Chapter 9

NINE

“Penelope had a death threat.” Jack set down his coffee, recently brewed and steaming, and sat on the chair next to Harper, who had pulled up the Penny for Your Thoughts podcast.

Harper wore her pajama bottoms and an oversized white-and-maroon University of Minnesota sweatshirt, her short hair tousled, no makeup. Sweet. Simple.

Honest.

Twenty-eight. Not eighteen . His brain had finally sort of settled on that fact, so no, he wasn’t going to run. In fact, when he’d arrived home from the bachelor party and spotted her sitting in front of the crackling hearth, he’d thought?—

Two days .

She’d walk out of his life in two days. And he didn’t know what to do with the punch that landed in his gut, then swept his breath out.

It hadn’t helped that he couldn’t take his mind off her all evening, even as he’d hung out in the steaming hot tub and watched the Blue Ox game on a massive theater screen at Declan Stone’s impressive lake home. He’d finally suggested going over to the Lumberjack’s Table to throw axes.

Stein had agreed, apparently itching to leave, and they’d walked in right as Harper was singing the Adele song, and didn’t that take a piece out of him? “Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead.” She’d had a soulful longing in her voice, and if it hadn’t been for Steinbeck tugging him to the pool tables in the back, he’d have found a chair, kept listening.

Maybe come up to her and said . . .

What? Because he couldn’t have dated a high-schooler. Even if she had been eighteen years old.

Now, however . . . well, the math felt different today, sitting with her at the kitchen table, the night pressing against the windows, the bracing scent of fresh-brewed coffee in the air. She kept playing with a bracelet she wore, running the charm over the chain, clearly a thinking habit as she read through the comments from the most recent episode.

“Most of these are just people speculating on who killed Sarah Livingston,” she said.

“It’s not in the comments. It’s on the show.” He reached over to move the cursor toward the end of the podcast, where Penelope played the various voice comments. They listened for a moment, and then the voice he’d heard before came on.

A medium tenor, the voice sounded in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. “You got it all wrong. And if you don’t figure it out right, Sarah won’t be the only one to die.”

He paused it.

“That’s not a death threat,” she said. “He could be talking about anything.”

“I thought so too, at first. Just a listener’s concern that if she gets it wrong, a killer could run free. But the more I hear it, the more I feel like it’s a threat. Listen to the way he says it—” He replayed the recording. “That’s not a concern. That’s a threat.”

She leaned back in her chair, let go of her leg, folded her arms over her chest and gave him a look. “Now who has the overactive imagination?”

Oh. Right . He’d said that to her. “Listen, at the time, I thought she might be pulling a publicity stunt.”

“And now?”

“Now we have a guy in a coma and a scream on voicemail.” He, too, leaned back in his chair. “Maybe we need to take a closer look at the case she was working on.”

“The murder of Sarah Livingston? Sure. I haven’t listened to all the podcasts, though, so?—”

“I have. Or most of them.” He got up, grabbed her empty mug. “More coffee?”

She nodded.

“Okay, so here’s what I know,” he said as he poured. “Sarah Livingston was a just-starting-out real-estate agent who was found dead in her apartment from an apparent break-in. Except, all her valuables were untouched, and there was no sign of a forced entry. Investigators initially pointed to her former boyfriend, a real-estate developer named Holden Walsh. His car was seen in the parking lot that night. The only other suspects were a friend Sarah called that night and her neighbor, who had a key to her apartment. Nothing led to either of them or further implicated Walsh, and the case died.”

He had fixed her coffee and returned to the table, set it in front of her.

“Penelope picked up the case and started to look into Walsh. Apparently, he had some shady financial records and a history of violence. Penelope’s initial thought was that Sarah had something on him that he didn’t want to get out, that he entered her apartment with a spare key and silenced her.”

“So, it’s Walsh.”

“Or not, because Penelope confirmed his alibi. And she found evidence that pointed away from him.” He pulled out a chair, sitting in it backward, bracing his arms on the back. “First, there was a masked man seen on footage near Sarah’s apartment around the time of the murder.”

“Like Zorro?” Harper took a sip of her coffee, looking at him over the rim.

He smiled. “I don’t know. I was thinking more like a hosiery guy, but let’s go with Zorro.”

