Kyle Grady. It wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Could it? Pondering what she knew so far on the way back to her car, a shiny, red pickup truck pulled into the driveway and slowed to a stop. A man looked in Maisie’s direction, then hopped out. He was older, not as old as she was, but looked about the age of her son, and he had a similar build to Brandon, which lent to the assumption of him being Brandon’s father. She stopped a moment, considering whether she wanted to have a conversation with him, then decided against it. It was getting late, and she was tired. Stuart’s funeral was the next morning. Mr. Conrad would have to wait until later.
She unlocked her car door, but didn’t get in, instead pausing while the man in the red truck made his way over to her. He was handsome and polished in his slate gray suit, and pretty. Too pretty for her liking. He held his head higher than most, showing off a classic air of prestige she was used to seeing in men like him.
“Excuse me,” he asked. “Can I help you?”
“That depends. Are you Allan Conrad?”
He stuck a hand out. It was a bit formal in her opinion, but she shook it anyway.
“I’m Allan. Who are you?”
“Maisie Fezziwig.”
“Any relation to Mayor Fezziwig?”
She nodded. “He’s my son.”
“Good man. What brings you to my house?”
“I was looking for you or your wife, but since neither of you were home, I ended up talking to your son for a few minutes.”
“Why?”
“I’m interested in what happened to your son, and the connection it might have with the murder that happened on my street this week.”
“You’re talking about the Marshall kid, right?”
She nodded. “They haven’t caught the person responsible. They also haven’t found his wife.”
“Probably dead at this point. Anyway, I fail to see how any of this relates to Jayden. How’s it connected?”
She thought about the promise she made to Coraline earlier. “I’m not sure yet, but I believe your son knew Lane or Zoey Marshall, or maybe even both of them.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Again, I’d like to know how you came up with your theory. I’ve never heard of either one of them until I heard what happened.”
“If you want answers, you should call the police, see if they have any updates.”
He laughed. “Updates? I’ve pushed them as far as they could be pushed, pressed every button, squeezed every last bit out of them, thinking maybe, just maybe, they’d find my son’s killer.”
“Just because they haven’t found the person responsible doesn’t mean they still won’t.”
“They’ve found nothing. They’ve done nothing. And I’m sitting here having to accept a bunch of loser cops who will never get justice for my son. And now you, standing here, making observations with nothing to back it up. You know something, and yet, you won’t say what that something is.”
He was as arrogant as he was observant. “I have some information, but I can’t share it yet.”
“If you’re not going to be straight with me, you can leave. I don’t have time for games.”
“This isn’t a game. It’s me giving my word to someone and keeping it. I didn’t say I’d never tell you. I said not yet. There’s a difference. I get the feeling you’re used to getting your way, used to people doing what you want when you want them to do it. I suppose it’s time someone told you no.”
And she was more than happy to be the one to do it.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, tapping his polished shoe on the asphalt. “I think you should leave.”
He could think anything he wanted. Didn’t mean she’d comply. “No. I don’t think I will.”
“Excuse me?”
Maisie shut the car door. “I said no. You do understand the meaning of the word, don’t you?”
“You’re leaving if I say you’re leaving. Get off my property.”
“I’m not on your property. I’m in front of it, on the street, the public street. I wonder ... did Jayden share your temper? Is that why he was killed?”
He clenched his jaw, pivoted, and walked toward his house. She may not have known why he’d become so agitated, but she’d definitely struck a nerve.