“You should get a listening device. You could spy on everyone.”
Everett held his breath for a moment, wanting to tell her he didn’t need any technology to spy. He could break into units and dig through people’s things whenever he liked. The words pushed at his teeth, wanting out. I might even learn how to pick locks. Her eyes would go wide again; she’d gasp and beg him to tell more.
He opened his mouth. Took a breath. But when she glanced over her shoulder at him, Everett closed his teeth with a snap. He couldn’t say it. None of the kids at school ever talked about his dad, because it was ancient history. But history lived forever in a town like this, like a hovering ghost, and what if she told someone that Everett was a criminal too?
“Look!” she gasped, pointing back toward the highway. “My dad’s truck!” A fire truck slid down the highway, lights flashing, though he could barely pick out the whine of the sirens. It moved through traffic like a toy, reminding Everett of a museum his mom had once taken him to that was filled with toy trains looping through miniature tunnels and over tiny bridges.
“Your dad is a firefighter?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s so cool! It must be scary, though.”
“Sometimes. But mostly it’s car crashes or other emergencies. There aren’t many fires in a place like this. He’s good at his job, so I don’t worry much. He’s just a great dad, honestly.” She suddenly stood a little straighter, and her eyes snapped toward Everett as if she’d just realized something important.
He sighed at the regret he could read clearly in her expression. “I guess you’ve heard the story, huh?”
“Um . . . About your dad? Yeah. Sorry.”
He shrugged. “It happened a long time ago, and a lot of fathers take off. It’s not that different for me. He left my mom to take care of everything like any other deadbeat. But I’m glad you have a great dad.” He moved closer to the edge of the roof, where a three-foot-tall edge protected them from falling.
He did miss having a dad, but nothing could be done about that. His dad couldn’t come back even if he wanted to. And probably he didn’t want to.
Josephine bumped his shoulder with hers. “Even great dads aren’t perfect, just so you know. My parents broke up three years ago. Mom says he had a midlife crisis. I honestly thought I’d never be happy again, and I was so mad at him. So . . . I know it’s hard.”
“But he came back?” Everett asked, trying to keep the question as light as he could. He remembered telling his mom that Dad would be back. He remembered waiting. For years. He wasn’t waiting anymore, though.
“Yeah. We moved here to start over.”
“To Herriman? Doesn’t seem worth the trade-off.”
She shot him a narrow look.
“Hey, I’m sorry your dad came back and you had to move to Herriman!”
She tried to glare but broke into laughter. She seemed to get his sense of humor. She seemed . . . really nice.
Maybe next time he’d tell her about the storage units, because he desperately wanted to tell someone about what he’d found yesterday. Anyone.
In the bright daylight, he felt less certain about what he’d seen, and way less scared. He’d go back in as soon as he could, and this time he’d write down the names of the girls and look them up online. Maybe it was all a gross joke. Or a crime that had been solved a long time ago.
That was probably it. That was why it was in storage.
“Hey, do you like mysteries?” he asked her.
Josephine smiled.
Yeah, he’d tell her as soon as he found out more.
CHAPTER 6
Lily was thrilled to have Josephine over for dinner, though she hadn’t been to the grocery store that week, so she’d had to order pizza. Not that the kids had complained. They even liked the same kind: ham and pineapple.
The two seemed to have fallen easily into friendship, already calling each other Ev and Josie and bending their heads close together to look at Josephine’s phone every five seconds.
The girl’s mother, Barbara Woodbridge, had promised to have the kids over soon, but she’d explained that she was working seventy hours a week during tax season and her husband was a firefighter on rotation for twenty-four-hour shifts at a time. Lily wondered if she could tap Barbara for career advice someday, though any accounting jobs she might take would likely be far from here.
Despite the pizza, she got out real plates and made the kids sit at the table with her so she could get to know Josephine better. The girl was funny, polite, and smart, though she seemed to hate English class as much as Everett did. They both loved reading and absolutely hated writing. A friendship made in heaven.
When the phone rang, Lily excused herself to answer it. There was no rest for the weary when you lived on-site.
“Ma’am, this is Detective Mendelson. I’m following up on your security footage.”
She was struck by an immediate bolt of relief that she no longer had anything—or anyone—to hide. “Oh. Hi, Detective. Yes, I checked through everything as promised, and there was nothing there. Quiet as a mouse.” When she glanced toward the kids, they were both staring right at her, so Lily walked out of the apartment to the office.
“And since then?”
“Since then?” she parroted. “It’s calm as ever out here.”
“You haven’t seen anything odd when you’re out and about in the evenings?”
“I’m not,” she said quickly. “Not really. I have a young son, so our evenings are quiet, and we go to bed early. I haven’t been wandering around in the dark. Is there something dangerous going on?”
“I’m not sure, Mrs. Arthur. Is there?”
Her body jerked straight, touched by the electric shock of his words: Mrs. Arthur. Her married name.
“It’s . . . it’s Ms. Brown,” she said faintly. But he knew that. She’d told him her name.
“Of course. My mistake.”
It hadn’t been a mistake at all. It had been a warning. But a warning about what, exactly? Sheltering a person running from abuse was hardly a crime; it only violated the rules of the business and a few building codes. If this was all about Jones . . .
She shook her head, her hand gripping the phone so hard that her knuckles ached. Mrs. Arthur. It hadn’t even been his real name. Or it had, in a way. Jones Arthur had started out life as Arthur Jones. He’d reversed the names as a way to leave his juvenile history behind. Start fresh. Or just fool everyone, including his wife.
Another reason she’d changed her son’s name. No child should inherit a scam for an identity.
“What do you want?” she finally asked past clenched teeth. He didn’t answer, and she imagined him staring, waiting for her to squirm, just like all those other cops had.
Mendelson hadn’t been a detective back when she’d been in and out of the police station for interviews, but he could have been a patrol officer. She’d been in such a daze for those first interrogations she could have been in a room with him several times and remember none of it.
“I spoke to quite a few people in the area yesterday, Ms. Brown,” he said, finally deigning to speak. “You were the only one who seemed nervous. You wanna tell me why that is?”
No, she definitely did not. “I really don’t have any answers for you, Detective,” she forced out. “I didn’t see anything. I don’t even know what you’re looking for.”
“You have an interesting history in this town,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
“It’s not my history. It’s something I was witness to.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes. I didn’t steal anyone’s money. I didn’t run away. I’m still right here, aren’t I?” She took a deep breath, trying to calm the bitter panic in her voice.
“Regardless . . . I think I’ll drop by sometime and go over a few details with you. See if we can’t jog that memory. Have a good evening, Mrs. Arthur.”
She stood frozen for a long moment after he hung up. His voice had been perfectly pleasant, but his words had held threat. Of what?