Page 67 of Cold as Hell

I lift my hands. “Yes, but we can’t start using ‘would have covered his tracks better’ as a defense. You have all the evidence. This morning, I want to speak to Grant again. It’s time I learned why Lynn was here.”

“My grandmother can tell you that,” Yolanda says.

“She can confirm it, but I’d rather give Grant a chance to explain… while I behave as if I can’t get it otherwise. Then I’ll want to see how his story compares with the real one.”

“Clever,” April murmurs. “But, as much as I do not care for Grant, I find Thierry a better suspect.”

Yolanda’s brows shoot up. “Based on what? The fact he flirted with Lynn? There’s no evidence they did more than flirt.”

“He fits the physical description as well,” April says. “Which also matches Sebastian, and I believe that is significant. The killer is framing someone who could be mistaken for them, in case they were spotted.”

“I’d like to roll back to motive,” Anders says. “If we think it’s the same person who attacked Kendra, then it would seem to be random. Choosing whoever took the drink at the Roc. Choosing whoever was out alone in the storm. But the fact that Lynn was also at that table, getting the same drink, might argue otherwise.”

“How?” April says. “If they all had the same drink, there was no way of knowing which would go to Lynn.”

“I’ve considered the possibility they were all dosed.” I turn to Yolanda. “I meant to ask you about that. How did you feel that night?”

She takes a sip of coffee before answering. “I’m not sure. I have thought about that. I only drank half of mine, and looking back, I fell straight to sleep, which isn’t normal for me. But I wasn’t going to mention it because it sounds like paranoia.”

“But it was Kendra who was grabbed,” April says. “If the target was Lynn, and her killer dosed all the drinks, why take the wrong woman?”

Yolanda shrugs. “A mistake? As someone with some face blindness, I can tell you they’re of a similar build. I wouldn’t make that mistake face-to-face—even with my condition, I can tell a brown person from a white one, but at night, bundled up…?”

“Except they also live in different residences,” Anders says. “Kendra was grabbed going into hers. That arguesagainstthe killer making a mistake. I think it was random. The fact our second victim was also at the table is a coincidence.”

I clear my throat. “All that is to say we need to look at all possibilities.”

Dalton comes in the front door. “Well, that’s done. How’s it going in here?”

“Wrapping up,” I say. “I’d like to speak to Grant. Is he still in custody?”

“He is.”

I’m alone with Grant. That seems best for this conversation. Dalton joins me long enough for Grant to vent his frustration at being under house arrest. Dalton says he’ll be allowed out tomorrow morning. He frames it as a courtesy for the grieving husband, but really it’s for Anders and the others. Needing someone to guard Grant at all times would pull them away from protecting the town at large.

And what if Grant really is the one we’re protecting them from? Well, if Grant killed Lynn, it was personal, and that’s not likely to endanger anyone else.

Once Grant gets that promise of freedom, he’s ready for our interview. Of course, after I tell him what he needs to know, we cycle back to complaints.

“So my wifewasmurdered? What happened to promising us safety? That’s why we came to this backwoods shithole. To keep her safe.”

I struggle not to flinch. I’ve heard this before. Every time someone died in Rockton—or was in danger—this became the discourse. How could that happen in a place that guaranteed safety?

I could point out it wasn’t a guarantee. The entry process is extremely clear on that, so residents can make informed decisions.But when something goes wrong, it feels like breaking a promise. Like when someone dies in a car accident despite wearing a seat belt. Or drowns in a boating accident despite wearing a PFD. Isn’t that why we endure the inconvenience and discomfort of those safety measures?

Those things do make us much safer. Coming to Haven’s Rock makes people much safer. But it’s a matter of degrees, not absolutes. In a time of crisis and grief, though, no one needs to hear that. It puts the blame back on them for accepting a less-than-perfect solution.

“We are investigating all the safety measures that could have prevented this,” I say. “On that note, though, I do need to ask about why you came here. I know that’s confidential, and of course I can’t force you to answer, but I am asking. In case it proves relevant.”

“I thought that’s why we went through all that cloak-and-dagger stuff. To be sure no one could follow her here.”

“The chance of that happening is infinitesimal. While again, I can’t say no one couldevertrack a resident here, the storm makes that particularly unlikely.”

“What about a resident coming on false pretenses?” He waves off my protest. “Yeah, yeah, I know there’s a system and an investigation, but what if someone offers your investigator a million bucks to falsify documents?”

“There’s a fail-safe. Everything is thoroughly verified by a second party. If there is even the slightest concern, the application is denied.”

“What about the person who makes the final decision? What if they’re bribed?”

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