Читать книгу The Complete Colony Series - Lisa Jackson - Страница 20

Glenn Stafford raced down the stairs of his house, a gargantuan Georgian building of nearly four thousand square feet that Gia had insisted upon. He hoped his wife wouldn’t catch him on his way out. He was late getting to the restaurant. Late getting tasks done. Late, always late.

And that asshole cop McNally had called, wanting to meet with him. Wanting to meet with all of them, he’d said. But was he telling the truth? Or had he singled Glenn out? Not that there was any reason. Lord, no. He’d barely known Jessie Brentwood. She’d been Hudson’s girl, flirt that she was. But she’d had no serious interest in him, or any of them, well…maybe Zeke?…but that was short-lived. Nope, the girl had been interested in Hudson Walker, then, now, and probably forever.

Glenn headed toward the back of the house. He’d put McNally off. God, he didn’t need more damn stress. The restaurant was enough. Hadn’t he heard over and over again how difficult it was to make a go of a restaurant? Hadn’t he? But he’d believed in himself, believed in Scott. But Jesus…things were running in the red. How, how to get more interest in the place, more exposure? Did they need more Internet advertising? What the hell did it take to make a spot “in” or “hip” or whatever they called it these days? Not enough people knew about Blue Note, and that goddamned venture in Lincoln City wasn’t even hardly off the ground and Glenn felt it already might be doomed. Bleeding money. Scott had more faith in the place; he was the one taking off for the coast, trying “to get ’er going.” But Glenn was in charge of Blue Note, and it was bad business. Bad, slow business.

And…something was off financially. Things just weren’t adding up, literally. Did they have a sneaky employee who had found a way to siphon off funds and juggle the books or inventory? The books just didn’t seem right, but Glenn hadn’t found where the discrepancy was—yet. It was only a matter of time.

Passing through the kitchen, his hand on the door to the garage, he saw the pile of yesterday’s mail. Damn Gia. She hadn’t even looked through it. Probably a mountain of bills that he couldn’t pay. And that damn lease on the restaurant. Highway robbery. It was drowning them in a sea of red ink. Drowning them.

Glenn felt a burning in his throat. Acid reflux. His stomach was probably riddled with ulcers. He didn’t even want to jump Gia’s bones anymore, but then ever since her last miscarriage she’d been a crying, chocolate-devouring, weepy-eyed rag doll. Hell, she’d sworn she never wanted children when they got married, but now she came after him with lacy, baby-doll lingerie and a panting avid mouth, the only spark of energy she could ever muster—all in the name of pregnancy with a capital “P.”

Lucky for him, Mr. Ready spent most of his time curled up and flaccid these days.

Which wasn’t helping their marriage much, but Glenn had bigger fish to fry.

He almost ignored the mail, irritated at Gia’s apathy. If sex wasn’t on the agenda, she was useless. Like a queen bee.

Only good for mating and laying eggs. Tended to by minions. One of those repulsive insects—maybe termites—had a queen that was a white, quivering blob—couldn’t move unless it was pushed and prodded by the workers. Well, that was Gia these days. A blob.

“Glenn?”

He looked over. Well, there the blob was. Risen from her bed. Red-eyed and scraggly haired. She’d been pretty once, not so long ago, but now she didn’t care. Simply didn’t care.

“Where’re you going?” she asked.

“To work.”

“I thought you had tonight off.” A whine entered her voice.

“I never have a night off. Never. I work all the time. It’s called owning your own business, y’know?” And what do you do?

“Why can’t you divide your time with Scott?”

“Because Scott’s at Blue Ocean, trying to get the menu in line with the clientele. And we have problems at Blue Note.”

“We have no life, Glenn. No life!” She threw up her hands in despair. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know what you’re going to do. I’m going to work.”

“When’s Scott coming back?”

“I don’t know,” Glenn mumbled. A lie. Scott usually returned on Sundays, after the weekend, and then he sure as hell put his time in at Blue Note. The man was everywhere, looking over Glenn’s shoulder, criticizing, pointing out when things weren’t done to his satisfaction. Glenn couldn’t fault him, though he’d like to. Right now he wanted to fault someone. Anyone. And he really didn’t want to face Scott tonight, though his partner had said he’d be in later. Well, good. They needed to talk. Seriously talk. Something had to be done or the business would fail. Since he’d personally guaranteed loans against Blue Note and Blue Ocean, everything, including this monster of a house, would be stripped away. How would Gia feel then? “Why didn’t you go through this mail?” he asked.

