Page 74 of Moonstruck
“Do you think he’d be stupid enough to use his own vehicle?” Archer asked.
“Have you seen those vintage Buicks? It would be like being hit by a Sherman tank. Those cars were built to last,” Jericho said, sounding fond. “What else do you know about it?”
“Just that it’s gold.”
Jericho nodded. “Okay, Calliope, look for anybody who has a registered Buick Riviera or Skylark. They were very popular back in the day and, up until the mid-seventies, came in a color called Cortez Gold.”
“Who knew having a mechanic in the family would come in handy?” Adam said, earning a middle finger from Jericho.
“Okay, there’s nobody on the list who has ever owned that kind of car.”
“Shit,” Zane muttered.
Asa knew Zane was stressed and hungover. He was a wire stretched to its breaking point. He needed this settled once and for all.
“Let me try searching for something else,” Calliope said.
They all sat staring at each other as they listened to Calliope typing away for an obscenely long time. “Jackpot! Holy shit. Jericho, I think you just earned a cookie.”
“You found him?” Jericho asked.
“Not exactly. I found a 1971 Buick Skylark in Cortez Gold registered to a Henry Devlin. Oh, damn. He’s eighty-seven years old.”
Zane suddenly came to life, leaning forward. “Does he have a son or grandson, Calliope?”
More frantic typing ensued. “Um, two sons. Maxwell and Jerome. One is sixty-seven and the other is sixty-four. Jerome has a son and a daughter. The son is thirty-eight. Jerome Jr. Maxwell…never had kids.”
“Jerome Jr. could be our guy. Can you cross reference him with the list of rejections?” Zane asked.
Calliope made a disappointed sound. “He’s not in the list we narrowed down. But,” she said, dragging the word out. “Let me check the ones we eliminated.”
Asa could feel Zane practically vibrating beside him as they waited for Calliope to do all her complicated computer shit. When she cackled like a witch in a horror movie, Asa knew they had a winner. “Yep, Jerome Jr. was rejected by both schools.”
“What’s his background?” Noah asked.
“Our creepy friend got his GED—”
“And he applied to our school?” August asked. “He does have delusions of grandeur. We barely allow anybody who wasn’t in the International Baccalaureate program with over a 5.0 GPA.”
“You sound like a snob,” Noah said.
August leveled a flat stare at Noah. “I am a snob. But facts are facts. He’s in no way qualified to apply to an Ivy League school, yet he did. That speaks to the profile.”
“Um, he works as a Geek at a tech store. That tracks,” she said, almost under her breath. “Never married. Was arrested three times. Once for stalking, once for sexual battery, and…one for peeking into ladies windows—never a good sign. Um, his LinkedIn profile says he’s a member of MENSA.”
August scoffed. “There’s a database for members, Calliope. You should be able to access it from my phone. I bet you a thousand dollars, he’s lying.”
“Calliope has access to August’s phone?” Zane whispered.
“She has access to every single aspect of our lives. She will be all up in your phone and everywhere else you live digitally. It’s how she fakes GPS locations, tags, and a shit ton of other things I don’t understand. It’s part of the Mulvaney Murder, Inc. membership, so if you have any weird fetish porn on your phone, you might want to get rid of it sooner rather than later.”
“Glad I didn’t take that bet,” Calliope said, “because you are correct. Definitelynota MENSA candidate.”
“You think this is him? You think this is our guy?” Adam asked the group.
“I think it’s worth delving into,” August said.
“Same,” Adam and Jericho agreed at the same time.