“So, Zorro. Who else?”

“Her neighbor Tommy. Turns out he’s an ex-con with a rap sheet that includes burglary. They were seen fighting a couple weeks earlier.”

“Over what?”

“Her cat. It got out and she blamed him. Penelope got the information from Kyle, Sarah’s longtime friend from college. Sarah’s phone records suggest they might have been becoming more than friends after she broke up with Walsh.”

“Do we think Kyle’s a suspect?”

“According to Penelope, he had a domestic-violence complaint against him back in college, but it was dismissed. She did some sleuthing and found it was from a former girlfriend who accused him of losing his temper in a jealous rage.”

“You think he could have done that to Sarah?”

“Records show that Walsh visited her apartment only two days before the break-in and murder, so . . . maybe?”

“Four suspects. And according to Penelope’s podcast, she was going to implicate one of them in her next show.” Harper opened up the schedule. “Which drops tomorrow night.”

She clicked on the icon and then stilled.

“What?”

She turned her computer around. “She posted about the podcast on Instagram earlier tonight.” Clicking on the feed from the podcast page, Harper opened her IG page.

Don’t miss tonight’s podcast with a surprise guest! This changes everything!

“She could have scheduled this before she went missing,” Harper said.

He took a sip of his coffee. “Maybe.”

“You still don’t think she’s really missing.” Something sparked in her eyes.

He held up a hand. “I didn’t say that. I think it’s pretty clear that something isn’t right. I just want to keep an open mind.”

“You’re the one who said she had a death threat.”

He blinked at her, then stood up. “Since when am I the bad guy here? I’ve been traipsing all over the county for the past two days. I’m in, okay?”

His own words pinged through him.

“I’m in.”

Aw . Next thing he’d be making promises.

She studied him for a moment, then sighed. “Sorry. You’re right. I’m just . . . worried.”

He turned his chair around, sank back into it. “And your brain is playing what-ifs.”

She nodded grimly.

“Sort those what-ifs into scenarios. Possibilities. Then you’ll start thinking like me.”

“Lots of what-iffing going on up there?” She pointed to his head.

“It’s chaos. And loud. Especially when I’m on a hunt.”

“But you like it.”

He gave it a moment. “Yes. I do. Just because I get a reward for finding someone doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“You just don’t want anyone to depend on you.” She arched an eyebrow.

He had said that, hadn’t he? “I don’t like letting people down.” His words emerged soft, and he looked away, toward the dark window.

The one that reflected the sadness in her expression.

He turned back to her. “It was my fault that Boo nearly died out there.”

She frowned. “What?”

“I was supposed to stay with her. Keep up with her. But I was mad that she kept running ahead, so . . .” He blew out a breath. “If we hadn’t found her, I don’t think my dad would have ever forgiven me.”

“That doesn’t sound like your dad.”

“Oh, you didn’t hear him after we found her. He took me apart.”

“I’ve never heard your dad shout.”

“Oh no. He gets lethally quiet. And it’s scary. But more, I was fourteen, the oldest, and he said that as the oldest, I needed to take my responsibility seriously. That my siblings were depending on me.”

He swallowed, shook his head. “And maybe it went to my head. I thought—okay. I’m not going to screw this up. I’m going to protect them all.”

“And now it makes sense.”

“What does?”

“Two days in the woods, hunting for your missing Cub Scout.”

“Yeah, well, that was different. I was in charge; he was a kid?—”

“And you found him. And became a town hero. I know. I was there.”

A great warmth had filled her tone. It reached in, and he didn’t have the power to stop it.

“Which is why Sabrina’s death did a real number on you.”

Oh .

“I spent a lot of time with your family. Waterskiing, fires by the lake. And growing up, you were larger than life. The leader of the pack. Then suddenly . . . you were gone. Out of their lives.”

He started to shake his head, but she held up a hand. “Why do you think the entire family fractured when you walked away four years ago?”

“It didn’t fracture?—”

“You haven’t had a full family Christmas since then. Everyone scattered.”

“You’re blaming me?—”

“No. I’m saying that they depend on you more than you think. You are, and will always be, the oldest brother. You can’t abdicate that, Jack.”

He had nothing.

She shut her computer and got up. “You’ve been all over the nation, searching for lost souls. But the one you should be hunting for is right here.” She put her hand on his chest.