“What? Oh.” She rubbed her forehead with both hands. The useless piece of dead weight seemed to sleep all day and all night. Glenn couldn’t imagine what she ever thought she’d do with a kid. From what he’d heard, they never let you sleep at all. “I—I don’t know.” She lifted her fleshy shoulders in a shrug.

God, she was useless.

Glenn swept up the pile and sifted through it, making a big production about it, just so she’d know he was the one doing all the work, he was the one supporting them, he was the one.

“What time’ll you be back?” Her chin was bent down and she looked at him from the tops of her eyes. If she thought that was sexy, she had a rude awakening coming her way. She was about as sexy as cold meatloaf.

“I’ll call you,” he muttered.

Bills, bills, bills.

An advertisement for some new cell phone deal that would probably cost him a fortune in hidden charges. Several notices to “occupant,” which really was a pisser, when you thought about it. Couldn’t be bothered to find out who lived in the place. Those went straight to the trash.

And a card addressed to him with no return address: Glenn Stafford.

No Gia listed at all.

Huh?

Gia was smoothing back some of her bleached-blond hair. “I could wait up for you.”

Fat chance. She’d be out cold in an hour if she got into the wine, which she did almost every night now.

Yep. A marriage made in heaven.

“I’ll be late.” Glenn stuffed the envelope in his pocket and banged out the back door to his car. A Honda. He’d traded in his Porsche last year. Traded down. It had hurt like a hole in his heart, but he hadn’t been able to afford the payments along with two mortgages. He kept thinking the damn restaurant would turn around, but it was a hungry alligator and its teeth were planted firmly in Glenn’s backside. His ass was getting chewed off bit by bloody bit, month by month.

He drove to Blue Note, a dark cloud over his head, and he checked his rearview mirror more than usual. All the talk and speculation about Jessie Brentwood was kinda making him crazy and paranoid—as if living with Gia didn’t do a good enough job of that as it was. No one appeared to be following him, at least not tonight, but lately he’d had the feeling that someone was watching him.

Gia. It’s Gia, you idiot. She wants to know where you are every second.

Parking the Civic in a spot at the rear of the building, he cut the engine and spent several moments listening to the tick of the motor as it cooled.

What was he going to do?

What the hell was he going to do?

He was trapped.

No way out.

Angry at the world, he slammed out of the car and swore he saw someone skulking around the bushes flanking the parking lot, but on second glance, he saw only a raccoon lumbering off after raiding the Dumpster.

“Damned pests,” he muttered, circling around and entering through the front door. He liked catching the staff unawares, seeing who was standing where, who was actually working versus who was yakking. Pete was sure a waste of space. The guy schmoozed and glided around, wooing the customers, and he didn’t help out in the least with the grunt work. Why people liked him was a complete mystery to Glenn. He’d already banged two of the waitresses in the back, one up against the wall, according to Luis, who could barely speak English. But Luis had communicated the incident well enough so Glenn had had to confront the oily Pete, who simply smirked and said it was beyond his control. Glenn would have fired him on the spot, but Scott had stepped in. Pointed out that Pete brought in good business, which, damn it all, was the truth.

Glenn felt Mr. Ready twitch at the thought. His sleeping penis could rise from the dead with the right incentive. Like a lusty waitress or two. Glenn wouldn’t mind slamming one up against the wall and screwing her brains out, but he couldn’t afford to. That was just crying for a lawsuit. Sexual harassment, and then Gia would divorce him and take everything that the lawsuit didn’t eat up.

He was stuck with Gia, the wallowing termite queen, he thought for the thousandth time. No matter which way you cut it. He thought about the meeting they had here. Becca, Tamara, and Renee had all looked hot. Trim. Fit. Beautiful. And interesting. Jesus, any of them would be better than Gia.

Inside, the dark rooms buzzed with conversation and the clink of glassware. People were laughing, eating…drinking. He passed by several curtained alcoves where diners were deep into their meals. Blue Note was surprisingly busy, and everyone seemed to be in their right places as Glenn took in the place with practiced ease. Except for the people by the far window. They looked as if they hadn’t been served in a while, and their entrees and their appetizers were long over. Glenn was about to rectify the situation himself when he saw the footsie they were playing beneath the table and realized the staff was simply giving them a little extra time as they really weren’t interested in food.

