the sheriff’s office and met the wall that was Deputy Sheriff Jenna Hayes. Apparently, Conrad didn’t want to see her, words that had left her hollowed out and brittle.
He was panicking. She’d seen the expression he’d worn at the arena and in the cruiser.
And it was all her fault. If she hadn’t baited the guy?—
“I’m sure you will get it sorted out. Lucas is already writing up a press release about Kingston, distancing EmPowerPlay from the fiasco.”
Penelope stared after her as her mother left her mug on the counter—maybe for Penelope to fill—and sat down at the kitchen nook, a padded bench that circled the bay window.
She picked up the remote to the flatscreen.
“Mother. It wasn’t Conrad’s fault?—”
“Oh my, Morning Brew has picked up the story.”
Penelope followed her mother’s gaze. No, oh ? —
Of course she’d made the top headlines, a shot of her at the sheriff’s office yesterday, getting picked up by Franco, flashing onto the screen.
Her mother turned up the volume on Ian Fletcher and Britta Turnquist.
Ian had leaned into the camera, wearing a white oxford, his sleeves rolled up, sporting a tan as if he’d been south, although Penelope knew a tanning-bed job when she saw it. “Today we’re diving into a rather spicy topic from the world of sports. I’m sure many of you have seen the video that went viral yesterday—hockey star King Con confronted by a fan at a children’s charity hockey practice.”
And then the altercation played, including her jumping in to defend King Con, which, given his height and stature, felt very Minnie Mouse to his Incredible Hulk. Still, she winced when Missy went down—from this angle it clearly looked like he’d hit her.
“Oh my,” her mother said, not helping.
“Yes, that’s quite the scene, Ian,” Britta said. Blonde, skinny, wearing a slim V-necked floral dress, an outfit that matched her personality. “We talked with the fan, Steve Bouchard, who said that he’d made a couple comments to King Con about the team’s recent performance when King Con struck back. Things escalated when he accidentally spilled beer on King Con.”
“That’s not what happened,” Penelope said.
“And then it got heated when Penelope Pepper stepped in, trying to defend King Con from the irate fan,” Britta continued. “But here’s where things get even more interesting—King Con later stated to officials that he and Penelope are not dating, contrary to what everyone assumed, seeing her jump to his defense.”
Not dating?
She picked up the remote and popped up the volume.
“That’s right, Britta. King Con’s statement is that they are nothing. They know each other through EmPowerPlay, and she is not in a relationship with him, although recent social media has those two linked.” Ian gave her what looked like a shake of his head. “Let’s not forget, King Con is no stranger to being at the center of media speculation. A couple of years back, he was in the headlines for a rumored fallout with a teammate, allegedly involving another player’s girlfriend.”
“That was all misconstrued,” Penelope said softly.
“It seems that wherever King Con goes, drama tends to follow, which really paints him as something of a wild card in the sports world. His talent on the ice is undeniable, but these off-ice escapades seem to keep him in the spotlight just as much,” Britta said.
Ian. “It raises a big question about athletes and their personal lives. How much of this should affect our view of them as professionals? And where do we draw the line between their private affairs and their public personas?”
“Right?” Penelope turned to her mother. “Whose business is this anyway?”
“I think it’s ours.”
She looked up to see her father walk into the room dressed in suit pants, a shirt and tie, carrying his jacket. “Whatever the truth is about his relationships, King Con needs to manage these situations better. You can’t have beer-splashing incidents becoming the norm. It hurts ticket sales. And now we have some damage control to do.” He looked at her. “I think it’s for the best if you stay away from Conrad Kingston, Pep.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“They aren’t together, Oscar,” said her mother.
Wait— “Yes, we are.” Weren’t they?
“Not according to your social media,” her mother said. “You posted it yourself—that Conrad and you were just working together to help EmPowerPlay.”
Aw—Clarice!
“Good. Conrad is a loose cannon. I just wish I’d known about his former record before we drafted him.” He shook his head. “What a fiasco.” He walked over and kissed his wife. “Don’t wait up. It’ll be a long day.”
He patted Penelope’s arm. “Walk away. I’m sorry. I like Conrad Kingston, I do. I wanted to give him a chance. But clearly he’s only going to hurt you.”
