Page 38 of Conrad

“You just play hockey. Let me do the writing.” She dipped her brush into the paint, tried to catch the drips, and finished the end of the board. Her clothes resembled a Jackson Pollock painting.

Conrad followed Jack into the bus.

“So, what’s the point we’ve been missing?” Jack bent over another bench.

Conrad worked his seat free. “Penelopeis the connective tissue here. Did you know that she talked with Sarah LivingstonbeforeSarah was murdered?”

Jack glanced up at him with a frown. Tossed a freed bolt into the bucket. “What about?”

“Long story, but she thinks Sarah had information about the murder of Edward Hudson, her sister’s dead fiancé.”

“That’s why she thinks the crimes are connected.”

“Yes. But what if they’re connected because ofPenelope?” He carried the seat out of the bus and set it on the garage floor, then climbed back inside.

Jack’s power drill buzzed. He dropped in another bolt. “How?”

“I don’t know.” Conrad picked up the drill. “I think we need to figure out if Edward was really murdered. So I’m thinking we probably need the forensic report. And then?—”

“Wait—what’s thiswe?” Jack stood up. “You’re going to investigate this with her?”

Oh.“Uh . . .”

“And what, join her on the podcast?”

He unscrewed a bolt. “What—no. Of course not. It’s just . . .” Conrad finished unscrewing the others, then stood up. “She gets in over her head.”

“You think?” Jack worked his seat free. “This is the girl who hid for three days in an icehouse, waiting for her podcast to drop, after thinking someone was trying to kill her.”

“Someonewastrying to kill her,” Conrad said, his voice quiet.

Jack’s mouth pinched. “We’ll never know, will we?”

“I think the evidence is pretty clear. Whoever took her drove her out to Loon Lake to shoot her and leave her with the fishes.”

“Thank you, Michael Corleone, for that reminder. I was there.” He picked up the seat, and Conrad grabbed the end. “I’m just saying, she could have gone to the police. But she didn’t.”

“My point exactly. She’s a little impulsive?—”

They’d brought the seat outside—not heavy, but awkward—and set it next to the other. Jack looked up at him. “That’s the pot. Sheesh.”

Sometimes his big brother seemed so different from him. Sure, he’d played hockey and had been raised by the same parents, but Jack had a sort of individual spirit about him, the ability to separate his emotions from his job of finding the lost, to see the big picture.

Conrad had always let himself get too wrapped up in the frenzy of the game, the emotions. Struggled to step out of the brawl. “Hey. I’m working on that.”

Jack stood up. “The fact is, you care—it’s just part of who you are. You care, you get involved, and suddenly you’re in over your head too. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” Jack picked up his seat, heading for the pile. “Although, I’m not sure it’s not too late, given your recent social media.”

Conrad had followed him. “What?”

Jack set down the seat, turned to him. “Harper showed me. Pictures of you and Penelope at Lakeside Pizza Company? Looked like you were having a good time. Something about a pizza-eating contest?”

What?“Yeah, pictures were taken, but—who posted them?”

“Penelope. It’s on her account, but she tagged you, I think. They came up on Harper’s feed. Lots of likes, buddy. So, are you two dating?”

“No.” Conrad probably set down the seat harder than he needed to. “She specifically told me that she wasn’t falling for me.”

Jack raised an eyebrow.

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