Jax squeezed her knee. “Yes, Lord,” he prayed aloud.
“Hang on, I’ll run the number through some searches.” Maizie had access to legal and not-so-legal avenues for finding out all kinds of information.
Now that the president had told the world they worked for her, Kenna figured she could pitch in if Maizie got into trouble with the law and they found themselves needing to get her a good defense attorney.
“Bingo.”
Preston leaned over and looked at her screen. “I like bingo. Bingo is good.”
Maizie almost smiled. The young woman’s lips were starting to turn blue, despite the blanket. She needed to go back inside, and if she was honest, Kenna did as well. She needed a whole lot of things that she didn’t have, but contentment had to exist in the gap between what she thought she should have, or know, and what she possessed.
“His name is Wallace Lofton. According to this, that’s who the phone is registered to.”
Kenna silently thanked God for even this much of a lead. The prayer spilled out onto her lips. “Thank You, Lord. We need to find this guy.”
“There can’t be that many Wallace Lofton’s out there, but how do we narrow down which one is the podcaster?” Preston asked.
Jax said, “I can give the name to an FBI contact and have them run every Wallace Lofton that exists. Ryson can do the same.”
“There’s one Wallace Lofton in this area. He’s thirty-nine and moved here from Seattle three years ago. He is a card-carrying member of the Salt Lake City Private Investigator Cohort and the president of another group who looks at cold-case murders that are as yet unsolved.” Maizie scanned the screen of her laptop. “That’s all I can see from his Facebook without hacking his account to get a look from the inside.”
She paused long enough that Kenna nearly asked her what she’d discovered, but Maizie continued before she could. “There’s a conversation here on a post he shared.” Her nose wrinkled.
“What is it?” Kenna bounced her knee up and down.
Maizie said, “What ismurderabilia?”
“Ah.” Kenna nodded. “Think memorabilia, but for murder.”
Preston’s head jerked. “That’s a real thing? Gross.”
Jax said, “Sadly, yes. And it is awful. But some people collect memorabilia from murders like they’re items worth putting on display. It’s pretty despicable. Like collecting Nazi stuff. They want tokens from true crimes so they can show them off like collectibles.”
“There’s a black market for everything, I guess.” Preston leaned back on the bench seat, as if he needed to absorb the blow of how awful people could be.
“We need to know if he bought or sold anything,” Kenna said. “This sounds like the right guy.”
“I’ll call my buddy at the bureau here in town. See what he can dig up on this guy.”
“Tell your friend not to take too long,” Kenna said. “I’d rather just go knock on his front door.”
Jax hesitated but said it anyway. “Preston and I can go. You and Maizie can stay here and dig up this guy’s entire life.”
Kenna pressed her lips together because that actually sounded like a decent division of labor. “Call Zeyla also. She needs an assignment.”
“You don’t want to go?”
Because she hadn’t argued with his suggestion to stay here? Kenna said, “I already found one dead body. I filled my quota. If there’s a door to knock on, you go right ahead.”
Jax leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Good deal.”
Kenna leaned on his shoulder and not so gracefully climbed free of the picnic bench seat. “Let’s go, Maze. We’ve got a case to work.”
Maizie gathered her things, and they went inside, where Kenna immediately set about making hot chocolate. She peeled her coat off and switched the sweater she was wearing fora longer, more insulated knit one with a single button that fastened over her baby bump.
The process of getting her arms in it sent an odd cramp through her middle. Kenna bent forward slightly and braced her hands on the edge of the kitchen counter, blowing out a long breath through the sensation.
“Kenna, you okay?”