The warmth soaked through him, burning as he stood up.

She met his eyes.

He met hers.

And she was right there, just inches from him. Full-grown woman, looking at him as if she . . . well, knew him. Not in the hero-worship way of so many years ago, but with depth and understanding and . . .

The old spark had already flamed inside him, the one she’d lit so many years ago, and now it simply flashed over. He lifted his hand, touched her face.

She didn’t move, just drew in a breath, and her gaze fell to his mouth, back to his eyes, telling him yes.

So, of course, he kissed her. Because all other thought had abdicated and, aw , he was tired of trying to hold back the fire. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers, gently, searching?—

She stepped up, put both hands on his chest, and kissed him back. Not searching but responding, gas to his fire. Especially when she wound her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his.

The action ignited everything inside him, all his senses, and he simply tried not to combust as he wrapped his arms around her, angling his head down, breathing in the smell of her, tasting coffee, nearly engulfed by the sense of how well she fit against him.

Like she had always belonged in his arms.

He emitted a groan deep inside his chest, aware, so very aware, that no one, ever, had had this terrible, wonderful, terrifying effect on him.

No, he’d never forgotten her.

“Pigtails?”

Oh —

And just like that, the fire doused, a cold wash. He jerked, lifted his head, and stared down at her, wide-eyed.

She stared back, frowned, then took a breath. “Oh no . . . you have that?—”

“I shouldn’t have?—”

“For the love!” She pushed him away. “I am not in high school anymore.”

He took a step back, breathing hard. “Yep. Yep.” Then he shook his head. “Super aware of that right now.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Except, for a second there, you were, and?—”

“Get over it.” She stepped up to him, trapping him against the table. Put her arms around his waist.

The fire relit, the embers stirring. Oh, she smelled good, something playful in her beautiful eyes. “You’re not lost anymore, Jack Kingston. You’re right back where you’re supposed to be. So stop running.”

Then she kissed him.

He closed his eyes, let her explore his lips, let her nudge his mouth open, let her take control. She wound her arms around his neck again, and he sighed and pulled her into his arms.

And for a long time, he simply stopped thinking and let himself be found.

She finally pushed away, and a slow smile slid up her face. “Tomorrow, we hunt down that death threat.”

What?

She walked to the sink, poured out the rest of her coffee, then with a wink, she headed upstairs.

Wait. What just happened? His heart thumped, the taste of her still on his lips.

He should clearly stop thinking of her as Pigtails .

Turning off the lights, he headed out to the family room. The fire had died to a simmer in the hearth, and he sank onto the leather sofa, stretched out, staring at the embers’ pop and glow.

“The one you should be hunting for is right here.”

Maybe he couldn’t abdicate his position. But maybe he didn’t have a right to it, either.

He didn’t realize he’d nodded off on the sofa until the soft thud of firewood falling into the hearth basket made him open his eyes.

Sunlight streamed into the room, the fire cold, and he blinked at the form until he recognized his father arranging the wood into the copper log basket. He wore a canvas jacket, a wool hat, boots, and gloves.

Jack sat up, ran his hands over his face, and his father turned.

“I didn’t see you there. Sorry to wake you.” He took off his gloves and smacked them together over the basket, chipping off the wood shavings. “You okay?”

Jack nodded. “Up late working on a project. Didn’t want to wake Stein.”

His father nodded. “I got another couple loads to bring in.” He gestured with his head toward the door, and Jack got up, followed him out, donning a coat and boots on the way.

The inn’s pickup backed up to the house, the tailgate open, firewood stacked in the back. Jack held out his arms as his dad piled wood in. “Still at it every morning.”

“It’s the charm of these old houses. A fire in the hearth, your mom’s fresh-baked cinnamon rolls.” He gestured to the cab. “She sent some for the crew.”

His stomach nearly clenched, hungry.

Going inside, he let his father unload the logs from his arms. Then he followed him back out to the truck. His father opened the door. A casserole dish with a towel over it sat on the bench seat. Jack held up his hand. “I’ll help you with the other wood deliveries. Earn my breakfast.”

His dad nodded, warmth in his eyes.

