Page 99 of Jack
“Ty—wait, from high school?”
“He’s an Uber driver in Duck Lake. He’s in a coma at the hospital in Waconia. Shot in the head and left at the Duck Lake Landing boat launch. Kyle was found at the Motor Lodge.”
“They are right across the street from each other.”
“Penelope was in the car when Ty was shot.”
Brontë just stared at her.
“I’m sorry. Jack didn’t want you to worry?—”
“Are you kidding me? Why hasn’t he called the police?”
“He did. He’s working with Jenna.”
An eyebrow arched. “Really.”
“It’s fine. But . . .” She sighed. “He sent me home with Conrad. Like I’m twelve.”
Brontë took her hand. “He’s just worried?—”
“He’s not my big brother.” Harper looked past her out the window. “Or at least, I was hoping not. . .”
Her gaze flicked back to Boo, who now did a poor job of hiding a smile.
“It’s like I can’t seem to quit him. Like . . . I don’t know. He was more than my first crush. I built a happily-ever-after world around him.” She didn’t know why she was saying this to Boo, but, well, her best friend probably already knew. “I even wrote a romance novel about . . . well, a guy named Jack. Only, it ends up happily ever after too.” Her eyes burned again, and she swiped her cheek. “And it’s not just that . . .” She sighed. “I feel so helpless. So . . . angry. I know I could help find her if he would let me.”
“How?” Boo wore a little fire in her eyes.
“Tommy Fadden, the neighbor, said he saw a masked man leaving her apartment the night of her murder. Penelope said that the police had discounted his testimony because he was sort of obsessed with Sarah, but what if . . . what if he has more to say? Something that could help us find this Zorro guy…”
“Zorro?”
“Sounds better than ‘masked man.’” She finger quoted the last words.
“You’re such a storyteller. No wonder your blog post about the wedding dance rehearsal got so many likes.”
“It posted?”
“Yeah.PopMusepicked it up and it’s trending, along with an engagement photo. And a few memes of our faces over Patrick Swayze’s and Jennifer Grey’s.”
“Nobody puts Baby in a corner.”
Boo laughed. “Yeah. So”—she looked at her watch—“you have exactly six hours to find Tommy Fadden, interrogate him, and get back for the wedding rehearsal. Hopefully with Penelope in tow.”
“At least with information I can give to the police.” She took Boo’s hand. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you.”
“Jack’s on it. I don’t know what I could do to help anyway.” She met Harper’s gaze. “Find Tommy. I’ll cover for you. Maybe Jack deserves a little taste of his own medicine.” She winked.
Harper took the Geo, because what else did she have to drive, thank you? Listened to the radio—classic rock already preprogrammed into his radio.
“Don’t Stop Believin’.”
Whatever.She probably needed to give up on her fairy tale.
An hour later, she pulled up in front of 56th Manor, a small three-story apartment complex with a mansard roof and outside parking cordoned off by tall, grimy snowbanks. An entry allowed for mailboxes, with a list of names on a buzzer panel. She found the one for Tommy Fadden and pressed the buzzer. What were the odds that he might be home on a Friday?—
“Yo.”