Page 33 of Lost Lake
El’s eyes narrowed slightly. “She’s overqualified for the job if you ask me, but she likes living here. We benefit from that.” A long breath. “Before we talk about next steps, there’s one more thing.”
She turned away and looked out through the windshield, her leg beginning to bounce against the floorboard in a low, restless rhythm.
He’d been waiting for this. Whatever it was, it was what had caused her tight expression the moment she’d walked out. He pressed his palms flat against his knees, the pressure grounding him, giving him a place to put the tension building in his chest. “Go ahead. Say it.”
She turned back slowly and held his gaze. “Kenna was twelve weeks pregnant.”
She let her statement hang in the air. An enormous silence followed.
“She was…” He stopped. Started again. “But she never…” The words wouldn’t organize into anything useful. A headache formed behind his eyes, and he pressed two fingers to his forehead.
How had Kenna not told him? They’d been close. Or at least he’d thought they were close. Something this significant. Something life-changing. And she hadn’t said a word.
That stung in a place he hadn’t expected.
“You didn’t know she was seeing anyone?” El asked quietly.
“She never mentioned it.” He lowered his hand. “Maybe she didn’t know about the pregnancy yet. Or maybe she did, and that was what she was coming to tell me.”
“Then we need to find out who the father was, and whether the pregnancy had anything to do with her death.”
The contents of his stomach turned over. “What kind of person kills someone over that?”
“One who should be behind bars.” El closed the folder. “Finding Lucy has to stay our priority, but while we work Kenna’s house for anything that leads us to Lucy, we search for evidence of this relationship at the same time.”
“I assume the ME is running DNA on the fetus.”
“Yes. I arranged for a fetal tissue sample to go to the Veritas Center. Means we could have the father’s profile in twenty-four hours or so. Doesn’t mean he’ll be in the database, but when we find our suspect, we’ll be able to determine if he’s the father.”
El’s phone rang. She grabbed it before the second tone. “Go ahead, Massey.”
Gabe leaned slightly toward her side of the car. Tried to listen in, but he couldn’t make out Massey’s words. He only heard theefficient rhythm of someone relaying information. El’s fingers drummed once on the steering wheel and went still.
“And what did he want?” she asked.
She bit on her lip while Massey answered.
“If he’s right, it sounds like it sank,” she said. “Get the dive team on it.”
She listened again, and her shoulders went rigid. She kept her phone pressed to her ear, eyes sharp, body entirely still. Listening hard.
Then she slowly relaxed, and her fingers dropped back to the wheel. “Good work, Massey. Now we need to find this guy.” She tilted her head as she let her free hand open and close against her thigh. “Fast-track the warrant. Text me the details the moment you have them. We’ll head straight there.”
She ended the call, slotted the phone back on the dashboard holder, and started the engine in one fluid sequence. “Our witness called back. Said he remembered seeing a floating seat cushion from a boat. Didn’t know if it was connected to our scene, but it had ‘Property of H. H. Mason’ painted on it.”
“There wasn’t one in the water by the time I got there.”
“Gone before I arrived, too. Witness said it was torn, looked old. Probably got waterlogged and sank.” She checked her mirrors. “The dive team just found it.”
“And since you said we’re heading over there, I’m guessing you know who H. H. Mason is.”
“The witness knows of him, but hasn’t actually talked to him and doesn’t know what the H. H. stands for. Says he keeps to himself, but there’s a mailbox with those initials at a place about three miles south on Lake Road.” Her phone buzzed against the holder. She glanced at the screen, then at Gabe, and something sharpened in her eyes. That barely contained urgency he’d come to recognize. “Mason’s address.”
Adrenaline sizzled through him like an electrical current switching on. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s book it!”
El pulled into the long driveway and parked in a wide clearing surrounded by soaring evergreens. She killed the engine and sat for a moment, studying the property.
Mason’s house was barely more than an oversized shack. The siding had once been red, but time and weather had left it a dull, brownish rust. Peeling at the corners. A few boards visibly warped. A boathouse down at the water’s edge was in markedly better condition, freshly painted in the same red the house used to be, its lines clean and deliberate.