Probably having an affair, Glenn thought with a hint of jealousy. But he was proud of his wait staff. Discernment. That’s what Blue Note needed. The ability to read the customers and discern their needs, whether those needs be drink, food, or something else.

He strolled through the kitchen. Luis and crew were getting out the meals like a well-oiled machine. They’d lost their top chef a month earlier, but then Patrick had been more of a head case than a head chef. Luis, with little experience, was pinch-hitting. He was a quick learner, but Blue Note had no signature dishes, no standouts, nothing to make it rise above the hundreds of other restaurants in and around the city.

And if they didn’t find that special uniqueness that would make Blue Note the name on everyone’s lips, it would be in serious trouble. It already was.

Glenn grabbed a short glass at the bar, filled it with ice, and poured in a couple of ounces of bourbon. He took a sip, felt instantly better, then headed to the back office where he sat on a worn leather chair. His domain. Old pictures lined the wall. Photos of him. Scott. Even a few from about a million years ago—the friends from St. Elizabeth’s. He saw one, the color faded, of the smiling faces of Zeke, Garrett, Hudson, The Third, Scott, and himself…no girls. No Jessie.

He wondered about her and really hoped it wasn’t her body that had been located at the old school. Glenn liked to think that she’d escaped, gotten away from whatever demons had been chasing her. Hudson’s girl.

Yeah, right.

A chick like Jessie…so mysterious and damned sexy, she didn’t belong to anyone. Shit, she’d been hot. Hot!

So what had happened to her? Glenn thought again about missed opportunities as he clicked on his computer to pore over the books. Man, they owed a lot of accounts payable.

His stomach nose-dived as he glanced at the total.

It was shocking, how many places had offered them supplies on credit, but then Scott could be a silver-tongued devil when he needed to. Pascal was a closer. He could charm, cajole, and squeeze vendors like a virtuoso. Sometimes Glenn wondered where and how it was all going to end. If things didn’t improve, not only the lease wouldn’t be paid, but payroll was going to be a problem. And shouldn’t there be more funds available? Sure, the restaurant had off days, but when they were on, they were on, man.

Look at tonight.

Determined to get to the bottom of their cash-flow problems, Glenn examined the accounts as best as he could. He’d had no formal training in business and finance, but he knew when something was owed and whether the restaurant had enough money to pay it.

A couple of hours later after juggling figures and making minimal payments on overdue bills, Glenn remembered the card. He pulled it from his pocket and examined the light blue envelope with the typed address. It was postmarked Portland. Almost looked like an invitation of some kind.

He sliced it open with a letter opener, and pulled out a piece of plain white card stock:

What are little boys made of?

Frogs and snails and puppy dogs’ tails.

That’s what little boys are made of.

Glenn dropped the note as if it had scorched him. His heart pounded hard and painful in his chest. The spit dried in his mouth.

Jessie!

What the hell?

Panicked, Glenn could hear Jessie’s singsonging voice. Could see her saying those very words. “What are little boys made of…”

He tried to calm down, but once the image was loose in his mind, there was no holding it back. As if high school were yesterday, he could remember how much his fingers had wanted to caress her curves. He’d wanted Jessie with a fiery desire that had plagued him like a curse. Sure, she’d only wanted Hudson. Sure, she’d never looked his way. But she’d teased. How she’d teased. With that sexy lilt and twitch of her hips and a knowing look and something about the way she talked that was way more adult than the rest of them. She knew things. Hadn’t Vangie said it the other night? That Jessie knew things?

A shudder ripped through him as her image came to mind.

God in heaven, he’d wanted to wrap her legs around his waist and pound himself inside her. Just stick it to her, man, for all he was worth. He could imagine her head thrown back, her mouth open and slack, her hazel eyes like glittering agates.

Mr. Ready jumped to flagpole attention and Glenn reached a hand to take care of things, but then the import of the card wilted his desire like a bucket of cold water never could.

Was Jessie alive?

She had to be!

“Mr. Stafford?” A light knock on the office door. Glenn instantly adjusted himself, stuffed the card back in his pocket, then pulled open the door. Amy, one of the newest employees who wasn’t yet eighteen, regarded him with her usual deer in the headlights look. “Mr. Pascal’s here but he’s talking to a policeman? He told me to come get you.”

