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“Magnolia Day booths, huh?” he says.
“Word really travels fast,” I say.
“The Magnolia Grapevine is faster than a telephone, as Pop likes to say.” Pop Patterson is Noah’s grandfather. His real name is George but everyone calls him Pop.
Noah takes the seat across from me. Copper pots and pans hang on a rack overhead and the black and white tile floor is polished to a sheen beneath our feet. Noah rests his chin in his hands.
“So,” he says. “To what do I owe the honor of being summoned to Everton Estate?”
“I want to talk about my mother’s case,” I say.
Noah’s shoulders tense. “Caden, I told you—it’s an ongoing investigation. I can’t talk to you about it.”
“Don’t give me that cop bullshit,” I say.
“It’s not bullshit,” Noah says.
“You were the one who kept it open for me and now you’re saying you can’t talk to me about it?”
Noah shrugs. “Them’s the breaks.”
I huff. “Well, I have all this information from Dad’s PI. Can I talk to you aboutthat? Because I don’t fucking understand a lot of it.”
Noah looks intrigued. “Yeah,” he says.
“It says there were no fingerprints, no DNA, nothing. There isn’t even a bullet. How is that possible?”
“He probably wore gloves, which would make sense if it was a burglar. He wouldn’t have left DNA unless he spat on something or cut himself. It wasn’t like there was a fight or your Mom had a chance to scratch him or anything. And there was no bullet because…” He swallows.
“Because what?”
“The bullet went right through her,” Noah says softly. “And through the window.” My shoulders tense. “Bullets don’t stop unless there’s something to stop them. Or until they slow down. There’s nothing beyond your mom’s pottery shed except…”
“The bay,” I say. The bullet is out in the water somewhere. Impossible to recover. Like finding a needle in a haystack.
I drop my head into my hands. The impossibility of this task, and all the missteps I’ve made since that day, seems to hang around my neck like a shackle. The anger at my father bubbles underneath.
“It seems insane to me that we have all this—” I gesture out at the expensive appliances and marble countertops. “And yet it means nothing. Someone was able to walk onto our property, shoot my mother, and get away with it. They just disappeared. Who does that?”
“You,” Noah says simply.
I glare at him. “I did not shoot my mother.”
He holds up his hands. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m only pointing out that peopledovanish, Cade. If this was a robbery gone wrong, as the sheriff suspects, then it could have been a drifter or thief with no connections to Magnolia Bay. Someone who saw a big house and tried to seize the opportunity. If it was a payback scheme or revenge plot from someone burned by the Everton business, as your dad seems to think, then the killer covered their tracks well.”
“What doyouthink?” I ask.
Noah cracks his knuckles and sighs. I knew he’d spill his guts if we kept talking. He’s a big old softie under the tough cop exterior. “I don’t know. That’s what makes this case so confusing. If it was a random thief, how did they know to access the back of the house through your mom’s garden where there were no cameras?”
“They must not have known much about our family at all,” I add. “Otherwise, they’d know that Mom loved to work in her shed in the mornings. Especially after any large event, like the anniversary gala.”
“That’s what your Dad said,” Noah replies. “Or did you already talk to him about that morning?”
“I’m trying to talk to Dad as little as possible.” I give him a sardonic look. “Besides, you think Russell Everton is going to appreciate being interrogated by his impudent, runaway son?”
“Right. Well, I’m sure this PI has his statement in there, so there’s no harm in me telling you. Your dad says your mom got up around five thirty. She told him she couldn’t sleep and wanted to work. He said she got dressed and left their bedroom at around five forty-five. Then he went back to sleep. The gunshot woke him up. He thought it was a car.”
“That’s what Finn said too,” I murmur.