Jack got into the passenger side. His father always reminded him a little of Russell Crowe, salt-and-pepper hair now, and gray whiskers, but he had a perpetual grin that took up all the space on his face, a low laugh, and Harper was right—the man never raised his voice.

Maybe that’s why his disappointment sat in Jack’s soul.

They drove to Grover House, the childhood home of his father. Similar to Doyle’s place—the Norbert—Grover House possessed a wide front porch, a turret, a parlor, dining room, five bedrooms, and a third-floor ballroom. They sometimes brought in a caterer for bigger groups. Now, a few shiny Escalades sat in the driveway, belonging to Oaken and his friends.

His father backed the truck in and got out.

He loaded Jack up with more wood, then grabbed his own armful, and they headed inside.

Bacon frying in the kitchen, conversation, laughter. Weirdly, the fact that Jack’s sister was marrying into a sort of found family settled a peace inside him.

They arranged the logs, then his father stirred the fire to life.

“Thank you, Mr. Kingston.”

Jack looked over to see Oaken entering the room, holding a cup of coffee.

His father got up. “We’ve been over this. It’s Grover.” He winked at Oaken.

Oaken lifted his coffee, glanced at Jack. “Have you tracked down Penelope yet?”

That’s right . Oaken and Penelope were friends. Jack had worked the fire into a blaze and now set the poker back with the fireplace utensils. “Working on it.”

Oaken’s mouth made a tight line. “If you need help, let us know.”

And by ‘us’ he meant Boo’s search and rescue team. “Maybe. We have a couple leads we’re checking out today.”

Jack followed his father back out to the truck. His dad looked over as he put the tailgate up. “I didn’t know she was missing.”

“Yeah. We thought she went to Minneapolis, but”—he shook his head—“I’m not sure.”

“If anyone can find her, it’s you, son.” Then he winked and headed to the cab.

And Jack just stood there, wanting for the first time to make promises.

His father fired up the truck, and he slid into the front seat. They motored over to the Rudolph, the third home, this one more of a cottage, built for great-great-grandfather Bing’s youngest son, who’d remained a bachelor all his life. A porch, of course, a small turret for the parlor, two bedrooms, and a great room with a marble fireplace in deep mahogany.

“The band is staying here.” His father got out and they repeated their resupply of the firewood.

They got back in the truck, and Jack wanted to round back to his father’s earlier statement, but the older man turned on the radio to the morning news from KDUC. Something about vandalism at the market this morning, police on the scene.

His father turned off the radio. “Kids today need something to do. Outside. Something to fill up their time more than video games.”

“Like building firepits?”

His dad glanced over at him, grinning. “It kept you boys out of trouble.”

Jack shook his head, also grinning. Maybe . “That’s Doyle’s job now.”

“He’s a big help. But he’s getting restless, I can feel it.” He pulled back into the drive for Grover House. “Sort of like you.”

“Me? I’m not restless.”

“Son. You’ve been restless your entire life.” He turned to Jack as he put the truck in Park. “But it’s good to have you home.”

Maybe Jack was tired, but the words nudged in beside the others, filling his chest.

“Conrad’s here,” his father said, looking up at the porch.

Indeed, his brother, dressed in a black parka and jeans, came down the stairs to the truck. He came over to the driver’s side, and his dad rolled down the window. “Hey. You just get here?”

“Came in early this morning instead of driving in last night.” Conrad wore a grim expression and glanced over at Jack. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh . . . well, I’m here for a wedding. How about you?”

Conrad rolled his eyes. “Dude. Did the sheriff not call you? I drove through town, and your school bus . . . Sorry, man, but it’s incinerated.”

* * *

Today, she would find Penelope.

Harper transferred the photographs she’d dug up of Holden Walsh, Kyle Brunley, and Tommy Fadden to her phone and closed her computer.

She hoped Jack was up—she wanted to track down Kyle Brunley and talk to him. According to her search, he lived in Bloomington and worked for a law firm in downtown Minneapolis. Handsome guy, brown hair, grew up with Sarah Livingston.

She’d found clips of him speaking at their high school graduation. He matched the caller’s voice on the podcast; she knew it in her gut.

Jack would flip. See, she could find people too.

Her words from last night kept thrumming through her. “You’re not lost anymore, Jack Kingston. You’re right back where you’re supposed to be. So stop running.”

