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“Yes?”
Oh God, no. There’s been an accident.
This was why she hadn’t heard from Andrew. Someone running a red light had broadsided him. Something had fallen off a high shelf at Home Depot and crushed him. Maybe some crazy, random event with a shooter. There was always one of those somewhere in America on any given day.
“Is it Andrew?” she said. “Was he in an accident?”
“No, ma’am, not to my knowledge.”
Her second thought was that this had something to do with Tyler. Maybe when he got drunk with his friend last night they’d gotten into something they shouldn’t have. Broken a window, tipped over a mailbox, spray-painted the side of someone’s house.
“How are you today?” Hardy asked.
“Just fine,” she said, coming off the step and getting within whispering range. “Is this about Tyler?”
“Tyler?”
“My brother. He lives with us.”
“No,” the detective said. “I’m looking for Andrew.”
“Andrew?”
“Andrew Mason.”
Jayne blinked. “Who?”
Hardy paused, the corner of her mouth going up a tenth of an inch. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Force of habit. I’d forgotten he goes by Andrew Carville now. Took me a little longer to find this place because of that. Is he here?”
Jayne suddenly felt dizzy.
Andrew Mason?
Andrew had changed his name? He’d never told her anything about that. Who changed their name? Movie stars, maybe. But not regular people.
“What’s your name, ma’am?” Detective Hardy asked.
“Jayne Keeling.”
“You live here?”
“Yes.”
“With Andrew Carville?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
“And is he here?”
Jayne shook her head slowly, her mouth suddenly very dry.
“Well, that’s too bad, but now that I’m here, I wouldn’t mind talking to you,” the detective said. She smiled innocently. “Maybe we could go inside and talk? Truth is, I could really use a coffee. If that’s not being too huge a bother.”
Jayne looked at the detective as though she were a talking giraffe.
“Coffee,” Jayne said.
“That’d be great,” she said.