She stared at him. “How? Conrad is . . . he’s kind and protective and sweet and?—”
“And just told the world that you’re nothing to him.” He raised an eyebrow. “You might want to realize that you’re just not that important to him.”
She stilled, and her father pecked her on the cheek, then picked up his suit jacket and walked out of the kitchen.
The television clicked off.
“Penelope?”
She looked over at her mother, who’d gotten up, frowning.
“Are you in love with this hockey player?”
Penelope swallowed. “I . . .”
“Oh, darling. You have to be so careful. Men like Conrad Kingston are after only what they can get from you.”
“No. He’s not?—”
“Just like Edward and Tia. Oh, she barely escaped that tragedy.”
Her mouth opened. “What? Mom, Edward was murdered?—”
“Yes, that was terrible. But it would have been worse if Tia had married him only to discover that he didn’t really love her.”
She blinked at her mother. “What?”
“He was just using her to get close to your father.”
“Mother. Edward was close to my father. He paid for his education?—”
“Oh no, no, darling, that was just the agreement we made with his mother.” And then her eyes widened. “Oh dear.”
A beat. “What’s ‘oh dear’?”
Her mother sighed. “Well, I guess it’s all over now. Inga was a treasure to the day she died. Without her, we might never have found you.”
“What are you talking about, Mom? Found me—wait, is this about the kidnapping?”
“Of course. Inga and Edward were the only ones at home when you were taken. And it was she who found you.”
“Edward found me.”
Her mother shook her head. “Edward only found you because Inga overheard Carmen and Nicolai talking about where they’d stashed you. Inga took you and hid you in the dumbwaiter until we got back.”
That wasn’t how she remembered it. “Edward told me that Dad didn’t want to pay the ransom. That he was negotiating, and he was afraid that Carmen and Nicolai would kill me.”
“Oh no, darling. Of course we paid the ransom. We wired to the account Carmen gave us—but she wanted more. And that’s when your father suspected there was a bigger plot, someone behind Carmen and Nicolai.”
“Why?”
“Because we had insurance on you and Tia, and the ransom demand barely dipped into that. When the kidnappers realized we’d pay it, they asked for double more. Your father thought that maybe there was a bigger plot at play, and that’s when he decided to stall. He feared that someone on his staff would leak the truth to the police, and the cops would lose their chance to capture Carmen and Nicolai and the mastermind behind the treachery. He asked Inga to keep hiding you. He told her he’d take care of Edward for life if she trusted him.”
“He kept me in the dumbwaiter?”
“Oh my, darling, no, of course not. We didn’t know where you were until we arrived home and Inga told us. She simply said she’d found you and you were safe. Of course, we sent Vincent to find you the moment we returned home. By then, the second ransom exchange had already happened, and this time, Carmen was killed, along with Nicolai.”
“By the police?”
“No. They were dead when your father’s bodyguard, Vincent, arrived with the ransom money. We never found out who did it, and we never retrieved the first ransom either. That’s when your father decided to assign you personal security.” She caught her daughter’s face. “You just can’t be too careful, honey. You have to know who to trust.”
She did know who to trust. She thought she had, but . . .
“Please, leave.” And “King Con later stated to officials that he and Penelope are not dating.”
She sank onto a counter stool.
Then, wait— “Why didn’t Dad trust Edward?”
“Oh, that. It’s because Edward came to him with this crazy AI program he’d developed at MIT and wanted Quantex to buy it. He thought your father would risk his company just because of Tia.” She sighed. “I’m just glad Tia found out before it was too late.”
“Mom—Tia was weeks away from marrying Edward when he was murdered.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
Penelope turned, a chill raking through her as Tia came into the room. She wore leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, her dark hair pulled back in a headband. “What?”
“First, this house is big, but it’s old. Vents, people. My bedroom is right above this. And second, Mom is right. Edward and I broke up about a week before he died.”
She came into the room, grabbed a mug, poured herself coffee. “It didn’t mean I didn’t love him. But . . . he was in love with someone else, and I couldn’t deny it anymore.”
“Sarah Livingston.” Penelope didn’t know why she said it. The name just slid out.
And Tia laughed. “Sarah? No. Hardly. They were friends, but Sarah had just started dating Edward’s best friend, Franco.”
“Franco? As in my Franco?”
Tia’s brow went up.