Wow, she didn’t known where that had come from, but hello. She’d kissed Jack Kingston. Again. Only this time, he hadn’t run.

Yet.

No. She’d seen the look on his face when she’d left him. Shaken, maybe, but also intrigued, those blue eyes following her.

Intrigued was good for a man who liked solving mysteries.

She’d showered, dried her hair, and now headed downstairs in her black pants and a bulky blue sweater. Conrad and Stein stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, nursing coffee as she came in.

Clearly, she’d interrupted their conversation, because they both cleared their throats and summoned up smiles. “Morning, Bee,” Stein said.

“Harper,” Conrad corrected. Winked. It didn’t have the same effect as a wink from Jack, but a familial warmth swept through her. He must have gotten in last night, after she’d gone to bed.

She’d spent way too much time thinking about Jack, of course, and the way he’d looked at her when she’d suggested he might be searching for himself.

Sort of made her wonder if they all were hunting for pieces of themselves, really. Like Penny and her podcast. And Boo, when she’d signed up for a reality show after a dare from Jack. And maybe even her mother, remodeling her home, finally.

Harper didn’t have a clue what she might be looking for. Coffee, maybe. She headed for the machine. “Is Jack up yet?” She picked up the pot, grabbed a mug.

Silence and she turned. “What?”

Conrad stared at his mug. Steinbeck drew a grim line with his mouth.

“Sheesh. You act like he left town or . . .” She set the coffeepot down. “Did he leave town?”

“Nope,” Conrad said.

“Gonna be hard to do,” Stein added.

She frowned. “I don’t?—”

“His schoolie was torched last night,” Stein said.

The words dropped through her, hollowed her. “ What? ”

“Not sure what happened, but when I drove by the market this morning, the bus was still in flames, fire trucks and everything. Jack left about twenty minutes ago.”

She didn’t have time for coffee. Instead, she walked to the door, grabbed her jacket.

Conrad came behind her. “Where are you going?”

She shrugged on the coat. “To the market. Everything he owns is inside that schoolie. And . . .” She didn’t know why her voice shook. “I just . . .”

“Care. Okay, I get it.” Conrad walked over and grabbed his jacket. “I’m going with you.”

“You don’t?—”

“I think I do. You’re not the only one who is worried about Jack.”

“I’m going too,” Stein said.

“It’s a party,” she said and grabbed her keys. “But I’m driving.”

She headed outside, the guys on her tail, her heart thundering. “Who would want to burn Jack’s schoolie?”

“No idea,” Conrad said.

“Maybe it has to do with your missing friend,” Stein said, wedging his body into the back seat.

“Penelope? Why would—” She exhaled. “I hope not.”

“Still missing, huh?” Conrad said. “That’s disturbing.”

She glanced at him. Nodded.

“How do you two know each other?” Conrad asked. If she thought Stein was big, Conrad barely fit in her Chevy Sonic, his thighs the size of timbers, his presence taking up most of the front seat. She’d seen him get into more than a few fights on the ice, so he could probably handle himself just as well as Stein, or nearly.

The thug squad, these two, and she suddenly realized they’d tagged along for protection. For her? Probably for Jack.

Still, sweet.

“We were roommates in college at the U of M and for a year after we graduated. She moved home when her sister’s fiancé was murdered, and that’s when I headed to Nashville, but we stayed close. She reached out to me to do the murder podcast on the Mike Grizz case, and I connected her to Oaken and Boo.”

A line of smoke trailed up into the sky, still dissipating as they drew near town.

She slowed. Traffic backed up around the market, gawkers.

Sheriff’s cars and a fire truck still sat on the lot.

Only blackened shells remained of the schoolie and the car parked next to it, clear casualties of the flames. She parked next to Jack’s Geo and got out, the air soggy, sooty, and redolent of burnt rubber.

Jack stood, his hands in his back pockets, talking with a deputy.

Jenna. Of course . Harper took a breath and walked up to them, followed by Stein and Conrad. She stopped next to Jack. Might have reached out and taken his hand if it hadn’t been tucked away.

He appeared grim, his jaw tight, the loss reflected in the hard stare he gave his former home. What had he called it—Aggie?

“You okay?”