“I’ll be right there,” Glenn told her. Policeman…? McNally! Had to be. Damn the man. Did he have to come to their place of work?

Glenn checked his appearance in the mirror by the door, sucked in his gut, promised himself he would cut down on the pasta intake. He headed out the door, walking steadily and with confidence toward the front of the restaurant even though he felt a quivering worry growing inside his gut.

Sure enough, there was that cop. Older now. But Jesus, really better looking than before, the bastard. How was that possible? He’d been in his mid-twenties before, now he was in his mid-forties, and it looked like he hadn’t lost one goddamned hair off his head. And the hair was still dark brown, the temples only faintly silver. McNally gazed at Glenn through light hazel eyes that pierced like steel. He looked fit and hard and just as mean as he had twenty years earlier.

Scott was smoothing his bald pate with one hand in a gesture that could mean anything between nervousness and amusement. He lifted an eyebrow at Glenn. In a gently mocking tone, he said, “Detective Sam McNally’s paying us a call.”

“Probably not a social one,” Glenn said shortly, trying to temper his tension with a smile. He hoped he wasn’t gritting his teeth. “Let’s all go back to my office.”

Amy and some of the other employees watched them head down the hall, wide-eyed. Glenn wanted to smack each of their avid little faces.

Repositioning himself behind the desk, Glenn noticed his hands were shaking ever so slightly. Damn it all. He placed one over the other on his desk as Scott propped himself against the wall and McNally accepted one of the club chairs, sinking into it as if he were there for a very long stay.

“I called you,” he said, looking at Glenn.

“Yeah—I—I’ve kinda been buried.” Crap, what was the guy asking? “I couldn’t find time to meet with you.”

Scott broke in, “We’ve both been busy. I just got back in town not half an hour ago. Glenn and I have another restaurant just outside of Lincoln City—Blue Ocean—which we’re just getting going.”

“I’m not planning to waste your time,” McNally said. “You know about the remains found at St. Elizabeth’s, I’m sure. I believe they’re Jezebel Brentwood’s, and I want to run over your statements at the time of her disappearance once more.”

“But you’re not sure they’re Jessie’s,” Scott stressed gently. “No corroborating DNA evidence yet.”

Glenn felt his anxiety notch up. No corroborating DNA evidence yet. The card in his pocket felt as if it were on fire, burning up. Should he mention it? Let them know Jessie could very well be alive? And what did it mean? What did she want from him?

True to his word, McNally didn’t waste time. He went over the sequence of events prior to Jessie’s disappearance, and Glenn was kind of surprised at how detailed his notes were. But then, McNally had put them through the wringer twenty years ago. The man knew more about what had happened than Glenn could ever remember.

“I knew Jessie, we all did because of St. Elizabeth’s, but I was really into sports, didn’t much pay attention if it wasn’t anything to do with jocks,” Scott said when McNally finished and looked from one to the other of them, waiting for someone to speak up. “Jessie, she was good-lookin’, yeah, but really, she was just a girl who dated one of my friends. I didn’t really know her, and neither did Glenn. We said the same thing then, and nothing’s changed.”

“That’s right,” Glenn said, suddenly glad for Pascal’s glib tongue.

“Have you seen any of your group since?” McNally asked.

Glenn’s heart clutched and he looked to Scott for guidance. There was no crime in it, for God’s sake, but he didn’t want to fall into some kind of trap by shooting off his mouth when he shouldn’t.

“Mitch is a good friend,” Glenn blurted out.

Scott threw him a dark look. He’d always objected to Glenn’s friendship with Mitch and sometimes, just because he could get a reaction, Glenn liked to remind Scott that he wasn’t the end-all be-all of good friends. Sometimes Scott Pascal wasn’t a friend at all.

“We all met here at the restaurant a couple weeks ago,” Scott told the detective, and Glenn relaxed slightly. Of course. No reason to worry. Just tell the truth. Let his partner do the talking. But leave out the nursery rhyme…“We heard about the bones being discovered, so we got together.” Scott glossed over the meeting—just a bunch of concerned friends worried that tragedy had befallen one of their own.

Glenn ignored his drink, the ice cubes melting, the aroma of bourbon in the air of the closed room.

