Chapter 15

The wordson the witness statements begin to blur and the letters run together, fuzzy and out of focus. Maisy pushes her glasses up to the crown of her head and rubs her tired eyes. She’s been at this all morning, reading and rereading the statements the teenagers gave once Heather Ryan’s disappearance became a police investigation. She’s lined them up on her dining room table and has read through each one multiple times, making notes.

She’d intended to compare the statements and find the inconsistencies. In her experience as an investigative reporter, the truth was always somewhere in those inconsistencies. The problem with this plan is that there are no inconsistencies in these statements. She blows out a frustrated breath and pushes a loose curl behind her ear. How is it that a bunch of fourteen- to eighteen-year-olds, many of whom were admittedly under the influence of alcohol the night of Heather’s disappearance, managed to have identical memories of the events? Her BS detector clangs wildly.

Maisy stands and paces a circuit around the dining room, raising her arms overhead and from side to side to stretch her tight back. She skipped her workout this morning, eager to dive back into the files, but now she regrets not going to the gym. She’s stiff, sore, and fatigued.

The alarm on her phone dings. It’s the reminder she set to let her know it’s time to get ready for her lunch date. She returns the statements to a tidy pile and places her notebook and pen on top of the stack before going into her bedroom to freshen up. On her way out the door, she grabs her gym bag from the hook on her closet door. Maybe after lunch she’ll pop by the gym. A good cycling session should clear her head. If that doesn’t work, some time in the sauna will.

Her mind is on the case as she strides through her neighborhood to the restaurant Sasha chose. It’s one of their favorites—out of the way, never busy, with a chef who uses local ingredients to create fresh, nourishing dishes as if by magic. She spots Sasha through the front window and checks her watch. She’s not late. Her eyebrows lift as she tries to remember the last time Sasha McCandless Connelly was early for anything.

When she pushes through the front door, the little bell hanging above it tinkles, and Sasha glances up at the sound. She gives a small wave as Maisy crosses the tiny dining room to meet her, then she pops up and gives Maisy a hug, stretching up on her toes to wrap her arms around Maisy’s shoulders. At five-feet six-inches tall, Maisy towers over the little lawyer.

“You’re early.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

Maisy cocks an eyebrow as they take their seats and flatten their napkins over their laps.

“Okay, fine,” Sasha admits. “I had it in my calendar for the wrong time. I was off by thirty minutes.”

Maisy snorts. “Maybe this is Caroline’s way of keeping you on schedule?”

“Please, Caroline’s far too busy running the office to worry about my chronic tardiness. I’m sure she was just rushing and made a mistake. We’re short-staffed.” The unspoken subtext is with Jordana gone.

Maisy didn’t exactly poach Sasha’s legal intern so much as rescue her, but she’s not sure Sasha sees it that way.

“You know Jordana’s not coming back.”

“I know.”

“So you need to hire someone. Maybe even someone with a license to practice law.”

Sasha narrows her eyes. “Have you been talking to Naya and Will?”

“No, but your partners are right. Jordana functioned as some sort of associate/legal assistant hybrid. She wasn’t an intern and you?—”

“She was an indispensable member of the team,” Sasha interrupts, “and now she’s gone off on some flight of fantasy.”

“It’s not a flight of fantasy. It’s a real job. I’m hiring her permanently once she graduates.”

That cuts off the tirade. Sasha furrows her brow. “She really wants to stay in Pittsburgh?”

“I’m with you, sugar. That girl is young. This is her time to go live her life. But this is what she wants to do.”

“Then we need to support her,” Sasha says simply.

Maisy smiles. For all Sasha’s grumping, she loves Jordana, almost like a daughter, and will do anything to help her. “Good, I’m glad to hear it. The next problem is she doesn’t want to celebrate her graduation.”

“What do you mean she doesn’t want to celebrate?”

“She told her parents she didn’t want a party because they’ll fight like wildcats if they’re in the same room.”

Jordana’s parents’ divorce was bitter, and the passage of time has done little to improve their relationship. The two exchange a knowing look.

“We could do something for her.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

“A dinner? Leo could cook.”

“I haven’t given the specifics any thought. I wanted to make sure you’re on board first.”

The tiny lawyer huffs. “Of course, I’m on board. The firm’s on board, Leo and the kids are on board. Just let me know what you need us to do when you figure it out.”

Maisy smiles. “Deal.”

A server stops at the table.

“Hey, Teal,” Sasha greets her as if she’s an old friend of theirs. Maisy supposes at this point she is.

“Sasha, Maisy, should I get you a couple menus or?—?”

Maisy eyes Sasha, who shakes her head.