He nodded, drew in a breath. “They’re still trying to track down the owner of the other car.” He shook his head, looked at Jenna. “Let me know when you locate that car.”

“What car?”

He turned and hooked Harper by the arm, walked her away from Jenna. “They caught a car on tape driving by the front of the market this morning. Of course, they don’t have any cameras in the back lot, but they think it might be the arsonists.” He had slipped his hand down to hers, gripped it. Maybe for moral support, but she gripped it back.

Conrad glanced at Stein, who lifted a shoulder. “Were you able to salvage anything?”

Jack shook his head. “It’s all gone. But you know, it’s just stuff.” Still, his mouth pinched at the edges.

Right .

He’d kept walking and now opened the market door and headed right up to the clerk. “Hey, Anna. Is Gordo here?”

Anna nodded, her attention casting over to Stein and Conrad, then to Harper, back to Jack. “In back.”

Jack headed behind the checkout counter, knocked on the doorframe, and a man, early forties, a little extra padding, a full head of gray hair, got up from his desk.

“Jack. So sorry. Do the police have any leads?”

Jack had reached out to shake the man’s hand and now stepped back. “No. But I was wondering if I could take a look at that footage.”

“I was just looking at it.” Gordo returned to his desk and moved the computer around. A camera had stopped on a white sedan with an orange door, graffiti on the body. “Seems I’ve seen that car before, but?—”

“I have too,” Harper said. “At Echoes Vinyl Café.”

Jack nodded, looked at her. “Yes. That’s where. I knew I’d seen it, but I couldn’t . . . You’re brilliant, Harper.”

She just stared at him. He’d called her brilliant ?

Jack turned back to Gordo. “Can you text me that picture?”

“I don’t want to get in trouble with the police.”

“I’m just helping out. I’ll call them if I can track down the car.”

Gordo nodded, and Jack pulled out his phone, rattling off his number. A moment later, it pinged with the text.

Jack held out his hand again. “Sorry for the mess. I’m just glad it didn’t affect the shop. I’ll get a wrecker in here to tow Aggie away after forensics have their turn.”

Outside, the sky had begun to clear, the day crisp. He turned to Stein and Conrad. “Thanks for coming, guys, but really, I’m okay.”

“Yeah, we know,” Conrad said. “So, to Echoes then?”

Jack spiked an eyebrow, and Harper hid a smile. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out her keys. Tossed them to Conrad. “Try to be nice to her. I’m riding with Jack.”

Conrad nodded.

“I’m a better driver,” Stein said. “Have you seen him?”

She got into the Geo; Jack got in the other side. Put both hands on the wheel.

She touched his shoulder. “You okay, really?”

He drew in a long breath. Swallowed. Then cast her a glance. “Good thing I wasn’t sleeping in her.”

“That’s not remotely funny.”

“But true.” He turned over the engine. “It’s not the first time someone has tried to hunt me down. She once took a bullet near the door.”

“What?”

“I camped in the wrong place for the night. Private land.”

“You need a safer life.”

He pulled out, gave a small chuckle, and it stirred something inside her. So maybe he’d survive this.

“You have insurance?”

“Of a sort.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that book royalties are still good.” He pulled into the Echoes parking lot, and Conrad pulled in beside them.

“They’re like a couple bulldogs.”

“They’re your brothers. You might consider that when a guy’s home blows up, people get worried.”

“Fine.” He got out, and she followed him inside the store. Same vinyl smell along with coffee, but a different woman stood at the counter. She wore her hair in long black braids, pulled back, a purple shirt with the Echoes logo on the front, an orange apron. Her nametag identified her as the missing Tallulah.

Jack introduced himself and Harper and mentioned they’d been in on Wednesday.

“Yeah, Quinn told me,” Tallulah said. “You were looking for someone.”

“My friend Penelope.” Harper had pulled up her picture from the podcast site and now showed Tallulah.

“Who’s asking?”

“I’m her roommate, and she’s gone missing.”

“Sure, she was here. Sat at that table in the corner.” She pointed to a booth. “With a guy. Good looking. They talked for about an hour, I guess.”

“A guy,” Jack said. “Can you describe him?”

“I don’t know. Brown hair?”

“How about this?” Harper opened up a picture of Holden Walsh.

Tallulah frowned. “No.”

