College kids were so naïve these days. A few nonchalant questions about who lived in which dorm, and Maisie was personally escorted to Linda Perry’s room by not one but two college students—no questions asked. Linda’s door was slightly ajar. Maisie pressed on it with a finger, opening it all the way. A few feet in front of her, Linda sat at a desk, fingers tapping on a keyboard like she was on a tight deadline. She didn’t look up when Maisie walked in. She just said, “I think you have the wrong room.”
“I have the right room. You’re Linda Perry, aren’t you?”
The blond-haired, blue-eyed stunner nodded.
“Good,” Maisie said. “I’m here to see you.”
“Me? Why? We don’t know each other, do we?”
Maisie crossed the room, sitting on a hot-pink chair in the corner made of fake fur. She explained who she was and why she was there. Linda fidgeted while she spoke, which made Maisie suspicious. “Are you okay? You seem, out of sorts.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s nothing. I mean, it’s not nothing. It’s just, I haven’t been feeling well since I heard about Lane and Zoey. I’ve been sick to my stomach. I can’t eat. Can’t sleep.”
“I’m sure hearing about what happened has been difficult for you.”
Linda’s eyes doubled in size. “What do you mean? Has something else happened? Has Zoey been found? Is she okay?”
“Oh, no, dear. Last I heard, they’re still looking for her. I was hoping you could help.”
“How? I’ve already talked to the police twice. I don’t know what more I could say that I haven’t already said.”
“Sometimes the smallest detail makes all the difference. It’s the reason you’ve been questioned twice already. Now, can we talk about your relationship with Lane?”
“My relationship? We didn’t have a relationship. He’s always been with Zoey.”
“What I mean to say is, were the two of you friends?”
“I suppose so. We didn’t hang out much.”
“What did you think of him?”
“Nice guy. Quiet. Considerate. Always asking me if I needed anything. Always making sure we were okay. Zoey was a lucky girl. There aren’t many guys like Lane anymore.”
“What about him made you feel that way?”
“He was the kind of guy who’d do anything to help the people he cared about.”
“When you say anything, did that include physical violence?”
“What do you mean, get in a fight and punch someone? He wasn’t a violent guy.”
“Did he own a gun?” Maisie asked.
“A gun? No. Why?”
She’d clenched her fists when she answered. Was she lying? Had she known about the gun?
“I visited with Zoey’s sister Lena for a while. She said you witnessed a fight between Lane and Brennan Allen recently?”
“It was nothing, just a misunderstanding.”
“Over what?” Maisie asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you sure? Weren’t you here, in the bathroom the entire time?”
Linda fiddled with the frayed hem on her shorts, rubbing it between her fingers. The pause gave her time to think, to come up with an answer. Maisie wondered what changed, why she seemed relaxed when Maisie first arrived but now seemed uneasy.
“I was in the shower when they started arguing. I got out when I heard them, but by then, the argument was almost over. Then Lena walked in and Brennan left.”
“Did Lane mention what they were arguing about?”
She shook her head. “I could tell he was angry, and I’d never seen him get upset with anyone. I thought he needed to cool down, so I didn’t push.”
“Wasn’t Zoey living at home when the argument occurred?”
“Yes.”
“Why was Lane in your dorm room then?”
Several seconds went by before she answered. “He was picking up some of Zoey’s things.”
“I’m confused. Lena said she stopped by to get the items her sister left.”
Linda shrugged, said nothing.
“Did you talk much to Zoey after she moved out?”
“All the time.”
“And she never mentioned the argument between Lane and Brennan?”
“No, she never did.”
Several decades had come and gone since Maisie was a young, fresh-faced college student, but if there was one thing she knew about girls Linda’s age, it was their keen interest in gossip. Any gossip in any form. And though Linda put off an illusion of disinterest, Maisie wasn’t sure she believed her.
A college-age male entered Linda’s room like he owned the place. In looks, he was presentable, dressed in a clean, button-up shirt, jeans, and Teva sandals, but dangling from his mouth was a half-smoked joint. He was so focused on Linda, he failed to notice Maisie at first.
He pinched the joint with his fingers, and then bent toward Linda. His attempt to hug her was refused. She turned her head, looking partly repulsed, partly mortified that Maisie was sitting there staring, witnessing what was going on.
“What’s wrong?” the boy said. “Why aren’t you dressed? I thought you said you’d be ready to go by six.”
“I ... uhh ...”
“Hello there,” Maisie said.
The boy turned, stood back up, and moved the joint behind his back like he could make it disappear. “Uhh ... ma’am.”
Maisie frowned. “Call me ma’am again, and see what happens.”
Linda’s hand was on her chest like she was trying to steady her breathing.
Maisie stepped up to the boy, turned her palm upward, wiggled her fingers. “Hand it over,” she said to the boy.
“I know, sorry,” he said. “I’ll flush it right now.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” She snapped her fingers. “Hand it over.”
Maisie squeezed her fingers over the joint, put it to her lips, inhaled, exhaled, and handed it back to the boy.
He smiled. “I don’t know who you are, but, lady, you’re a trip.”
He had no idea.
“Who are you then?” Maisie asked. “Linda’s boyfriend?”
“I’m—”
“He’s nobody,” Linda said. “He was just leaving.”
“So, you don’t have a name then?” Maisie asked. “A name like Brennan Allen?”