“Nope. Put in our usual order, sugar.”

“You got it.”

“We’re predictable,” Sasha laments as Teal heads off to the kitchen.

“We know what we like,” Maisy counters.

Sasha tips her head to the side, accepting the point, then leans across the table. “So, Leo and I listened to the first episode of your new season while we were walking the dog last night.”

“Where were the kids?” Maisy doubts the couple would play the interview about the disappearance of a teenager in front of their eight-year-olds.

“Soccer practice. We walked Mocha around the field.”

“What did you think?”

“It’s intriguing. Thirty years and not a single break in the case.”

“Do you remember when she disappeared?”

Sasha thinks back. “Sort of. I was in eighth grade, so I wasn’t exactly following the news, but I remember hearing about it. My mother freaked out and made my brothers walk me everywhere that summer. It was irritating for everyone concerned.”

They both laugh, then Maisy says, “So you don’t know anything about these kids?”

“No, they were a good bit older than me. And while McKeesport is only, what, a half an hour outside the city, it may as well have been on the moon as far as I was concerned. Have you been out there?”

“To the school? No. When the district consolidated, that high school was closed. There’s nobody left to interview. But Jordana and I are going to head out to Dead Man’s Hollow. Mainly for background.”

Sasha gives her a careful look. “You’re chewing over something in your mind. Spit it out.”

Maisy opens her mouth, but just then Teal returns with Maisy’s salad and Sasha’s sandwich, along with a carafe of still mineral water. “You want some coffee too, Sasha?”

“No, I’m good.”

Teal and Maisy both shoot her a surprised look.

“Everything looks great, Teal,” Maisy smiles up at her.

“Yeah, thanks,” Sasha chimes in.

Teal walks away and Maisy cocks her head at her friend. “Did you just pass up coffee?”

“I’m having trouble sleeping.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t hmm me. I’m not cutting it out. I’m cutting back. No coffee after noon.”

“Does the firm have contingency plans in place for your inevitable meltdown?”

“Haha. No. But Leo’s scared.”

“I’ll bet.”

“So, what’s on your mind? I know it’s something.”

Maisy toys with a piece of baby spinach on the end of her fork. “I was reading the police reports this morning,” she begins.

“Wait. You got the cold case file?”

“We sure did. They couldn’t wait to send it over. I mean, not a single lead in three decades? This case isn’t just cold; it’s arctic. They’ll be thrilled if we can uncover anything new.”

“So, go do your thing.”

“I’d love to. But these kids’ stories all line up. Exactly.”

Sasha puts her sandwich down. “You think they got together and got their story straight?”

“I’m beginning to.” She chases a cherry tomato around her plate. “The thing is, the police didn’t open an investigation until Monday, which was Memorial Day, and the feds didn’t get involved until Tuesday. So Heather Ryan had been gone for more than three days before they interviewed anyone other than her two older sisters.”

“More than enough time for a group of teenagers to agree on a story and get everyone on the same page.”

“Right.”

“And nobody’s backed away from their statement in the past thirty years?”

“Not even a bit.”

Sasha purses her lips and tsks. Maisy’s heartened that her friend’s reaction squares with her own instincts.

She sips her water. “It makes me think they’re hiding something more than underage drinking and maybe some recreational drugs.”

“Sounds that way. I don’t pretend to be psychic, but it’s almost certain this girl’s dead.”

“I know that,” Maisy tells her. “So do her sisters. But they need confirmation. Closure. They want to know the truth.”

Sasha nods and looks down at her plate. Maisy wonders if she’s thinking of her own brother, murdered by a friend. The McCandless family believed his death was an accidental shooting for twenty years before they learned the truth. Before she can bring it up, Sasha launches into a story about her twins cleaning their bathroom floor with dishwashing soap.

Maisy laughs at the description of the sticky mess that resulted, but the case is still running around in her brain like a hamster on a wheel.

“They’re lying about something. Something they’ve managed to keep covered up for more than a quarter of a century.”

Sasha eyes her closely. “If anyone can wheedle the truth out of them, it’s you.”

“Wheedle?”

“How about charm? You’ll charm the truth out of them with your patented Maisy Farley magic.”

Maisy thinks for a moment, then nods. “Charm works.”

“Well, then, go work your charm, woman.”

Usually, this is precisely what she’d do. In this case, she’s not sure who to start with. The teenagers in the woods that night are a monolith—a brick wall of middle-aged parents, taxpayers, employees, business owners. Their interests are aligned in holding the line and maintaining the lie. She needs to find just a single crack in the wall, no matter how infinitesimal. Then she can work her way inside, crumble their defenses, and pull out the truth.