“What kind of scheme?” Daly presses. “I didn’t hear about this.”
“I don’t know, but I doubt she would’ve told you. If it was clan guys, she wouldn’t have said a word to Daley Halloran, no offense.”
“None taken,” she says softly. “Can you remember anything else?”
She frowns slightly, looking off to the left. “Actually, I remember something. It was a few weeks before the accident, we were sitting out back Aunt Shaena’s place by the pool, and I confronted her about the rumor. She didn’t deny it. I thought it was weird at the time, but she only got mad at me for asking and never said it wasn’t true. I figured it didn’t mean anything, though. And I guess it doesn’t matter now.” She looks back over, ignoring me. “Is that helpful at all?”
“Yeah, totally,” Daley says, not sounding very convincing.
My chest is like a beehive. This is exactly what I wanted to hear, the confirmation of something I’ve suspected for a long time. Daley and Fiona make some more small talk for a little while before eventually Fiona heads off to take some orders. We take the opportunity to slip away and regroup out on the sidewalk.
“Fiona’s not doing great, is she?” Daley leans up against the wall outside, staying under the overhang’s shade.
“She’s been better. Getting her shit together, though.”
“I noticed there were…” She trails off and touches her arm.
“Track marks,” I say, confirming her suspicion. She winces like I punched her. “But she went to rehab, and word is she’s been clean for a while now.”
“That’s good I guess. God, Fiona on heroin? I can’t imagine.”
“You’d be surprised. A lot of that shit’s going around here.” I look down the street, squinting into the distance, remembering all the guys I know that’ve gotten hooked and ruined themselves on the junk.
“How does any of that help us?”
I turn back to her, grinning, and grab her hand. I tug her away from the wall and wrap an arm over her shoulders, hugging her close. She glares at me but doesn’t struggle away as I walk with her.
“Remember what I told you about the police report? There were other tire tracks and some plastic that didn’t fit.”
“I don’t see how some rumor about Megan being involved with clan guys connects to tire tracks and extra plastic.” She looks up at me, frowning.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve heard about this. At least four other people heard that same rumor, all the same variation on a single theme. Megan was involved with some clan guys. They were up to something, and nobody seems to know exactly what. But if what Fiona said is true, this is the first time I know of that someone confronted Megan with the rumor, and apparently Megan didn’t deny it.”
“Which you think means it’s true.”
“Smoke and fire, Daley.”
She sighs and pushes me away. “All right, asshole. Your theory is someone killed Megan. Someone she was working with or involved with somehow. That’s all you got, just a hunch and some rumors?”
“I have tire marks and plastic parts, too, don’t forget.”
She rubs the bridge of her nose. “I came home for this.”
“We’ll figure it out. Don’t worry.” I take a deep breath of clean, crisp Delco air and let it out slow. I’m feeling good for the first time in a long while. I’ve been following these leads for years, constantly going down blind alleys, constantly getting yelled at and shouted down by people that think I’m a killer. And now it feels like I’m close. “We need to track this rumor down and figure out what she was up to. And once we get that, we’ll figure out the motive. From there, we’ll find the killers.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“It won’t be, but it is kind of fun.” I grin at her and put an arm around her shoulders again. “We find the motive, we find the killers.”
“Simple,” she says quietly and sighs.
Chapter 13
Daley
I stare out the window on the train home the next day. Work’s a lot harder with a half hour commute built into both ends, but the freedom of having a job in the city away from my family is still worth the effort, and I do like riding the train. I’m getting more responsibility and starting to feel comfortable in the office, although Aiden made another comment over breakfast about me quitting. So far, Dad hasn’t said that needs to happen, but I won’t be surprised if I wake up one morning in my old childhood bed only to find a resignation letter typed and signed and all ready for me to submit to HR.
Rian sits in the seat next to me, his knee brushing against mine. He glances down, and I look back into his gorgeous dark eyes and his long dark lashes. I’m having trouble fitting him into my worldview right now—it was easier when he was the reason for all my despair—and it doesn’t help that he looks at me like he wants to devour me whole.