Chapter 29
The Marshalls live on a quiet street at the edge of town—with cracked sidewalks and wind chimes that stir even when the air is still. Their white ranch-style house sits behind a trimmed hedge, so tidy it’s as if it’s the last thing they can control.
Anton parks along the curb and turns off the engine.
“You ready for this?” he asks.
I smooth my palm over my jacket, over the bump that’s now impossible not to lead with. It’s a strange feeling, the whole world knowing your entire identity is about to shift.
“Born ready,” I say, though this will be the first time I question anyone about someone who’s died.
And a young woman at that. I wasn’t too bad questioning Andy yesterday, but there is a part of me that wishes I didn’t have to be here. I wish this never happened to Zoe. I wish two parents didn’t lose their child.
I can’t think like this. It’s fraying my nerves.
When I step out of the truck, a pressure gathers low in my abdomen—enough to make me pause without meaning to. I manage to walk through it, but Anton gains a few steps on me.
He spins around and contemplates me. “You okay?”
I nod. “I’m fine. Just…a cramp.”
I think it’s a cramp, though it doesn’t feel familiar, and the last thing I can do now is reschedule and worry the Marshalls after they’ve likely gotten stressed out over a police visit.
Still, the feeling in my stomach is borderline alarming.
Anton falls into step with me, keeping with my every stride and watching me like a hawk.
Before we can knock, the door opens. Nora Marshall stands in the frame, small and worn.
She flicks her eyes from my badge to my face. “Officer Johnson?” She looks at Anton. “And you are…?”
“Anton Easton, ma’am.” His tone is a shade of soft that makes me admire him even more. “I’m assisting.”
She furrows her brow, still staring at Anton. “Are you the Shadow Justice guy? I heard about what you did at Arthur’s cabin in the woods.”
His smile is kind. “Rumors travel fast.”
“Was it a rumor?” She tilts her head.
“Afraid not.”
She offers a sad smile and opens the door farther for us to enter. “Wish my Zoe’d had someone looking out for her like that…”
Her sadness seeps into my bones in a way I hadn’t expected. Maybe it’s pregnancy hormones, maybe it’s knowing that now, I, too, have a little girl to worry about…to wish and hope and pray for—a swell of emotion tightens my throat. I shove it down, but my temperature rises.
We follow her inside, and my abdomen cramps again. Zoe’s father, Rich, comes out from the kitchen with two mugs, steam floating off the tops. My God, they must have been thinking about us coming all morning. Fretting maybe.
Suddenly, I wonder if I’m emotionally ready for this. I underestimated how much it would shake me to sit across from the parents of a dead girl.
We sit in two chairs, and Nora arranges two coasters in front of us on a coffee table while Rich places two cups of coffee on them.
He glances down at my bump. “Sorry. I wasn’t aware. Do you want decaf?”
My heart hurts. These two people didn’t deserve to experience this. I’ve not even physically met my girl yet, and I’d be destroyed if she weren’t here.
I place my hand on my bump. “That’s such a nice offer, but don’t worry about me.” I glance at Anton. “You’d probably happily have two, right?”
He joins me in trying to put them at ease.
“Absolutely.” He nods kindly. “Good coffee never goes to waste when I’m around.”
Nora and Rich sit next to us on a loveseat couch.
The house is spotless. Too spotless. A hush clings to the living room, punctuated by Zoe’s face everywhere—framed smiles on every wall, every shelf. Her joy is so bright, it shines on something inside of me and makes it ache.
I open my notebook. “Thank you for agreeing to talk with us. I know this is difficult.”
Nora nods, her throat working. “We’ll do anything that helps. I’m so glad the case is still open. I thought it was closed.”
Guilt lingers in her expression—the ache of a parent wondering if they missed something.
“Mrs. Marshall, it’s still open because there have been some suspicious details yet to be clarified,” I say gently.
Rich and Nora share a look of relief as if they wanted the case open. I think to myself how willing they were to meet. The tidy house. The coffees. They wanted us here. They want to say more.
My pulse kicks up, and the uncomfortable tightening gathers low across my abdomen again. I just manage to keep my words steady. “Was Zoe involved with anyone?”
The sensation is sharp enough to change my voice into something that isn’t mine. I adjust my posture, work hard not to grab my stomach, but it’s enough to make me want to stand and move around. A small worry creeps in.
Anton’s eyes flick to me, searching, and he finds the strain I try to hide. His fist balls up on his thigh. There’s a question in his eyes and beneath it, a quiet offer.
