Page 71 of Jack

No, no, he couldn’t go back to the past. Three more days, and he would hit the road. Except, the words that he’d shot across the bow to West and Nat had roused inside him during his drive to St. Paul.“I’ve been thinking that it’s time I hang this gig up. Maybe retake the bar.”

And then what? Hang out a shingle in some low-rent building in Minneapolis? Take on insurance claims and speeding-ticket defense?

Or become a prosecutor, maybe, going after domestic abusers and shoplifters?

No. He liked what he did. Even if he did occasionally scrub up against the law.

Still. He hadn’t exactly hated hanging around Harper again.

“She never showed up for the ticket I left at Will Call,” Conrad said. “Admittedly, I never listen to voicemails, so I only got her text.” He opened his texting app and showed them the text of virtually the same message as the voicemail.

He took the phone back. “So when I checked my voicemails today . . . well, you listen to it.”

He put the phone back on the table, jacking up the volume against the noise in the bar—the games, people chatting, laughter.

Muffled sounds, as if the phone might have been in Penelope’s pocket, and then, “No, don’t stop, why are you stopping?” More sounds—a male voice, another yelling—“No!”

A gunshot.

Penny’s scream. And then more muffled sounds, more shrieks?—

The message ended.

Harper appeared stripped, and Jack’s chest turned hollow.

Conrad leaned back, pressed his hand over his mouth. Then, “That’s why I wanted you to hear it, in person. I think she pocket dialed me. My guess is that I was the last person she’d called or texted, so?—”

“So the phone redialed,” Jack said.

“Maybe she did it on purpose,” Harper said, her voice shaking. “Let’s not forget she’s a murder podcaster. She’s probably learned a little about how to leave clues.”

Jack looked at her. “You said she’s disappeared before?—”

“Before, there wasn’t a guy in a coma!”

He held up a hand. “Hey. I was just agreeing with you.”

She winced, looked away, her eyes glistening. “Sorry.”

And now he couldn’t help it—he did take her hand. Squeezed.

Maybe he was a professional nice guy.

He turned to Conrad. “What’s the time stamp on that?”

“Tuesday, around eleven p.m. I was back at the house, my phone off when it came in. It goes onto Do Not Disturb at ten p.m.”

“Good to know. I’ll make sure, if I ever need you, to call before ten.”

Conrad gave him a withering look. “You’re in my favorites, so I’ll get your call regardless. Not that you ever call.” He raised an eyebrow.

Ouch.

“Do we go to the police?”

“We already did,” Harper said. “In Duck Lake. They put out a BOLO.”

“This needs more than a BOLO,” Jack said. “She’s missing, a guy’s been shot, and her last known location was in the car with a shooter? So, yeah . . . now I’m officially worried.”