“How about this one?” Kyle Brunley.

“Yeah, that looks like him.”

Jack frowned. “Who is that?”

“Kyle Brunley. The man behind the voice.”

His smile came slow but sweet and poured through her. “Good work there, Watson.”

Watson?

He pulled out his phone and flashed the picture of the graffitied sedan to Tallulah. “When we were here, we saw this car outside Echoes. It’s pretty distinctive. Any idea who it belongs to?”

“Why?”

“We love the paint job,” Harper said.

“They did it themselves,” Tallulah said. “That would be my cousin Elton and his buddy Job.”

“We’d love to talk to them,” Jack said, tagging onto Harper’s vibe. “See if they might do some work for us.”

“They’re in most mornings. Hanging out with Dylan and Van Morrison.” She pointed to a corner of the shop, a vinyl getaway, with a couple plush bouclésofas and big, bulky headphones.

In most mornings . “Were they here the same day my friend Penelope was here?”

“Sure. I guess so. Yeah. The place wasn’t very full. Just them and your friends and another guy, if I remember. Suit and tie. He did some computer work, then left.”

“Before or after Penelope?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did she grab an Uber?” Jack picked up a card from the counter. He handed it to Harper.

Ty’s Rides. And a phone number.

“I can’t remember. Listen. I hope you find your friend, but I’m not here to rat out my customers.”

Jack held up a hand. “You’re not ratting out anyone. Penelope is in a wedding, and we’re just trying to catch up with her.”

His phone rang and he swiped it open, stepped away.

“The Oaken Fox wedding?” Tallulah had brightened up. “I thought I saw Ben King in town earlier. He’s here, right?”

Harper shrugged. “I don’t follow country music.”

“Word in town is that it’s going to be at Heritage Church. I hope there’s security, because there will be paparazzi?—”

“We have security, but it’s all very tame. And the reception is at the house, so invite only, very private, very low key.”

“That’s no fun,” Tallulah said.

Harper laughed. “I don’t think we can take any more fun. Thanks for your help.” She stepped away, after Jack.

Stein, however, had followed them in and now ordered a tall coffee to go.

Conrad followed with a breve.

Jack had gone over to stand by the door, his voice low into the phone. Harper shoved her hands into her pockets, feeling like an eavesdropper.

And she got nearly nothing from him.

“Wow. Really? Oh boy. Yes,” and, “Thanks.”

Stein had joined her, blowing on his black brew. He seemed to be looking at someone on the far side of the room.

She followed his gaze and spotted a woman in a booth. Short red hair that poked out from under a white stocking cap, a black jacket, jeans, boots. She nursed a cup of coffee, reading her phone.

When Harper turned back, Stein seemed like he’d dismissed her.

Jack came over.

“I’m not a fan of that look,” Stein said.

“Reminds me of those days when he’d get us out of bed to shovel,” Conrad said. “I don’t want to shovel. I pay people for that.”

“I’m sure you do, bro,” Jack said. “But no, I need you to take Harper home.”

She stiffened. “What?”

He ran a hand behind his neck, winced. “This just got serious.” He looked at Stein. “That was Jenna.”

Of course .

“There’s been another fire.”

“Where?”

“That’s the thing. It’s out at Duck Lake Motor Lodge. And there’s a victim.”

Harper stilled. “That’s right near the landing where Ty’s car was found.”

“It is,” he said. “And my gut says that it’s connected.”

Oh, for —“That’s it? Your gut ? You’re abandoning me because your gut says it’s connected? Seriously.” She looked at Conrad, then Stein, who shrugged. Back at Jack. “This is my hunt too. So get used to me tagging along there, Sherlock.”

He raised an eyebrow. Well, two could play at the nicknames.

“Fine. But first sign of trouble?—”

“You’ll what? Have the brute squad drag me home?”

His eyes darkened and his voice quieted. “Maybe. Because the last thing I want is for you to get hurt, Bee.” Then he walked away, toward the door.

Oh great . Here they went again.

* * *

She hated fire. So when Emberly had woken up to the smell of ash and burning plastic, she’d shoved everything into her backpack, pulled on anything she could find, and hightailed it to her rental.

Her tires screamed as she pulled out of the parking lot. She dialed 911 in case no one had noticed that there were flames breaking glass and crawling out of unit 3.

