“The landlord, technically,” I said.
“But he got you both kicked out,” Aycock said. “You couldn’t have any bad feelings about that rent money.”
Alex took a step forward, but stopped.
“I sure did,” I said. “But I wasn’t even around to do anything to him.”
“Aroundwhen?” the cop said. “How do you know how long the victim’s been out there?”
I started to answer, but had to stop and think. HowdidI know?
I looked around the room. My eyes landed on the stack of mail Sicily had knocked over when we’d been watching the security footage.
“I saw someone lying out thereyesterdaywhen I got back to the pub from grabbing a few things from the apartment,” I said. “That guy—he had a beard—was gone this morning when I walked the dogs.”
“Dogs,” Aycock said. The pen in his hand slowed to a languid scrawl. “Dogs aren’t known to be great witnesses.”
“The alley wasclearthis morning when I walked the dogs,” I said. “But there was someone knocking at the door of the pub, and that person hijacked my whole day. I’ve been with her until nearly the minute I saw Joey in the alley tonight. She’ll tell you.”
He perked up. “Who’s this now?”
I hesitated, but only a second. “My sister,” I said.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alex react as though someone had pinched him. Neither of us had had the chance to fold the new reality around us, a world in which Marisa just dropped by after twenty years. And I hadn’t had the chance to fill him in on her disappearing act, and how I knew about it. All Alex knew was that sister meant mother meant Marisa meant trouble.
Yeah, none of us were going to be happy about this. My brand-new sibling was going to have to alibi me, first thing. And, as everyone knows, that was a sturdy foundation on which to build any relationship.
DETECTIVE AYCOCK—SERIOUSLY, HAD HEnever considered changing it?—had a lot more questions for me, darting from topic to topic and back over things we’d already covered a million times and from new angles until my eyes crossed. Probably the point of it all, to confuse and catch me out.
Most of his questions I had solid answers for. Where was I the night before I found Joey in the alley? That was easy to remember: I was here, at McPhee’s, onstage. A packed room of people could vouch for me. And what about the night Joey supposedly dashed with our rent money and didn’t return, the week before? Same. Onstage.
Who knew country music would provide such a solid alibi?
“Why didn’t you report Mr. Hartnett missing?”
“I thought he ran out on me,” I said. “I have abandonment issues, okay?”
“With your dad right over there?”
“He’s not my dad,” I said. “Do you need my whole life story right now?” I caught a glimpse of Quin’s shadow lurking in the hall, taking in every word. “He’s my… landlord.”
Another convulsive twitch from Alex. He’d be looking for something to clean, but I’d only meant to keep the discussion high-level.
What should I have said? Benefactor? We’d never really had a good word.
“My friend,” I said uncertainly.
“Uh-huh,” Aycock said, his eyes dropping to his notebook. “Now what would Mr. Hartnett have been doing over on this side of town? Other than coming to this bar where you seem to live, work, and spend all your spare time? With your friend.”
Had anyone ever called Joeymisteranything before? I imagined Joey giving the cop the finger.
“Is this funny to you?” Aycock demanded.
“No, I… Wait.”
I had just remembered the security camera. It would have caught some of what had happened along our street. Not just dudes flipping us off and pissing on the sidewalk, but maybe anyone coming or going into the alley. “We can look at the security footage,” I said. “Maybe Joey’s on there—”
“We can’t,” Alex blurted out.
