Page 128 of Long Gone

“You can dig into my past all you want, but if you’re looking at the official record, you’ll only find half-truths and a metric ton of bullshit.”

“So you’re saying Rose Gardner means nothing to you?”

“It means you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then tell me.”

“I’m not having this conversation over the phone.”

“You mean you’re actually going to tell me in person?” I asked. “How can I believe you when you never once told me you knew J.R. Simmons?”

“Why would I? Up until this morning, I had no reason to.” He paused. “Come back and we’ll talk.” Then he hung up.

Damn him.

I flagged down Betty and paid my bill, leaving her a generous tip, but just as I started to walk out, I remembered I hadn’t shown her the other set of photos on my phone.

“Say Betty, do you happen to remember seeing this man when Hugo Burton was alive?” I held out my phone to her and she took it, shuffling through the photos before handing it back to me.

Her mouth twisted to the side, as she considered it then said, “Yep. A couple of times.”

“You’re certain? This probably would have been five years ago.”

“Yep. I know him. He had this habit of biting his thumbnails, sometimes down the quick. Plus, he wasn’t a very nice man. Very abrupt and rude. I never liked seeing him walk through the door.”

“Was he ever with Hugo Burton?”

“Usually alone, but once with him.” She glanced over her shoulder, then turned back to me, lowering her voice. “The day after Hugo disappeared, I saw him across the street, going into the office building. When he came out, he had a couple of boxes.”

The only office building across the street was Hugo’s.

“The day after?” I asked, trying to contain my excitement. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. He came in for a piece of pie once he finished his job.”

“Thank you. This is very helpful.”

I’d just tied Pete Mooney to J.R. Simmons and possibly Hugo Burton’s murder.

Chapter 29

My first instinct was to head back to the tavern and confront Malcolm, but I sat in my car for a few minutes and thought this through. Even if Pete Mooney had killed Hugo, someone else was involved. Otherwise, why would someone have broken into my parents’ property? There were two investors still here—Brett Colter and Skip Martin. If they were involved and thought I was digging up information to implicate them, they could send someone to look for it. The thought made me feel better about my father’s recent involvement with all of this. Colter and Martin both knew I was searching for Hugo, so they wouldn’t need someone to alert them that I was looking. Maybe they were hoping to find proof of what I’d found.

But how was I going to prove it was either one of them? I had the names of the guys who’d broken into my place. I could possibly use that to my advantage. Skip had a car lot and likely had a lot of employees. Maybe they were two of his men.

I decided to pay a visit to Skip’s car lot and ask around for Pinky. It was an unusual enough name that if he worked there, someone would know.

I headed to Wolford and parked in the dealership parking lot, trying to decide where to start. The service department seemed like a great place to look. The two men definitely had blue collar vibes. It seemed to make more sense that a mechanic would be one of his henchmen rather than a salesman or finance guy.

So I walked through the service doors right up to the counter and gave the twenty-something guy behind the counter a big smile. “Hi. Could you do me a favor and tell Pinky that I’m here with a check?”

His nose scrunched up. “Who?”

“Pinky. I was told he worked here.”

“Don’t know a Pinky,” he said. “What’s his last name?”

“I don’t know.”

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