The only meaningful progress they’d made in the afternoon was filling out paperwork and reading through a new batch of transcripts from the team of officers working in the fifth-floor conference room. The tapes from the high school were producing an overwhelming volume of material, most of it mundane, but scattered among the everyday conversations were fragments that required closer attention and cross-referencing against the suspect list. Toby had taken the lead on organizing the transcripts into categories, and Kinsley had to admit the system he’d devised was better than anything she would have come up with on her own.
“Captain Thompson approved overtime,” Kinsley said as she tucked the wine bottle under her arm and carried everything toward the living room. “Which sounds like a victory until you realize it means he expects some kind of results. I didn’t leave the station until nine. And don’t even get me started on the new software being uploaded to our servers this weekend. It’s supposed to make our paperwork easier, but it means learning a brand-new system.”
Lydia had her legs tucked beneath her on the couch, auburn curls spilling over the shoulder of a bright pink shirt and a pair of jeans. She rarely wore jeans. The observation registered in the back of Kinsley’s mind, but she filed it away for the moment.
“Please tell me you ate something other than vending machine peanuts.”
“Toby brought me a turkey club from the diner.” Kinsley set the glasses on the coffee table and began working the corkscrew into the bottle. “He’s been pulling his weight. More than pulling it, actually. We have some leads to follow.”
“It must be something good.” Lydia tilted her head, her hazel eyes reflecting the soft glow of the television screen. “You have that look.”
“What look?”
“The one where you’re chewing on something but won’t say it out loud until you’ve crossed your Ts and dotted your Is.”
Kinsley poured the wine, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. Lydia had already snagged the bowl of popcorn, but she paused before reaching for her glass to scratch two mosquito bites on her upper arm with an irritated grimace.
“I don’t want to bore you with the case,” Kinsley said as she picked up her glass and walked around the coffee table so Lydia wouldn’t have to move her legs. Her thoughts weren’t on the Bell case anymore, though. They’d shifted to her conversation with Owen the other night, to the way his casual observations about technology and digital footprints had sent her spiraling into the darker corners of her own situation. “By the way, you don’t need to skirt the Dylan topic.”
Kinsley lowered herself onto the opposite end of the couch. Lydia set the bowl of popcorn between them and took a long drink of her wine, the kind of preparatory sip that suggested she was bracing for a conversation she wasn’t sure would go well.
“I’m serious, Lydia. I told you the other day that I’m happy for you.” The words were simple, but Kinsley meant every one of them. She’d watched Dylan drift through years of restlessness, chasing something he could never quite name, working jobs that held his attention for a season before the itch returned.And she’d watched Lydia pour her heart into her students, her community, her friendships, everyone but herself. If the two of them had found something worth holding onto, Kinsley wasn’t about to stand in their way. “I just don’t want to hear anything about your sex life. Deal?”
A genuine smile spread across Lydia’s face. She reached over and squeezed Kinsley’s hand, a quick, warm pressure that said more than words could have managed.
“Besides, the man just bought a dairy farm. He’s finally putting down roots.” Kinsley shook her head, still somewhat amazed by her brother’s transformation. “I never thought I’d see the day Dylan Aspen committed to anything that required waking up before noon, but here we are.”
“He’s so happy on the farm, Kin. Seriously. He’s been up at four every morning this week. Whistling.”
“Whistling?”
“You heard me right the first time.” Lydia shifted so she could rest her elbow on the back of the couch, facing Kinsley fully. “I barely recognize him.”
“Neither do I,” Kinsley admitted with a quiet laugh of genuine astonishment. She took a sip of her wine, savoring the sweetness. It was nice to have a normal, peaceful moment, a Friday night that felt like a Friday night was supposed to feel. “And I mean that in the best way possible.”
The sound of her phone chiming from the kitchen punctured the ease of the moment, and Kinsley groaned with the bone-deep exhaustion. She rose from the couch and carried her wineglass back to the kitchen. The display was lit when she reached the counter, the notification pulsing once more before going dark.
She tapped the screen.
The notification was a summary email from her cellular provider. She’d submitted a records request today. She swiped the notification open while Lydia’s voice carried from the livingroom, animated and warm as she described Dylan’s plans to renovate the farmhouse kitchen.
“...wants to tear out the entire back wall and install these massive bay windows,” Lydia was saying, seemingly unaware that Kinsley’s attention had fractured down the middle. “You really need to stop by the farm, Kin.”
She would scroll through the itemized call log later, when she had a moment of absolute privacy. On the night in question, there should be only one outgoing call. Noah’s number. No other activity should exist until the following morning. No accidental calls, no pocket dials, no data pings from apps she’d forgotten to close. Once she confirmed what she already believed to be the truth, she’d be able to breathe a fraction easier.
She collected her phone, but she hadn’t taken a single step toward the living room when the front door swung open.
Margaret Aspen stepped inside, using the heel of her sandal to nudge the door shut behind her. Both hands were raised slightly, fingers spread apart and caked with dark topsoil that extended past her wrists.
“Mom, what on earth happened to you?”
Kinsley quickly set her phone and wineglass down on the counter. Before she could grab a hand towel, Margaret had already crossed to the sink with the assured stride of a woman who knew this kitchen as well as her own.
“I spotted two mums that needed a new home while I was at the nursery with your father this evening,” Margaret announced, as though her arrival at ten o’clock at night with dirt-caked hands required no further explanation. “They’re on your porch now. You’re welcome.”
Kinsley exchanged a glance with Lydia, who had turned around on the couch to get a better view of the kitchen. Lydia pressed her lips together in an unsuccessful attempt to suppress a grin.
“Mom, it’s almost ten o’clock at night.”
