Page 17 of Mother-Daughter Murder Night

* * *

It took a full five minutes after Lana locked the door before Jack’s heart stopped racing.

“That was messed up,” Jack said. “Like, really messed up. What are we going to do?”

“Jack.” Her grandma’s eyes weren’t cruel, but they were firm. “You’re absolutely sure he wasn’t on your tour?”

“I—I am.” She stumbled over the simple words.

“Speak up, Jack. Winners never mumble.” Her grandma’s gaze stayed steady. “Is there anything else, anything you haven’t told me?”

Jack swallowed. She debated whether to mention it.

“It’s possible I met Ricardo once.” Jack ducked away from her grandma’s searing gaze. “Not on a tour. I didn’t recognize him at first, but when they said he worked for the land trust . . . I think maybe I waved to him early one morning, a couple months ago, when I was out paddling.”

Lana closed her eyes for a moment. Jack couldn’t tell if her grandma was angry or disappointed or something else.

“Did you talk to him?”

“Just a few words. He was collecting water samples by the north bank, way upriver, a mile or two past the mud flats.”

“Was anyone else around?”

“I don’t think so. It was just, like, a quick hello on a foggy morning. Do you think I should tell the detectives?”

There was a brief pause, and then Lana gave her a curt shake of the head. “No. Not yet. Is there anything else?”

“Nothing, Prima. I swear.” Jack was surprised how forceful her voice sounded, how the volume masked her fear.

Lana’s eyes softened. It almost looked like she was going to offer Jack a hug. Instead, Lana gave her a single, tight nod.

“Right. I’m going to call your mother. You’re going to heat up a pizza. We’re going to figure this out.”

* * *

Beth charged into the house thirty minutes later, swooping Jack into a hug that lifted the teenager off the floor.

“Honey. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

“S’okay. Prima was pretty great, actually.”

Lana looked over from the counter, where she was working a corkscrew into a dusty bottle of cabernet she’d found under the sink.

“The cops here are idiots,” Lana said. She pulled out the cork with a satisfied pop. “Trying to threaten Jack into admitting some part in that poor man’s death. I mean, honestly.”

“This isn’t a joke, Ma. They must be coming after Jack for a reason.”

“The reason is they’re lazy. Scared, probably.”

“I’m sure they loved it when you pointed that out to them.”

“Beth, please. They have an unsolved murder on their hands. Of course they’re looking for someone to blame. Jack found the body, she ran the tour the guy was supposed to be on. I don’t think these sheriffs have the capacity to connect more than two dots.”

“Wait, back up. Which tour?”

Jack explained what the detectives had said about the Saturday sunset tour and the bachelor party and Mr. Willis. Then she realized something. “That Saturday tour didn’t even get within a mile of where Ricardo’s body was found. Even if that guy Willis was right—which he wasn’t—we never got there. Just like the detective told you about your wheelbarrow man. We were nowhere near the mud flats.”

“So it’s your word against this Mr. Willis?”