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‘Told you he’d be in here.’ Billy held the door for her, up the steps into Dr Mandrake’s Dive Bar. Jet always thought of it as Billy’s Bar instead, where he worked, his apartment right upstairs. Not that she ever came here.
Mahogany panels and striped navy walls, glass shelves full of bottles behind the wooden bar, an assortment of different lamps around the room, the stranger the better, lighting the darker corners. In the darkest one sat Andrew Smith, at a table, beer bottle in his cupped hands. ‘It’s only noon,’ Jet said, eyes circling the hunched-over man. No more red wig, just a stubby graying ponytail at the back of his head. ‘He’s always down here when we open.’ Jet looked up at Billy. ‘And who thought it was a good idea for an alcoholic to live above a bar?’ ‘He did,’ Billy answered. ‘It’s OK, that’s probably his first.’ ‘We should speak to him before he orders his second.’ Billy crossed to the bar to say hello to his boss, and Jet went the other way, past a pair of upside-down legs, black and white striped, bursting from the floor. A lightbulb balanced between its ruby slippers, cord running to the closest socket. Definitely not in Kansas anymore.
There was only one chair at Andrew’s table, and he was sitting in it. Jet picked up another, dragged it over, a squeal that made Andrew wince, cover
his ears. ‘You mind?’ he said gruffly. ‘Yeah, I do.’ Jet dropped into the chair, steepling her hands, elbows on the sticky table. ‘I’m trying to drink here.’ He finally looked up, eyes not too faraway, not
enough that he wouldn’t recognize her. ‘I can see that.’
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Billy had come over too now, placing a chair next to Jet’s, facing the wrong way, straddling it.
Andrew sniffed in his direction, gaze returning to Jet. ‘What happened to your head?’ He pointed at the bandages with his beer bottle.
Jet glanced at Billy, and he glanced back. ‘You haven’t heard?’ Jet studied Andrew’s eyes, his puffy red hands. ‘I was attacked, on Halloween.’ Andrew grunted, shook his head. ‘No, I never touched you. I just yelled.’ ‘Not at the fair,’ Jet said. ‘After. In my house. I didn’t see who it was.’ Andrew shrugged. ‘I don’t know nothing about that.’ Jet wasn’t convinced; of course the killer would say that, pretend to know nothing about it. Didn’t alcoholics have to get good at pretending? Until they stopped caring, that was, like this man in front of her.
Andrew picked up his beer, took a swig. Jet clocked which hand he’d
used.
‘You’re right-handed,’ she said. ‘So’s everyone.’ A fair point. ‘Sergeant Finney escorted you home from the fair, walked you back to your apartment upstairs.’ Jet glanced up through the ceiling. ‘What time did he leave, after getting you home?’ Andrew sniffed. ‘I don’t think Jack Finney woulda done that to you. He’s a cop.’ Jet leaned forward, said in an almost-whisper: ‘I’m not asking about Jack Finney.’ ‘Me?’ Andrew laughed, an uneasy wheezing sound. He looked at Billy. ‘She thinks it was me? I was passed out all night.’ ‘So you won’t mind answering what time my dad left you in your apartment?’ Billy’s way was softer, but it seemed to work. ‘You should ask him. I was drunk, don’t remember.’ Andrew put his beer down with a thunk. ‘But I do remember texting a friend, right after he left.
Hold on.’ He reached behind him into his pocket, came back with a phone.
His face lit up with a silver under-glow, strange upward shadows playing on his forehead as he tapped at the screen. ‘Yeah. I sent that text at 10:29. Mr Finney must have left just before that.’ Seventeen minutes until the first strike hit Jet’s head. It only took ten minutes to walk to the Masons’ house from here, less if you ran – plenty of
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time for Andrew to make it through their back door. Jet memorized the time, would write it in her notebook later, fingers twitching in her lap. ‘And then you were alone?’ Jet pressed. ‘Yes, sweetheart.’ That eerie whistling laugh again. ‘Cop escorting me home is a pretty solid alibi, I’d say.’ ‘It’s not an alibi,’ Jet corrected him, ‘if you were alone and have no witnesses to co-cor-co – back you up, by the way.’ ‘Why? What time were you attacked?’ ‘I’m asking the questions here,’ she said. She didn’t want to tell him that they knew the exact time. It seemed smarter to keep that back. Also smart to hold on to the fact that Jet was dead, if he didn’t know that already, if he thought they were just talking about an assault. The word murder might make him panic, make him stop talking and start planning. Better to let him think he failed – if it was Andrew. ‘Don’t know why you care so much,’ he said, returning to his beer. ‘Number of times I’ve woken up with a bloody head and a black eye, and
don’t know who did it.’
