Chapter 22 #2
“Never seen two dogs clean a plate so fast.” Holt’s voice carries from inside again. “Now, go on and put that dish in the sink. Then sit on the couch and think about your behavior while you watch us enjoy our meals.”
“He used to say that to Jay too.” Logan reaches for the salt shaker. “Guess he didn’t think hard enough.”
An awkward silence blooms across the table as Holt returns with a sullen Carson, and it has nothing to do with that spectacle and everything to do with a past no one is in a rush to remember.
“At least I’m not being a shithead,” Brooks announces suddenly, reaching for his glass of milk.
Jon chokes on his food while Sarah’s jaw drops.
“I’m not disciplining every one of your kids tonight.” Holt ruffles Egan’s hair on his way past to retake his seat. “Now, can we all please enjoy this dinner—”
Knuckles rap on the front door.
“For fuck’s sake!” His knife clatters against the plate.
“Holt,” Annie scolds, but her furrowed brow shows her irritation as she sets her cutlery down. “Who could that be now?”
Unfortunately, I already know. “Logan should answer it.”
He turns to meet my gaze.
“They’re questioning anyone who saw or spoke to Holly on Friday night,” I explain calmly, reluctantly. “They know she approached you in the bar, and they want to see if you know anything that might help find her.”
“What do you mean, Holly approached him?” Holt asks me, but he watches Logan. “What the hell did a teenage girl have to say to you?”
Logan’s jaw tenses.
Another knock sounds.
Tossing his napkin to the table, he eases out of his seat and walks toward the door.
“Emery?” A tinge of hysteria laces Annie’s voice.
“There’s no need to worry. Logan did nothing wrong.
” I force a smile for a woman who has earned every right to panic when the police show up at her door regarding her son.
“They’re doing their job.” And I’m going to make sure Terry does it right.
I leave the table, slipping on my shoes and jacket on my way after Logan.
“… speaking to anyone who was at the Bale House—”
Terry’s words cut off as I step onto the porch.
“McAllister.” His mouth hangs open a few beats. “You’re here.”
“I am. The Landrys graciously invited me to dinner.”
“You didn’t mention that earlier.”
“Didn’t I? Huh. You’re here to ask Logan if he saw anything unusual on Friday night as it relates to Holly Monroe’s disappearance, correct?” I gesture toward Logan and then lean back against the porch wall, folding my arms while I wait for him to continue.
Terry recovers quickly. “That’s right. I have a few questions about your interaction with Holly Monroe that night.”
“Yeah?” Logan peers over his shoulder at me before meeting Terry head-on. “What about it?”
“Can you tell me what happened?” He’s a different person now—calm, cordial, the eager listener.
Hoping to catch Logan in a lie.
“I went to use the washroom and when I came out, she was standing in the hall, waiting for me.”
“Why?”
“She said she wanted to apologize for throwing a rock through my window the weekend before.”
“And why’d she do that?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask her.”
Terry cocks his head. “What else did you two talk about on Friday night?”
Logan studies him a moment—either searching for some clue that he already has the answer or to decide how honest he wants to be. “She was flirting with me—”
“In what way?”
“She stepped in close and touched my shirt. I told her I wasn’t interested, and then Emery showed up. I saw her in the parking lot with her friends when I left a little while later, and that was it. I came home.”
“Here.”
He juts his chin toward the garage. “I live there.”
“And you stayed there all night?”
“Yeah. I’m on probation and have a curfew of 10 p.m.” He smirks. “As I’m sure you know.”
Terry scribbles his notes down, casually asking, “Can anyone corroborate that?”
“That I have a curfew?”
“That you were home all night for it.”
Logan stares at him.
Meanwhile, my heart is racing. Yes, he has an alibi and I’m it. “I told you, I was home all night.” His irritation grows in his tone.
“I hear you, but come on … You’re a smart guy, right? You can figure out why I’m asking. Do you have anyone who can back you up?”
Without a solid alibi, Logan will remain a suspect until someone else looks better for it, and everyone on this porch knows it.
“No,” he says at the same time that I blurt out, “I can.”
For the second time since I stepped onto this porch, Terry’s caught off guard, his eyebrows popping before he can school his expression.
The front door swings open then, and a stony-faced Holt strolls out, followed closely by Jon.
“Good evening, Officer,” Jon says jovially.
Holt cuts to the chase. “I hear you’re looking for witnesses to that girl’s disappearance.”
“Uh … Yeah,” Terry falters, still snagged on my admission. “I am.”
“Jon and I were at the Bale House with Logan that night.”
Terry flips the page in his notepad. “And you are …”
“Holt Landry and Jon Sutter.”
Terry scribbles their names down. “Did you see Holly Monroe?”
Holt shrugs. “If I did, I didn’t recognize her.”
“Have you met her before?”
“Sure, she’s been over to the stables a few times with Emery’s daughter, Isla. Pale blond hair, right?”
“Right. You?” Terry nods to Jon.
“Oh. Same,” Jon echoes. “It was packed in there and we weren’t payin’ much attention to anyone except our group.”
“And what time’d you leave?”
“Had to be around ten?” Jon looks to Holt for confirmation.
“Yeah, sounds about right.”
Terry’s lips twist. “So, you don’t know if you saw Holly and you didn’t see anything helpful. Is that what you came out here to tell me?”
“Logan and his cousin Jack left earlier than we did. We got home and then headed over to his apartment. Hung out there, shootin’ the shit.” Jon slaps Logan’s shoulder. He might as well be patting a tree, as rigid as the man is. “Catching up on all the missed years.”
“You two were with Logan on Friday night?” Terry studies them.