“You know what I mean.”
Tia shrugged. “Yes. Franco Bernatelli, Vincent’s youngest son and Edward’s childhood bestie.”
“I was Edward’s childhood bestie.”
“You were Edward’s true love.”
The words hit her, rocked her back. “What?”
Tia sighed, glanced at her mother, back at Penelope. “I broke up with Edward because he was marrying me only because he couldn’t have you.”
“What do you mean? He didn’t even ask!”
“You were four years younger than him, and . . . I don’t know why he didn’t ask. But after we were engaged, I watched you two at every family event, and . . . Edward never looked at me the way he looked at you. I finally confronted him and he admitted that he loved you. And me, of course. But I knew I couldn’t be his second choice.” She touched Penelope’s arm. “I’m sorry I got in the way. He got back from MIT and there was something about him—more confidence, I guess. And you were away at college, and I asked him out, not even thinking. He said yes, and then things just started happening. He was really involved in his research, too, on his AI program. Said it would transform the way we drove cars. He even had applications for defense technology. I think he even got an RFP from a defense contractor after Dad turned him down for Quantex. He was so smart.” Her eyes filled. “I did love him, Pen. But not like you did. I wish I’d realized how he felt about you sooner.”
Penelope’s eyes burned, filled. “Me too. But . . .” She pulled Tia into an embrace, held on.
“Oh boy, this man really did a number on my girls,” said her mother, her arms around both of them.
“He was a good man, Mom,” said Tia. “Not everyone is out to get us.”
A soft shrug from Sophia as she eased her embrace. “I just can’t bear the thought of you two getting hurt.” She kissed Tia, then Penelope. Held their hands. “‘One must seek the truth within—not without.’” Her mouth made a kind smile. “I suppose ‘If the fact will not fit the theory—let the theory go.’ To quote my daughter’s favorite author.” She winked.
Penelope stared at her mother and heard the echo of the caller who’d delivered that quote pinging inside. “Mom?”
“You’ll figure this out, darling.” She let her hands go and headed for her bedroom.
Penelope gaped.
“What was that about?” Tia asked.
“Does Mom listen to my podcast?”
“Of course she does. Seriously. We all do.” Tia wiped her cheeks. “You deserve a happily ever after, Pep. With the right man.”
Oh. “I . . . I think I’ve found the right man.” The words spilled out, soft, testing. Yes .
Tia cocked her head. “Pen . . . I heard Morning Brew . And it’s all over social media. I mean, you even came out and said that you two were over.”
She had— oh, that’s right, she’d texted Clarice. “Yeah, I know. But . . . don’t believe everything you read on the internet.”
Really. Because she knew Conrad, right?
“One must seek the truth within—not without.”
Yes, she knew him. He was the real deal. No games. No fake dating. He’d been beside her when he didn’t have to be.
The kind of boyfriend who stuck around, even when trouble circled her.
“By the way, in the end, Edward was right. Quantex did end up investing in Edward’s program. He had sold it to a company called MetaGrid, who then dumped it after he died. Declan Stone picked it up but sold shares to Quantex to finance it.”
“Yeah, that was the DOD company that Edward talked about. I remember him telling Franco and Sarah and me about it at dinner a few weeks before we broke up. Franco was weirdly mad that Dad didn’t acquire Axiom for Quantex, because that had been Edward’s plan. I had tried to talk him out of it, but he wanted Dad to have the first shot at it.”
“Quantex made millions when they invested in Spectra, who finally acquired Axiom.” Her sister slid onto a stool, sipped her coffee.
“How do you know that?”
“Seriously? Do you not read your quarterly stock reports?”
Oops.
“Yeah. In fact, Quantex was losing the AI race until they invested in Spectra. Edward’s mother inherited all of Edward’s stock, and she didn’t have a clue what to do. I think Dad hooked her up with Stone, who bought the company.”
“Why didn’t Quantex simply buy it?” Penelope asked.
“It violated an antitrust act for them to have controlling shares in two AI companies that would create a monopoly on the market.”
“Wow, Miss Economics Degree.”
“It was in the report.” Tia winked. “Stone’s company owns the majority of Axiom shares.”
“So, what happened to Inga’s shares when she died?”
