Perfect.
"Then I bet you know all there is to know about this place."
A twinkle sparks in her eye. "Not a lot gets by me." She pats my arm. "Which is why I don't buy your story that you're here for a visit. If that were true, you'd be at the spa."
"Busted." I laugh lightly, giving a playful show of having been caught. I don't enjoy lying, but telling the truth about why I'm here isn't the best choice either. I've already told Miranda the hairstylist that I'm a student, and staying with one story is safest. "But to be fair, I did go to the spa. I'm getting my master's degree in criminaljustice, and for my final project I'm supposed to examine an unsolved case. So I chose?—"
"Simon De la Vega."
I nod somberly. "Yes."
Her hands wrap around her paper cup. "Quite a case you've chosen."
"I'm supposed to gather as much information as I can, learn what happened and what I would have done differently, if anything."
Without me asking, Liane starts in. "We were devastated by what happened. My husband was a fairly new mayor at the time, and it was difficult to rally the town. And those kids? Poor babies. It's obvious how the loss shaped them." I nod and listen, finishing my sandwich while she speaks. "Just awful what happened to their dad. In the middle of the day, no less. How somebody gets away with a crime like that, I have no idea."
"Do you know if the detectives who worked on the case are still on the force?"
"There were two," Liane answers. "One retired and moved to Alaska. The other is still working."
"Name?"
"Ricardo Towles." Liane points at my purse. "Write his name down in your phone."
"Good idea," I say, taking her suggestion. She doesn't know I'm great with names, and remembering what people say. Back in the day, before my family unit imploded, I dominated in the game of Memory, to the point where my family refused to play me anymore. "What about David Boylan? I saw his name in newspaper articles from the time."
Liane sighs. "David Boylan. I haven't heard that name in a long time."
"He was the?—"
"Postal worker who was the only suspect in the case. Let me tell you about that man."
Liane points at my dark phone screen. "You can take notes."
I nod like I'm eager to take notes, but really what I'm doing is tempering my excitement at having stumbled upon the loosest lips in this town.
"David Boylan was a bit of an odd duck. I've never seen a man so excited about rare coins."
I typerare coins.
Liane keeps going. "He was quiet and kept to himself. In this town, that makes you odd. I don't know if you've noticed, Mallory, but everybody here is very friendly."
"I've noticed," I assure, as she expects me to. There's no need to argue, to tell her about Braxton the night manager. He most definitely does not fit her profile of an Olive Township denizen.
"Of course, sometimes people are just different, and that's ok," she rushes to make the caveat. "But on the day Simon died, David had been delivering mail. He was on Six Digit Road when he got a flat tire." My eyes widen as I furiously tap my phone's keyboard. I'd known there was a person of interest, but none of these details.
Liane continues. "Now, I happen to know a detail that was not released to the public at the time. Not onlywere David Boylan's tire tracks found at the scene of the crime, but so was his blood."
Liane pauses, letting that sink in. She's a masterful storyteller.
"But the police didn't have enough to arrest him?"
Her head shakes back-and-forth. "It was the Olive Festival that day. Too many witnesses were able to place him at the event at the same time the coroner said Simon was attacked."
Excitement bubbles up inside me. Not the good kind that leads to something happy, but the kind that accompanies a shot of adrenaline. "So he had an accomplice?"
"That was the theory, but they could never find evidence of it. Between a lack of evidence, no motive, and a handful of people on the record saying they saw him, Boylan was released. The whole thing ruined his life though. He moved away immediately, and nobody has heard from him since."