Do you want me to take this?
The part of me that would have fought to lead in here isn’t there anymore. I’m just…grateful. So very grateful that nothing I need seems too big or too small for him. That he delivers on it all.
I offer a thin-lipped smile and a nod, which he reads as the permission it is.
The cramping in my belly is freaking me out.
He turns back to Nora with a steadiness that settles the air in the room.
“Mrs. Marshall,” he says, “we have reason to believe Zoe wasn’t alone at the quarry.”
Relief, not shock, flickers across her expression—a gratitude I didn’t expect.
“Yes. We knew she was talking to someone. We think an older man.”
A chill moves through me.
Then, another tightening follows, firmer this time, and I grip my knee beneath the notebook.
Anton continues without hesitation, but his body is coiled tightly, silently supporting this investigation and giving me the space I need.
“Did she tell you anything about this person? A name, a workplace?”
Nora shakes her head. “She always shut down when we asked. She didn’t want us to know, and that was strange for her. We’d always known about her friends. Boyfriends…dates.”
Rich wrings his hands, grief hollowing the lines of his face. “We heard her on the phone once. We’re almost sure she said his name. Mace.”
My pulse stutters.
Mace. There is no Mace in the case file. In fact, there’s no mention at all of any love interest or male friend. Anton picks up on this, too.
Anton brings us gently back on course. “Did you share this with the responding officer? The older man, the name?”
“Yes,” Rich insists. “We told him everything.”
Nora rubs a hand on her thigh nervously.
“We told him every last thing we knew about Zoe and her life, her relationships. It didn’t feel normal that she’d drink and drive and go to the quarry and swerve off a cliff?
The whole thing was a shock. So out of character.
She didn’t even like drinking. Zoe’s uncle died from alcohol poisoning, so she was adamant to never touch the stuff.
She never drank that we knew of. Not even in college. ”
The one thing that has firmed up Ingram’s theory of drunk driving is the toxicology report. It came back with ethanol detected.
I spare them this detail.
“Who took your statement?” I ask, my stomach completely relaxed again. I’m back online.
“Justin.” She corrects her casual reference: “Officer Ingram—he took our statement and wrote it down.”
Ingram stood here. He heard all of this. He had the name, the fear, the context—and he erased it.
I ask, “You don’t have any other information on the love interest other than the name Mace?”
“I’m afraid not.” Nora qualifies it: “We tried to ask. We really did. We knew she had an argument with this guy and…we’ve always been very involved parents.”
It pains me that they feel the need to defend themselves, almost as if somehow this is their fault. And for that? I want justice served up hotter than before. They don’t deserve this. Neither did Zoe.
Nora rubs her hands on her thighs. “It was all such a shock. She was doing so well. And she’d just come into enough money to get that flower shop going. We were so pleased because we wanted to help me, but…”
Rich puts his arm around his wife. “It’s been a tough few years.”
Is this where Ingram got the “refusal to fund the flower shop” idea from? That two parents not having the funds turned into them refusing them?
But what about this sudden windfall of cash? Where did Zoe get that from?
“Could you elaborate on the new income source?” I ask.
“She said she won the lottery. Just a small win. Enough to put a deposit on the new location she found with Andy, who also got her a discount. It seemed like the stars were aligning for her. And then to do something so reckless? We told Officer Ingram it didn’t make any sense.”
“How did he respond to you?” Anton asks. “When you mentioned how well things were going for Zoe.”
Rich shakes his head and shrugs. “He was sympathetic, of course.”
Anton glances at me for permission to dive deeper. He has it. All of it.
This isn’t about pride and proving anymore. It’s about giving these parents peace. About potentially catching the killer I’m now convinced more than ever is out there and trying hard to cover this up.
“Mr. and Mrs. Marshall.” Anton leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Did you see any proof of her winning anything? Did she describe any further what lottery she played or how much she won?”
“No.” Rich shakes his head. “That was the strange thing. She was as elusive about the money as she was about this Mace character.”
Anton nods as though that was the answer he expected.
It’s time to follow up on the new information. I close my notebook and stand, and Anton follows my cue.
“Mr. and Mrs. Marshall, thank you for your time. Would it be okay if we keep you informed and possibly come by for more questions?”
They stand, as well.
“Of course,” Rich says. “Anything for more answers. I understand maybe we’re just not willing to accept it, but none of this seems right. You know?”
I nod, empathetically. “I understand.”