“I don’t know. She has no living kin except Vincent, so?—”
“Vincent. Dad’s old bodyguard?” Penelope said.
“Oh, they had a longtime fling—did you not know this? Edward was sworn to secrecy, but with Vincent a single dad and Inga a single mother . . . Franco and Edward were practically brothers. Closer even than Franco and his own brother.”
“Marcus, right? I only met him once.”
“He lived with their mom, so he was never around. He’s a couple years older than Franco. I met him once, in college. Franco and I used to see each other on campus sometimes. We actually took a class together. Anyway, his brother looks just like him, dark hair, blue eyes, built. I think Marcus went into law enforcement, or maybe security. I admit, I was a little surprised when Franco ended up back here. I always thought he’d be an investment banker or something.”
“Why?”
“His degree was in finance. Or at least it was going to be. He dropped out of school his senior year. Showed up a couple years later working here.”
“And just in time to follow me to college.”
“At least he was cute.” Tia slid off the chair. “Could have been worse. You could have had Geoffrey.” She set her mug in the sink. “For the record, I liked King Con. I thought you two were cute together.”
We were cute together.
No, they were more than cute. They worked. Even when they’d been fake dating, it had worked.
No more games.
Conrad was the happily ever after she wanted.
She picked up the house phone and dialed their security office. Geoffrey answered.
“I need a car.”
“I’m afraid your father has requested no more vehicles for you,” Geoffrey said. “He says we are to drive you.”
Of course .
“Fine. Then how about a ride?”
“Where to, ma’am?”
“Duck Lake. I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
“I’ll have Franco pick you up in front.”
Good. Because she had some questions for him.
Ten minutes later, wearing leggings, an oversized sweater, a vest, and her hair pulled back, she climbed into the back of the warming Lexus, Franco at the wheel. He wore a wool jacket, gloves, and sunglasses, and was clean-shaven, her armed chauffeur. “Duck Lake?”
“The sheriff’s office, to be clear.”
“Ma’am—”
“We’ve been over this. Not ma’am.”
“Miss Pepper.”
“Just drive, Franco.”
His pursed mouth said everything.
She sat back and pulled up her phone. Scrolled through her social media, reading the comments. So much love, so much hate. She’d gained followers, lost followers, and really, did it matter?
What was she trying to prove?
They’d left the city, rounding the lake toward Waconia, the sun having cleared the horizon to the east, the golden swatch of dawn fading into the blue sky. She should have gotten another cup of coffee for the road.
“I didn’t realize you and Edward were friends.” She didn’t know why she started there. Franco glanced at her in the mirror.
“Yes, ma’—Miss Pepper. Of course. We grew up together.”
“Why didn’t I know this?”
“We didn’t live in the house. And my father forbade any contact with you and your sister.”
She frowned. And then, “You dated Sarah Livingston.”
A muscle pulled in his jaw. “Yes. For a while. She broke up with me to date Holden Walsh.”
“I’m sorry. You lost Edward and Sarah.”
He nodded, and his hands tightened a little on the wheel.
“Any idea who might have killed Sarah?”
A beat. Then a sigh. “Not a clue.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Maybe a few weeks after Edward’s death. She was pretty upset—said she thought he’d been murdered.” He glanced in the mirror. “But you already know that.”
She frowned. “Do you listen to my podcasts?”
He smiled. “Of course.”
Oh . “Ever called in?”
“I’ll never tell.” He laughed then, low, deep.
And it nudged something inside her. Wait. “You can run, but you can’t hide.” One of her crazy podcast callers.
She swallowed, looked up, nearly met his eyes in the rearview mirror, glanced away, her heart hammering.
No.
That wasn’t right?—
Her phone buzzed, a text coming in. Conrad? She opened it.
Janet Foster.
Janet Foster
I found him.
Found . . . Wait —the man fleeing from Edward’s apartment?
Then a picture came through, a grainy shot of a television screen, with fuzzy lines across the picture. Janet had clearly taken the shot of Penelope in front of the sheriff’s office on her phone, then edited it, drawing a circle around a face in the background.
The face of Franco Bernatelli.
Oh . . .
“Aw,” he said then with a sigh.
She looked up to see his gaze on her through the rearview mirror. “By the look on your face, I think this just keeps getting messier.”
Then he shook his head.
And engaged the child locks.