Chapter Forty-two
The diner was quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of the overhead fans and the occasional clang of silverware against ceramic plates. Audrey wiped down the counter, glancing at the clock. Almost closing time.
Ethel emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron. “How’s your Nana doing?”
Audrey smiled, the worry in her chest loosening just a bit. “She’s stable. Doctors are keeping her one more night for observation, but she should be home tomorrow.”
Ethel nodded. “That woman’s tougher than a two-dollar steak.” She motioned toward a booth. “Customer at table seven.”
Audrey turned and saw Mason, casually seated with a menu in hand. He lit up when he saw her approaching.
“My lucky night,” he quipped, setting the menu aside.
Audrey rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re here awfully late for dinner.”
Mason smirked. “Late-night stakeouts require fuel.”
Audrey raised a brow. “Are you working a case or just here to inhale an obscene amount of fries?”
He shrugged. “Why not both?”
Audrey jotted down his order and slid it into the kitchen window. Since Mason was their last customer, the cook had his dinner ready within minutes. Audrey delivered his bowl of clam chowder and side of fries.
“Last of the clam chowder. Enjoy.”
Mason nodded. “Thank you.”
“Living dangerously?”
Mason gave her a quizzical look before realizing. “Oh, you mean the chowder?” He shrugged. “I have no enemies.” Then he thought about it some more. “Not that I know of.”
Audrey smiled.
He opened his mouth to say something, paused as if working up the courage, but Audrey didn’t give him the chance.
“Let me know if you need anything else.”
She made a beeline back to the register.
Across the counter, Isabella watched, arms folded.
“Take my shift,” Audrey said, pointing at Mason.
Isabella snorted. “No thanks. I already gave up on that dream.”
Audrey blinked. “What dream?”
Isabella motioned toward Mason slurping his chowder and then munching on a handful of fries. “Look at him. The man chews like a lawnmower. Mouth half-open. We’ll be divorced in a week.”
Audrey bit back a laugh. “So that’s why you’re suddenly ‘over it’?”
Isabella shrugged. “That, and it’s plain as day he’s more into you.”
Audrey almost choked on air. “Excuse me?”
Isabella rolled her eyes. “Please. The way he looks at you? It’s like a Golden Retriever waiting for a treat.”
Audrey brushed it off, scribbling on Mason’s bill. “You’re imagining things.”
“Mm-hmm.” Isabella leaned in. “So why do you look so flustered?”
Audrey ignored her, delivering Mason’s check. He seemed like he was working up the nerve to say something, but before he could, she cut him off again.
“Clocking out. If you want dessert, Isabella’s got you covered.”
Mason offered a disappointed smile. “Good night, then.”
Audrey nodded, stepping outside into the crisp night air.
The walk home should have been straightforward, but Audrey’s feet had a mind of their own. Before she realized it, she stood in front of Bradley Comstock’s house.
All the lights were off.
The place looked empty.
Her gut told her the poison had to be somewhere in that house. If he didn’t keep it at his office, he had to store it at home.
Screw it.
Audrey crept toward the back, testing the doors.
Locked.
The windows?
Locked.
Then, bingo. She remembered the bathroom window she had unlocked the last time she was in the house. It took some effort, but she managed to pry it open and wiggle inside, nearly getting stuck in the process.
As she twisted her way through, movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. A neighbor strolled by on the sidewalk.
Audrey ducked down.
The neighbor paused, frowning toward the house.
Audrey’s heart slammed against her ribs.
Keep walking.
Please keep walking.
After a tense moment, the neighbor moved on.
Audrey exhaled, then got to work.
She started in the bathroom, rummaging through drawers and medicine cabinets.
Nothing.
No mysterious vials.
No suspicious pill bottles.
Carefully, she slipped into the hallway, scanning the house. Photos lined the walls.
Bradley’s father.
Everywhere.
Framed pictures of Ed Comstock, smiling, fishing, shaking hands in business deals.
A shrine.
Yeah, this guy’s revenge plot checks out.
Audrey searched the living room, the kitchen, even the study. Nothing.
She was about to call it quits when—
A key turned in the front door lock.
Audrey’s blood turned to ice.
Bradley was home.
She scurried down the hall, slipping into a closet, pressing herself into the farthest corner.
The front door clicked open.
Footsteps.
She saw the closet knob twitch.
Audrey held her breath.
Bradley hung up his coat, then moved toward the bathroom. A second later, she heard the shower start.
She was halfway to the door when she froze.
She needed to see his arm.
Whoever had attacked her in the woods had been bitten by Flounder. If Bradley had a bandage, she’d have her proof.
Carefully, she crept toward the bathroom door, peeking through the crack.
The room steamed up.
Bradley stepped out of the shower, towel-drying his hair.
No bandage.
No bite marks on his left arm.
No injury whatsoever.
Not even a scratch.
It wasn’t him.
She turned toward the front door, reaching for the handle—
Ding-dong.
Audrey froze.
Footsteps down the hall.
She panicked, darting toward the kitchen as Bradley opened the door.
“Clyde.” Bradley’s tone was clipped.
Clyde Peterson stepped inside, agitated. “Cops have been sniffing around.”
Bradley sighed. “So?”
Clyde scowled. “So? They’re trying to link me to you. I can’t afford that. My trial’s already on thin ice.”
Bradley rolled his eyes. “Relax.”
Clyde gritted his teeth. “I’m not going down for someone I barely know.”
Bradley studied him, then smiled coldly. “Then maybe I will make it worth your while to keep your mouth shut.”
Clyde hesitated. “I need to think.”
Bradley’s eyes darkened. “Don’t make my life difficult. Or yours.”
“Just so you know, I don’t respond very well to threats,” Clyde huffed before storming out.
Bradley slammed the door.
Then, he snapped.
He knocked over a lamp, sending it crashing to the floor.
Muttered to himself, pacing, completely unraveling.
Audrey watched in horror.
Then, Bradley cut his hand on the broken glass. He cursed, storming off toward the bathroom.
Audrey didn’t wait.
She darted for the door, flinging it open, slipping into the night.
As soon as she was a safe distance away, she pulled out her phone.
Dialed Jill.
“Mom,” she whispered. “Did you get the test results back on the contents of the gift bag?”
“Still waiting. Why?”
“I may know of another way we can nail him.”