‘Because someone tried to kill me.’ ‘But they didn’t.’ Jet caught Billy’s eye, gave him a tiny shake of her head. She looked around the room, searching her mind for another way in, eyes idling across the bar, skipping over beer tap logos and a pinned-up flyer with a picture of a guitar and a microphone. Live music tonight, it said. ‘Why do you hate my family so much?’ Jet turned back to Andrew, treading carefully around any accusation. ‘At the fair, you said we destroy everything. What did you mean?’ Andrew snorted, the sound echoing in his beer bottle, almost empty. He didn’t follow it up, didn’t speak. ‘I thought our families used to be close,’ Jet continued. ‘You and my parents have known each other forever. My sister – Emily – and Nina …’ Andrew winced at the sound of his daughter’s name. ‘They were best friends. I was only young, but I remember Nina at our house all the time, in the pool, sleeping over. Your wife too, when she came to pick her up, used to get stuck chatting with my mom. Emily and Nina were inseparable, weren’t they?’ ‘And where are they both now?’ Andrew spat, a flash of something darker in his eyes. ‘Don’t speak about my daughter to me.’
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‘I’m sorry,’ Jet said. ‘I know it must have been really hard, when she –’ ‘– Shot herself in the head?’ He laughed, empty and vicious, ripping a strip from the bottle’s label. ‘Yeah, it was really hard. Even harder knowing whose fault it was.’ Jet blinked. She knew she was close to something, didn’t want to push too hard, push him over the edge. ‘Who –’ she began. ‘– Dianne.’ Not a name, but a rumble in the back of his throat. ‘My mom?’ Andrew rubbed his hands through his hair, down his face. His movements erratic, unpredictable. The hairs rose up the back of Jet’s neck, her heart picking up, warning her. ‘Even after everything we’ve been through, sh-she …’ ‘What are you talking about?’ Jet pressed. ‘She’s the reason Nina killed herself. The last straw. Got her fired from her job at the hotel. Nina loved that job. She was doing so well.’ Too many questions; Jet didn’t know which one to go for. ‘How do you know –’ ‘– Because Nina told me. She said that Dianne had it out for her, that she just got fired and knew who was behind it. Your mom pulled some strings, and she’s got many strings, doesn’t she? With her seat on the trustee board, running this town. She did that, Nina knew, and then two days later Nina …’ Jet gripped the chair beneath her, her hand grazing Billy’s on the way. He grazed hers back, like she’d done it on purpose, like their hands had a secret
conversation of their own. ‘Why would my mom get Nina fired?’ Andrew coughed, a wet, gravelly sound. ‘I don’t know, ask her. Nina never got the chance to tell me.’ His face cracked then, struggling against it, trying not to break, not to cry. He fought hard and only one tear managed to get through. ‘It wasn’t just the job. She’d had a hard life, Nina. Losing her best friend so suddenly like that, only sixteen. Then her mom getting sick and passing away, when Nina needed her most. She didn’t want me to sell the house, said she’d always imagined living there, raising kids of her own, that it had too many memories. But I did, and I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have sold it. It broke her heart. But they were offering too much money.’ ‘Who?’ Jet asked.
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‘You!’ Andrew’s voice whistled. ‘Your family. Luke. Came to me with an offer. They already had the property next door, wanted mine too. It was way over what the asking price would have been. What was I going to say? No, Luke, you keep all that money. He knew exactly how to convince me to do it, made it seem like a favor almost, a kindness. Of course I sold it.’ He hiccupped. ‘Though where all that money has gone, I couldn’t tell you.’ He glanced over at the bar, at the bottles behind, like he knew exactly where all that money had gone. Down the drain, down his throat. ‘Said they were going to renovate and resell it. I used to walk by, see what they were doing to it, especially after Nina …’ He sniffed. ‘There was some holdup in the construction, think they changed their mind. They’ve knocked it down now. My old house, and the one next door. Think they’re going to combine the lots, build one giant McMansion for some rich asshole. Nina would have been devastated, to know the house she grew up in is completely gone. It’s gone, all gone. I checked last week. Digging foundations where our home used to be.’ Jet nodded, because she had her answer now: Why do you hate my family so much? But none of that had been her. It was Luke, it was Mom. Or maybe that was why he’d chosen Jet – taking Dianne’s daughter, like he thought she’d taken his? ‘I’m sorry my brother knocked down your house, but –’ Andrew laughed over her, ripping his beer label clear off. ‘He’s not. I’m sure he’ll make a nice big profit off it. Show his daddy who the big man is now.’ He laughed again, harder, almost frantic, like it hurt his ribs to do it.
‘You know what’s funny, though?’ Jet didn’t.
Andrew rubbed his nose. ‘Luke thinks it’s gonna be him next, doesn’t he?
That he’s going to be the Mason, your dad retiring, leaving the company to him. Well, I know something you don’t. Man, I’d love to be the one to tell him.’ ‘Tell him what?’ Jet said, losing track. ‘What do you know?’ ‘Your daddy’s not leaving the company to little Luke.’ His breath whistled through his teeth. ‘He’s going to sell it. To Nell Jankowski.’ Jet narrowed her eyes and Andrew licked his lips. Must have enjoyed the confusion on her face, ate it up, a substitute for her brother. This couldn’t be true, could it? Andrew was making shit up; he was a drunk, maybe even a murderer.
