Page 103 of This is Why We Lied

That part was squarely on him.

Will silently berated himself for focusing on the wrong guy. He had to let go of being mad at Dave. Mercy’s worthless ex-husband had been shunted to the periphery of the investigation. Identifying the killer, locating Jon; those were the only two things that Will needed to be worried about right now.

Sunlight bathed his face as he entered the main compound. Will adjusted the heavy satellite phone that was clipped to the back of his belt. He was wearing a paddle holster at his side. Amanda had loaned him her backup piece, a snub-nosed five-shot Smith and Wesson that was older than Will. He felt like an outlaw walking through town in an old Spaghetti Western. A curtain twitched in Drew and Keisha’s cottage. Cecil glared at him from his wheelchair on the front porch. The two cats eyeballed him from their separate perches on the stairs. Paul was in the hammock outside his cottage. He had a book flat to his chest and a bottle of alcohol on the table. His mouth went into a smirk when he saw Will. He reached for the bottle and took a swig.

Will was going to let him stew for a bit longer. Paul was on his list of people to talk to, but he wasn’t at the top. Interviews generally fell into two categories: confrontational or informa-tional. The two waiters, Gregg and Ezra, were teenagers. They’d probably be a good source of information. Will wasn’t sure where Alejandro would fall. Mercy was twelve weeks pregnant. Guests were in and out of the lodge. Will’s primary focus was on the men who were consistently around Mercy.

Not to say that the other men at the compound weren’t going to have their time in the barrel. The McAlpines had suspended all planned activities, but Chuck had gone fishing with Christopher as soon as the storm had passed. Drew was holed up inside cottage three with Keisha. Gordon seemed content to drink the day away with Paul. Frank was playing Columbo by way of the Hardy Boys.

Will was waiting for Amanda to come through with the warrant so that he could search the property for bloody clothes and the missing knife handle. The UTV carried a thermal printer in the lockbox that would hopefully work with the satellite phone so that Will could print the document and physically serve the warrant. The McAlpines had granted Will and Kevin access to Mercy’s room, but he had a feeling they would push back on the rest of the place, especially considering they were still trying to hold on to paying guests.

Bitty had told Will in no uncertain terms that she and her husband were too overcome with grief to answer any questions. Which was fair, but the woman hadn’t seemed overcome with anything but anger. Sara had already searched the kitchen for the broken knife handle, so the house was low on his list. At some point, the lake might have to be dragged. That decision was above Will’s paygrade. For now, the best use of his time was talking to people and trying to figure out who had a motive to murder Mercy.

Will scanned the trees, trying to figure out which way to go. Last night, they had gotten to dinner by following the bottom half of the Loop. Sara had led them to another trail down to the dining hall, but Will had honestly been paying more attention to Sara than the route.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the door to Frank’s cottage crack open. A hand stuck out, waving Will over. He could see Frank hiding in the shadows, which would’ve been funny in any other circumstances. Will was literally out in the open. Everyone could see him crossing the compound toward cottage seven. He figured now was as good a time as any to interview Frank. Monica had been completely wasted last night. Frank could’ve easily slipped out for a tryst. He could’ve just as easily showered off Mercy’s blood and slipped back into bed without his wife knowing.

Frank kept up the cloak and dagger as Will came up the stairs. The door cracked open wider. Inside, Will’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness. The curtains were drawn across the windows and French doors to the back. The door to the bedroom was closed. There was an odor of sickness in the air.

“I got the names you asked for,” Frank handed Will a folded sheet of paper. “I found the guest registry in an office off the back of the kitchen.”

Will opened the page. Thankfully, Frank had written in block letters, which made it easier for him to read. He tucked the note into his shirt pocket for later. For now, Frank was in the hot seat. “Thanks for helping me out. How did you get past the staff?”

“I threw a rich white guy tantrum and demanded to use the phone. Nobody told me it wasn’t working.” He sounded excited. “Anything else you need me to do, chief?”

“Yeah.” Will was about to knock some air out of the guy’s sails. “Did you hear anything last night?”

“Nothing, which is weird, because I have really good hearing. It’s not like I got much sleep. I was up and down with Monica all night. If someone had yelled in this vicinity, I would’ve heard it.”

Will’s follow-up question was cut off by the sound of retching from behind the closed bedroom door. Frank tensed as they both listened. The retching stopped. The toilet flushed. The silence returned.

“She’ll be okay.” Frank’s voice had the practiced cadence of a man who was used to making excuses for his alcoholic wife. “Have a seat.”

Will was glad Frank was making this easy for him. The furniture was the same style as the couch and club chairs in Will and Sara’s cottage, but it looked more worn. There was a stain on the carpet with a paper towel soaking up the dark liquid. That was where the smell was coming from. Will took the chair farthest away from it.

“What a day.” Frank rubbed his face as he sank into the couch. He looked embarrassed. He also looked exhausted. His face was unshaven. His hair was uncombed. He’d clearly had a hard night even before Will had woken up the entire compound. “How’s your hand?”

Will’s hand was throbbing with every beat of his heart. “It’s better, thanks.”

“I keep thinking about Mercy at dinner last night. I wish that I had helped her, but I don’t know what I could’ve done.”

“There wasn’t much anybody could do.”

“Well, maybe?” Frank asked. “Like, I could’ve done what you did. Helped clean up the broken glass. Instead, I started talking about the food. I wish I hadn’t done that, because I think it gave everyone permission to ignore what had just happened.”

There was no practiced cadence to his voice now, but Will gathered his need to always smooth things over was a recurring dilemma.

“I want to do something now,” Frank said. “Mercy’s dead, and no one seems to care. You should’ve seen them all at breakfast. Gordon and Paul kept making dark jokes. Drew and Keisha would barely talk. Christopher and Chuck might as well have sealed themselves inside of an acrylic box. I tried to speak to Bitty and Cecil, but—do you get a bad vibe off of them?”

Will wasn’t going to share his vibes. Frank was low on his list of suspects, but he was still on the list. “Did you tell me that you’ve been to the lodge before?”

“No, that was Drew and Keisha. Third time up here, can you believe it? Though I doubt they’ll ever come back.”

“You and Monica travel a lot. When was your last trip?”

“Oh, gosh, it must’ve been Italy. We went to Florence three months ago. Stayed two weeks. There was a lot of wine. Maybe that was a mistake on my part, but we’ve got to live, right?”

“Right.” Will made a mental note to confirm the timeline, but it would let Frank off the hook for Mercy’s pregnancy, if not the murder. “What were your impressions of Mercy?”

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