But whisper she did. Tyler’s eyes went wide as she moved her head away.
“So, I need you to help me make this work,” she said.
Tyler saw the tears forming in his sister’s eyes and slipped an arm around her. “I’ll try,” he said.
“That’s all I’m asking,” Jayne said.
When Jayne came back downstairs, she thought about what Tyler had said, wondered why he’d lied to her.
She knew he’d been places other than Cam’s house. Her little brother wasn’t the only one with some tech skills. Jayne had secretly put an app on his phone that would let her know where he was at any given time, and when she had looked at it earlier this morning she’d noticed he’d been hanging out in a nearby cemetery. Maybe that was where he and Cam had gone to get drunk.
But she’d decided not to call him on it. Once he knew what she’d done, he’d delete the app. The good thing was, unlike most kids his age, Tyler was not all that tech-savvy. It wasn’t that he couldn’t figure stuff out. It simply didn’t interest him that much. Anyway, Jayne tried not to overdo it when it came to snooping on her brother, but she believed it was a prudent move to be aware of his comings and goings.
She sent Andrew a text.
Everything okay?
And hit send.
She watched the screen for a few seconds, waiting for the dancing dots that would indicate a reply was in the works.
Nothing.
And then she heard the car pull into the driveway.
Before she opened the door, she peeked outside. There was a black, nondescript sedan sitting there with a woman behind the wheel. Jayne wouldn’t have called herself an expert in these things, but she thought the car was some kind of police vehicle, given how plain it looked.
The woman behind the wheel got out and started walking toward the front door. Stocky, short hair, big glasses. Jayne opened the front door and stepped out.
“Can I help you?” Jayne said.
The woman smiled and said, “Hi. I’m Detective Marissa Hardy. Milford police.”
“Yes?”
Oh God, no. There’s been an accident.
This was why she hadn’t heard from Andrew. Someone running a red light had broadsided him. Something had fallen off a high shelf at Home Depot and crushed him. Maybe some crazy, random event with a shooter. There was always one of those somewhere in America on any given day.
“Is it Andrew?” she said. “Was he in an accident?”
“No, ma’am, not to my knowledge.”
Her second thought was that this had something to do with Tyler. Maybe when he got drunk with his friend last night they’d gotten into something they shouldn’t have. Broken a window, tipped over a mailbox, spray-painted the side of someone’s house.
“How are you today?” Hardy asked.
“Just fine,” she said, coming off the step and getting within whispering range. “Is this about Tyler?”
“Tyler?”
“My brother. He lives with us.”
“No,” the detective said. “I’m looking for Andrew.”
“Andrew?”
“Andrew Mason.”
Jayne blinked. “Who?”
Hardy paused, the corner of her mouth going up a tenth of an inch. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Force of habit. I’d forgotten he goes by Andrew Carville now. Took me a little longer to find this place because of that. Is he here?”
Jayne suddenly felt dizzy.
Andrew Mason?
Andrew had changed his name? He’d never told her anything about that. Who changed their name? Movie stars, maybe. But not regular people.
“What’s your name, ma’am?” Detective Hardy asked.
“Jayne Keeling.”
“You live here?”
“Yes.”
“With Andrew Carville?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
“And is he here?”
Jayne shook her head slowly, her mouth suddenly very dry.
“Well, that’s too bad, but now that I’m here, I wouldn’t mind talking to you,” the detective said. She smiled innocently. “Maybe we could go inside and talk? Truth is, I could really use a coffee. If that’s not being too huge a bother.”
Jayne looked at the detective as though she were a talking giraffe.
“Coffee,” Jayne said.
“That’d be great,” she said.
Jayne’s phone, still in her hand, buzzed with the sound of an incoming text. She glanced down and saw the message from Andrew.
Everything fine. Back in a bit.
“Is that him?” Hardy asked.
“Yes. He’s out running some errands. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”
“That’s okay. We can talk before he gets here.”
Jayne turned and gestured for the detective to follow her into the house. She led her to the kitchen and pointed to a chair. Hardy sat down, placing her own phone facedown on the table.
“Decaf, if you have it,” she said. “But it’s okay if you don’t.”
“I... yes, I have that.”
Jayne opened the cupboard, brought down a tin of coffee, put a filter into the machine. As she spooned in some ground coffee, some of it spilled across the counter.
“Damn it,” she said.
She cleaned up the mess, and as she ran water into the carafe to pour into the coffee machine, she asked, “Why did you ask for Andrew Mason?”
“Are you married to Andrew?” Hardy asked.
“No.”
“But you’ve been together awhile?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Since the latter part of last year. And I moved in here with him a few months ago.”
“Oh,” Hardy said. “Are you from Stratford?”
“No,” Jayne said. “I moved here a couple of years ago. From Providence.”
“What made you move down to this neck of the woods?”
“I assess properties for insurance companies. The one I worked for in Rhode Island was winding down, the owner retiring, and an insurance firm in Stratford was looking for someone, so I made the move.”
“Just you?”
“I’m not — I wasn’t in a relationship. My family — my father and my brother — were there, but they didn’t move with me, of course.”
“And Tyler is...”
“That’s my brother. He joined me here later. After our father died. You haven’t answered my question.”
“Which one was that?”
The coffee machine was starting to make a gurgling sound.
“Why you called Andrew... Andrew Mason. That’s not his name.”
“That was his name. He had it legally changed four years ago. I can’t say as I blame him, considering.”
“Considering what?” Jayne asked. “A financial failure? A bankruptcy? He had a building company, with someone else, but that got dissolved some time ago. Did it have something to do with that?”
“No,” the detective said. “Since you’re relatively new to the area, I guess you wouldn’t have been exposed much to the news around here six years ago.”
That corner of Hardy’s mouth was still curled up a notch, as though she might actually be enjoying this.
“A splash of milk,” Hardy said.
“I’m sorry?”
“My coffee. That’s how I take it. I figured you’d get around to asking sooner or later.”
Jayne took two mugs down from the cupboard and a carton of milk from the refrigerator. The coffee continued to drip down into the carafe. When there was enough for one serving, Jayne filled one mug, added some milk, and put it on the table in front of Hardy.
“Thank you,” she said.
Jayne said nothing.
“Has Andrew ever mentioned anything to you about his wife?” Hardy asked.