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‘How do you know this?’ Billy asked, stepping in.
‘She told me herself. Nell.’ ‘The chief’s wife?’ Billy asked.
Andrew nodded. ‘She’s got a construction business too, out of town.
Makes sense she’d want to expand here, in Woodstock, now they live here, now he’s running the police. She’s going to buy Mason Construction – they’ve already started talking, she and your daddy.’ Jet blinked, coming through the shock, recovering just enough to ask: ‘Why wouldn’t my dad leave the company to Luke?’ Andrew inhaled the air from his beer bottle, long empty. ‘Nell said Scott doesn’t think it would be fair, to give the company to one of you, when he has two kids. Well, two kids still alive.’ And now Jet did almost believe him, because that sounded exactly like something Dad would say. He was all about fair. But this wasn’t fair: Jet would never want the company – she’d wanted to do her own thing, something big to prove that she could, and Luke was dying to take over.
Dad knew that – everyone knew that, even this drunk fuck sitting across from her. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said, a lie of her own. ‘You’re not the first to say that.’ Andrew grinned. ‘What do you mean?’ Billy piped up. ‘Who else have you told about this?’ Andrew shrugged. ‘I’m not good with secrets. Never tell a drunk your business plans. I like Nell, she’s nice.’ He rolled the empty bottle away from him. ‘I need another drink.’ Jet stood up, righting the bottle, slamming it down with a thud. She’d had enough of his face, of his wheezing laugh, of collecting reasons why this man might have killed her. ‘Come on, Billy,’ she said, walking away, past those stripey legs that came from another world.
Billy came, caught her by a lamp with the body of an ostrich, shade covering its head. ‘What are you thinking?’ He lowered his voice, eyes on Andrew at the bar. ‘I’m thinking he has no alibi for the time of my murder, and he has motive. A few to choose from, actually.’ Jet sniffed. ‘Blames my family for
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losing his house, for his daughter’s death. Maybe he thought it was Mom’s head he was bashing in, I don’t know, got me by accident.’ Jet glanced back at Andrew. He’d ordered a harder drink this time, whiskey, nursing it on the way back to his table. ‘He’s going to be drinking down here for a while,’ Jet said. ‘We could just go upstairs, break down his door, search for my iPhone in his apartment, prove it that way.’ That should have got more of a reaction from Billy, more alarm, but he must have been distracted, eyes spooling through some unknown thought. ‘What?’ Jet demanded the thought from him. ‘Just thinking. If he brought the phone home with him, why did it last ping on River Street? That’s nowhere near here, and definitely not on the way from your house. What’s the connection?’ Now Jet was distracted by Billy’s thought too. It was a good point. ‘Fine,’ she said, marching back over to Andrew’s table, not taking a seat this time. ‘You’re back,’ he laughed, choking on the amber liquid. ‘One more thing,’ Jet said, sharpening her voice, aiming for the back of his head. ‘River Street. You know anyone who lives there?’ ‘River Street?’ he repeated, spinning in his chair to glance up at her. ‘Yeah, I know people. Used to be my neighbors.’ ‘What?’ Jet said, too breathy, forced out by her quickening heart. ‘I used to live over there. My old house, it was on North Street. Just off River Street, the only way to get to the house.’ Jet’s head snapped to the side, finding Billy’s eyes. Now the alarm was there, where it belonged, a coating over that watery blue. Probably a matching look in hers. ‘You’re saying there’s a Mason Construction site on North Street?’ Jet asked the back of Andrew’s head, still intact. ‘Your old house?’ ‘It’s your family’s company.’ Andrew took a large gulp. ‘Down the end.
They’re only just starting the new building now.’ Another. ‘Why you asking me about River Street?’ Because it had been the wrong question, and the wrong street.
North Street.
That blue dot hanging in the road right on the corner, where River met North, and Jet had been chasing down the wrong one.
She hooked her arm through Billy’s, dragged him away.
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‘We were looking at the wrong street,’ she hissed, heading for the exit. ‘Maybe Andr– th-the killer turned the phone off, then headed down North toward the construction site. Didn’t continue along River like we thought.’ ‘You think it is Andrew, then?’ ‘Well, he’s connected to that location.’ Jet glanced back at the man, sitting in shadows, seeing off his glass of whiskey. ‘Probably doesn’t know we have the phone data, that we can see it was turned off there, the idiot.’ ‘And if it’s not Andrew?’ Jet gave Billy his arm back. ‘If it’s not Andrew, if someone else killed me, then maybe it’s not about the killer’s connection to that site. Maybe it’s about mine.’ Billy stopped by the door, a glint in his eye as he paused to ask: ‘To North Street?’ ‘To fucking North Street,’ she answered.
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