Jackson Moore—April 13, 2022
Jenna Cruz—August 10, 2023
“Every death, apart from Jenna’s, occurred on Spooky Hollow Road and a red truck driven by a man is thought to be involved. Billy, Jackson, and Jenna all have Clementine’s in common and knew who each other were.” Lanie runs down the information, waiting for us to chime in if she’s missing anything.
“Okay, Billy,” I call out. “I need you to run down everything that happened from the time you left Clementine’s until your accident.”
He inhales long and hard, half rolling his eyes, apparently done with his portion of solving his own death.
“I argued with Jackhole.” Jackson growls, baring his teeth, and for Billy’s part, he doesn’t cower.
Jackson could break the likes of Billy over his knees, but I suppose there isn’t a need to fear that when you’re already dead.
“Decided it was probably a good idea to cut the night short, since I had already made a fortune. Went to the bar to close out my tab with Jenna. Talked to Charlie Dunbar, who was seated at the bar. Offered to buy him a drink. Then I left.”
I relay what he’s said to the collective, and everybody seems to feel the same way as I do... we’re at a dead end. Except for Nina. She’s worrying at her bottom lip and wringing her hands together.
“What’s wrong, Nina?” I ask, watching as her demeanor continues to take a shift toward uncomfortable.
“Could you ask Billy what all happened with Charlie?”
My eyes narrow in on my friend, questions mounting about her sudden interest in her stepson. I turn to Billy.
“Jenna said he was cut off and needed to get himself a ride home because she couldn’t take him that night. He said he already had a ride home. I left and that was the end of it.” He shrugs, like it’s not relevant, but looking at Nina’s face, I’m not so sure.
She takes a deep breath. “I think Charlie might’ve had something to do with this.”
“What?” all of us say at once.
“I’m pretty sure that’s the night that Charlie wrecked his truck. The next morning, Richard was livid, throwing things around and screaming at Charlie about how stupid he was driving around town drunk. Richard got the truck fixed and that was the end of it. We weren’t to talk about it because that would harm Richard’s political career.”
“Did you say he wrecked his truck? What color is it, Nina?” I ask, practically whispering.
“Red.”
“Can you provide evidence of the damaged truck and where Richard had it fixed?”
She chews on the inside of her cheek. “I don’t have access to our bank accounts to pull up the charges, but Richard always uses Santos in Silverton for repairs.”
“Do you think you could get the information from them?” I ask Lanie, keeping my fingers crossed that we’ll have something of value to add to this case.
“Hell yes she can,” Lanie chimes in. “I’ll make sure of it.”
WE WERE INthe parking lot of Santos ten minutes before they opened, determined to get in and out with everything we needed. It’s your typical auto body shop. Plain white brick building with multiple service bay doors.
We’ve been sitting in silence while I sip on my latte, Nina rests her eyes, and Lanie surfs through social media.
I lean into the driver’s side door, watching Lanie as she laughs at various posts and makes faces at others.
“Please explain this,” I say, motioning toward Lanie’s cropped tank top that shows the bottom swells of her ample breasts.
She doesn’t look up, but I see her glance at me out of the corner of her eye. “Chill, Mother Teresa. It never hurts to use your assets to get what you want.”
Lanie is a gorgeous girl, but she’s also smart, charismatic, and loyal to a fault. My hope is that one day, she’ll know her worth. The girl could get anything she wants wearing a potato sack.
A brown-skinned man with a medium build wearing a greenboilersuit makes his way to the door of the front office, unlocking it and stepping inside.
“That’s him. Leon Santos,” Nina whispers, as though he can hear her. “He owns the place.”