McNally was noncommittal. Did he buy it? Glenn couldn’t tell and it made him nervous. He eyed his drink, caught the slight shake of Scott’s head from the corner of his eye, and let the bourbon sit.

McNally ran over a few more questions about Jessie and her relationship to all their friends. From Glenn’s point of view, it was all very banal and he had the suspicion that Mac was simply getting a feel of them. He couldn’t wait for the detective to leave so he could talk to Scott.

Eventually Mac did just that. He’d written down some notes, chicken scratchings from what Glenn could tell, then flipped the small notebook shut and placed it in a pocket of his black leather jacket. Seeing that, Glenn wondered if the card in his own pocket was visible, outlined like some kind of scarlet letter. It was all he could do not to reach up and touch it.

As Mac got up to leave Scott said, “You’ve mellowed out over the years.”

McNally paused, giving Scott a long look. “Have I?”

Scott met his gaze. “Maybe not.”

A moment passed between them. Glenn’s pulse began a slow, hard beat through his veins. He managed to walk with Scott to show the detective out, but as soon as they were alone, they headed back to the office and Scott closed the door behind him.

“What is it?” Scott asked tautly.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re white as a ghost. McNally scared you. What the hell’s going on?”

“He didn’t scare me.”

“If I saw it, he saw it,” Scott assured him. “Come on. Give.” He beckoned his fingers in an impatient c’mere gesture.

“We’ve got goddamned problems, okay? The money’s just pouring out of this place. I don’t know where it’s going. Maybe someone’s stealing from us? One of the wait staff? Or they’re embezzling somehow?”

“You keep everything locked up, don’t you?”

“Of course. I’m not an idiot.” Glenn’s teeth ground together. Scott had a way of pissing him off and the cop…Oh, shit, he’d never been comfortable around cops, always thought they were after him.

“Then we’re just short,” Scott was saying. “Income isn’t what it should be, and expenses are out of control.”

“I’ve got ’em under control,” Glenn snapped, miffed. Scott was always so quick to blame him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The two partners stared hard at each other. Scott seemed to be thinking very, very hard, and Glenn realized reluctantly that he wasn’t as immune as he would have liked the detective to believe. He was tense, too, and kind of spooked. So Glenn decided to come clean. “All right, look. Something happened,” he said.

He could see Scott brace himself.

“Nothing about the restaurant,” Glenn assured him. “It was this.” He pulled out the card and handed it to Scott, who seemed reluctant to accept it. Reading it over, Scott drew his brows together and seemed lost in a world of his own.

“How’d you get this? Where’d it come from?” he asked after a long moment where Glenn’s nerves were stretched tight as guy wires.

“It came in the mail, to my house, addressed to me.”

“What the hell does it mean?”

“I don’t know, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell McNally.”

“Christ, we have to call The Third. What kind of game is that bitch playing?” Scott said, shaking his head. “She’s alive. God. She’s alive…so who’s in the grave?”

Glenn lifted his hands to ward off that thought. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Whipping out his cell phone, Scott suddenly stopped himself in the middle of punching out a number. “What if it’s not Jessie who sent this? What if it’s someone trying to freak us out?”

“Who the fuck would do that?”

“I don’t know, but…oh, shit. Someone who’s just messin’ with us.”

Glenn nodded rapidly. He liked that idea better. “But why?”

Scott drew a breath. “Hell if I know.” He flopped into the chair so recently vacated by the detective. “It’s dumb. It’s a dumb joke.”

“It’s no joke,” Glenn assured him. “God, I could use a drink.” He picked up his watery bourbon and drank it down.

Scott was still tossing things over in his mind. “Why would she contact you? Jessie? If she were alive?” His face was a knot of confusion. “She wouldn’t, so it’s a joke.”

Glenn ground his teeth together. In the back of his mind he’d been asking himself the same question. Jessie had scarcely noticed him. That singsong nursery rhyme had been something she’d teased The Third with, or Zeke, maybe even Jarrett. It wasn’t something she’d used on him. He’d been wallpaper to her, nothing more.

Scott snorted, following Glenn’s thoughts. “Stop thinking about it,” he said dismissively. “That damn detective rattled me, too, but it’s all just routine stuff. Whoever sent this thing?” He tossed the card across the desk. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s Jarrett or The Third, actually. Would be just like them. Trying to get your goat. We got more important things to worry about.”