She hated the Duck Lake Motor Lodge. Next stop, a tidy Airbnb .

No, next stop had been the Echoes Vinyl Café, where she’d ordered a jumbo piping-hot vanilla mocha and tried to tell herself not to panic.

Except that’s when He Who Seemed to Have Radar on Her sauntered through the door, easy as pie, like it was no problem that he kept showing up in the same places she was like he might be stalking her.

Only, maybe not stalking, because Mr. Reflexes was with two of his brothers?—

Jack Kingston, who’d been some kind of small-town royalty here so many years back. Football captain. Hockey captain. Track captain. He’d probably played both defense and offense in football, which meant he could slap down a ball as easily as he could catch it.

And then there’d been the big front-page article nearly eighteen years ago, about how he’d saved some Cub Scout. Cub as in kid, age seven, who’d gotten lost at Boy Scout camp. Two days later, Jack had found him.

With Jack now was Conrad, center for the Minnesota Blue Ox hockey team. He had too many online mentions to count, with his shots record soaring over twenty percent. Impressive .

And finally, Stein, who’d vanished from the radar when he graduated from Duck Lake High. Emberly knew some of the pieces, although the big jump from the moment she’d seen him bloody and dying to the one with him running a blocking route between her and mission success was a big ugly gap. She wanted to refuse to believe that he might be mixed up with Stone. Then again . . . well, he’d seen some stuff.

And now he’d seen her . Because of course as she sat in the booth, sipped her coffee, and tried to pretend she might be doing something riveting with her phone, all she could feel was Steinbeck’s gaze on her.

Burning.

Unpacking.

Oh, she was so made here.

Made and without the foggiest idea how to get close to Stone to get his phone. And without the password, the entire op was shut down.

And Declan Stone would get away with murder. Murders. Plural.

Except, Steinbeck had seen a brunette and a blonde, and unless he was an owl, he might not have gotten a good enough look at her at Stone’s party to remember her.

Fate seemed to be on her side for once, because the conversation with the barista had carried and Emberly had picked up some tidbits. “No. It’s a low-key wedding. Heritage Church, reception at the house. We have security, but it’s all very tame.”

Tame. As in, could a girl simply walk in carrying a gift?

She could if she had an invitation, maybe.

When Stein turned away, she thumbed open her text app.

Nim answered almost immediately.

Nim

Sure, I can make you an invitation.

And then her phone rang.

She swiped it open, kept her voice low even as King Jack strode out of the coffee shop, the woman and his brothers hot on his tail. Interesting .

Nim, in her ear. “The key is to figure out what they sent out. Who is on the guest list? It would be super special and terrific if it was someone without encrypted email.”

“I have a list of guests from Stone’s party. I’m sure someone on there might have a copy of the email.”

“Text it to me.” A pause. “You okay? You sound . . . weird.”

“I . . . it’s nothing.”

“Tell me!”

“The motel I was in caught fire this morning.”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. It was in the room a couple doors down. But we were the only guests at the hotel, I think, so . . . yeah, creepy.”

“Did anyone get hurt?”

“I don’t know. I called 911—but I left.”

A sigh. “Could Stone have . . . I don’t know . . . found you, and maybe tried to . . . you know . . .”

“I don’t know. I thought he was just this tech guy, way behind the scenes, but . . . I’m not sure.”

She watched as Stein got into a Chevy Sonic and pulled out behind a green Geo Tracker.

“You remember that guy I told you about? On the botched job in Poland?”

“The SEAL. The one who got his legs nearly blown off.”

She refused to let the image, the memory, the smells, the screaming take over. “He’s alive.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a good thing, right? No more nightmares?—”

“I think he’s working with Stone.”

A beat. “That can’t be right. He was a SEAL.”

“People change. But . . . I think he knows who I am.”

“You need to leave, Ember. What if?—”

“No.” She cut her voice low. “I need to get into that wedding. Get the phone. Stop Stone. It’s more important than . . .”

“Than your life.”

“If it comes to that.”

“Because you can’t see me, let me say that I’m raising my hand to disagree.”

“Just get me into the wedding. And then get me to Florida. I need a beach.”

She hung up. Finished her coffee.

And then she picked up her phone and went shopping.