“That’s right,” Holt confirms, his gaze steady as he lies. “Us and Emery here. Right, Emery?”
They must have been listening at the door. Their timing couldn’t be more perfect—before either Logan or I could dig deeper holes for ourselves.
I falter. “That’s right.”
Terry regards Logan. “Why did you say no when I asked?”
Logan wears an unreadable mask and doesn’t answer. I don’t blame him. He was open and honest way back when and it got him nowhere.
“He must have misunderstood your question, is all,” Jon answers for him.
Terry’s eyes narrow. He’s not stupid. “And until what time were you all together in Logan’s apartment?”
“Oh gosh. It was really late.” Jon scratches his head. “I can’t remember exactly how late. It felt like morning. Do you remember what time it was, Em?”
Jon’s lobbing that answer to me intentionally—I know what window of time they’re looking at for Holly’s disappearance. “At least three. Maybe later.” Like six thirty a.m. later.
Terry eyes us all in turn. He senses something fishy, but with three of us backing Logan’s alibi and one of those people being me, there’s nothing more to say. “Did any of you see or hear anything that can help the investigation into Holly’s disappearance?”
“The Murphys were there,” Holt says. “If I were you, I’d spend my time looking at that lot. Nothing good ever comes from them.”
“Noted.” Terry tucks his pad under his arm. “Thank you for your time. Sorry for disrupting your dinner.”
“No problem. We hope you find that girl safe and sound.” Jon waves.
Terry eases down the steps, heading for his vehicle with a holler of, “See you tomorrow, McAllister.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Logan murmurs once Terry’s safely inside his vehicle, the first words he’s uttered since my admission.
“Done what? Tell him the truth? That you had nothing to do with this mess?” Jon slaps Logan’s back again.
“Yeah, but …” After a moment, Logan turns to Holt. “Thank you.” Two words delivered gruffly.
Holt nods. “Us Landrys need to stick together.”
To anyone who doesn’t know this family, it’s a clichéd slogan.
But to those who watched this family fall apart once, it means everything.
Holt studies me. I doubt Logan admitted to anything outright but, between our run-in that evening and Jon seeing me leave early the next morning, and now this guerrilla-style rescue, they’ve obviously pieced things together. “Is that the last we’ll hear from him?”
It should be, but Terry’s sharp and he likely still has questions. “If it’s not, you make sure you have a lawyer before you say another word to him.” As it is, Terry shouldn’t have been pushing for an alibi like that while questioning a witness.
And if I weren’t so paralyzed by my own panic, I would have said as much. But I also probably shouldn’t be involved in this investigation.
“Won’t that make Logan look guilty?” Jon asks.
“I already look guilty just for standing here.” Logan’s brow is heavy. He’s brooding.
“All right. Enough of this.” Holt reaches for the door handle. “Let’s try to get through this dinner without another interruption. Damn gravy’s probably cold.”
“Don’t tell your daughter that,” Jon warns, trailing him in.
I wait for Logan to follow, but he doesn’t.
“What the fuck, Em,” he snaps the moment the door shutters, turning to glare at me. “Don’t you ever put yourself on the line like that for me again. Ever!”
“What? By telling the truth?”
“You know what I mean. If people found out?” He gives me a look. No need to elaborate.
I resist the urge to touch him again. “You’re innocent. I know that and you know that. I’m not letting them build a case around you as a suspect just because of your past.”
He paces on the front porch, the floorboards creaking under his weight. “They’re gonna do it, anyway. You know how these things work.”
He’s not wrong. A legitimate police case is one thing, but there’s the public court of opinion and that will be ripe with accusations and assumptions.
People are already talking. Brad Whitley’s leading that charge.
Until they have someone else to blame, Logan will be their favorite suspect.
“The police need to be focusing on real leads.”
Logan’s jaw is clenched tight, his anger with me only growing. “If they hadn’t come out and covered for us when they did?” He tosses a thumb toward the front door. “Then what? Huh?” His voice rises. “Were you going to hang your career for me?”
I swallow against the nausea bubbling up. “Well … they did cover.”
“Yeah. By lying.” He chuckles. It’s a dark, mirthless sound. “My life might have turned to shit, but I’m not dragging everyone else down with me.”
“It was necessary, and it worked. You have a solid alibi.” And my reputation will remain intact, at least for now.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is this why you came here tonight?”
“I knew Terry might show up.” Though, if I’m being totally honest, the second I laid eyes on Logan at the door, I accepted that it wasn’t the only reason, whether I wanted to admit it to myself or not. I reach for his forearm, my fingertips grazing his hot skin. “I needed to see—”
He steps back abruptly. “We’re not doing this.”
I let my hand drop to my side. “We kind of already did.”
“Yeah, and it was a huge mistake, like you said. Look what it already could have cost you.” He shakes his head slowly, as if deciding something. “Don’t come looking for me. You need to stay away. We both need to move on.”
Unexpected tears prick my eyes. He thinks he’s protecting me. “Logan, I know why you’re doing this—”
“It’s how it has to be. It’s how it is.” His face sets with grim resolution, and I imagine it was the same stubborn expression he wore when he wrote that five-word letter all those years ago, when he crushed my heart the first time.
And now he’s doing it again. I didn’t think there was anything left to break, and yet the sudden, unbearable ache in my chest tells me otherwise.
Movement catches my eye. Carson watches us through the windowpane, his chin resting on folded arms.
I may have arrived famished, but all thought of food is gone. “Enjoy your night.” I turn and march down the porch steps.
“Wait, where are you going?” Logan calls out with exasperation. “At least have dinner.”
“Give your parents my apologies,” I throw back, rushing for the safety of my house as the tears flow freely.
I guess the Landry dogs are eating very well tonight.