“Like the business,” Glenn said, his eyes on the white square of paper.

“Like this fucking business,” Scott agreed. “I’ll bring you and me both a drink. Throw that thing in the trash.”

Glenn could have told him he had a bottle of Bushmills stashed in his desk drawer, could have offered him a drink, but he didn’t.

As Scott stalked out of the room, Glenn picked up the card. After a moment he grabbed a pair of scissors and shredded it and the blue envelope into slivers of paper, dusting them off his hands into the trash can. He closed his eyes then, consciously trying to put it behind him.

For a moment he thought he heard a girl’s giggling. Someone laughing at him. His eyes flew open and he glanced sharply around the room.

But he was alone.

Becca was working at her computer when the phone shrilled. She jumped like she’d been goosed, scrabbling to pick up the receiver of her land line.

Hudson, she thought, a smile crossing her lips. She instantly had a mental picture of him lying in the darkness of his bedroom, his arms reaching out as she tried to slide from the bed. “You’re not leaving.”

“I have to. I have a dog at home.” His hand had grabbed hers and he’d pulled her back atop him. It had taken her another hour before she’d disentangled and made her way home.

“Hello,” she said now as she answered the phone, not recognizing the number from Caller ID. She glanced at the clock. Late afternoon and almost dark as pitch outside already. As if aware she’d noticed, the heavens suddenly opened up and spewed rain, then hail, a storm of precipitation blasting outside her window. It was awesome in its power but it just meant that the dog wasn’t going to want to go for a walk.

“Becca? It’s Renee.”

“Oh, hey.” She sat up straighter. Did Renee know about her night with Hudson? It had been just a few days since they’d tumbled together in his bed. Since that time they’d been on the phone several times a day. It was thrilling. Unbelievable.

“I’ve just been feeling so weird about all of this, I guess,” Renee was saying, echoing Becca’s own thoughts. “About Jessie and those bones and all. I just wish we’d find out once and for all if the body belonged to Jessie.”

“I know.” She thought about the presence she’d felt in the maze and wondered if she should tell Renee. At the time the pure, unfiltered evil had seemed all too real. Even now, goose bumps raised on her arms and she looked hurriedly over her shoulder.

“Have you heard that McNally—the cop that was so into Jessie’s disappearance years ago—has been interviewing the guys?” Renee asked, her voice sounding edgier than usual. “He stopped by Blue Note to talk to Glenn and Scott, then called The Third at his office downtown. McNally already left a message on my phone. I called back but missed him.”

Becca’s fingers tightened over her cell. “Then they know it’s Jessie,” she said. “DNA must’ve come back or some other proof that the body is hers.”

“That’s what I think, too. God…it’s hard to believe.” She paused for a second, then said, “I thought maybe we should get together again.”

“All of us?”

“The girls. Actually, I’m already meeting Vangie and Tamara at Java Man after work. Around seven.”

Another meeting? For what? Because the police were sniffing around? So what? It almost sounded as if Renee wanted them all to get their stories straight, which was ridiculous. No one had anything to hide.

Right?

“What about Hudson…and Zeke?” Becca asked. “Did they get a call from the police?”

“Not that I’ve heard, but I haven’t talked to Hudson in a few days and Vangie didn’t say anything about Zeke when I called her. I think she would have. Anyway, it doesn’t matter if they have or not. They’ve got to be on the list. I’m sure we all are.”

“List? As in suspects?”

“Or persons of interest, whatever you want to call it. So, about tonight…can you make it?”

“I’ll be there.”

Becca hung up, then clicked off her computer. She double-checked all the doors and windows, then changed into a red cowl-necked sweater and added some lip gloss. Glancing at her watch, she turned on the news, wasting another half hour before she headed out. There was talk about discovery of an unidentified woman’s body, and Becca zeroed in on the newscaster. But it appeared to be that this particular body had been thrown from her car following an accident. Nothing to do with Jessie Brentwood.

“Of course not,” she said aloud, annoyed with herself. She grabbed her raincoat and bundled herself inside. There were other accidents and crimes out there. The world was huge. Just because her group of friends was affected by the remains found in the maze didn’t mean the discovery wasn’t already yesterday’s news. Maybe they would never know the identity of the bones for sure. Maybe this limbo they’d been living would continue just as it was.

With a sigh, she sent up a silent prayer for resolution.