you didn’t leave again?”
“I said no.”
“When did your friend show up?”
“About ten minutes before you did. He woke me up.”
“Where’s your car?”
He gave her a puzzled look. “In the garage where I always keep it when I’m not using it. What’s with the third degree?”
Max said, “Your car sideswiped us this morning.”
“What?” He laughed. “Not possible.” Peter shook his head and walked through the kitchen. He opened a door that probably led to the garage.
And gaped.
He spun. “It’s not there.” He paced to the sink and back to the door again. “Where’s my car?”
“That’s what we want to know,” said Max’s cop buddy from the front door where he stood next to his partner. “Peter Hayes?”
Peter held his hands up. “I wasn’t driving. I swear.”
“Can anyone give you an alibi?”
He swallowed hard. “I was asleep. I didn’t even know my car was missing.”
Chris and Steve exchanged a glance, then looked at Max. “What are you doing here?”
“The same thing you are.”
“We got the hit-and-run you called in.”
Max gestured to Erica. “She recognized the car.”
“But he wasn’t driving it?”
Erica shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“I wasn’t!” Peter said. “I want to report a stolen car.” He ran a hand through his greasy hair. “I can’t believe someone stole my car.”
Max snorted as Peter muttered a few more dire threats on the head of the person responsible for the missing vehicle. He looked at Chris. “This the first time this has happened?”
“Yeah. I checked to see if he was a repeat, but he’s not.” Max was surprised. A missing car was a common call from drug addicts. They often loaned their vehicle to their addict friends and when the friend didn’t bring it back, they filed a stolen vehicle report.
Erica managed to calm her brother down enough to sit on the sagging couch.
Chris pulled out his notebook and said, “Tell me, in detail, where you were this morning and who would have taken your car?”
“I don’t know! That’s why you’re here, right? To find out?”
The man truly looked distressed. Max began to wonder if he wasn’t telling the truth.
Chris continued. “Who has the keys?”
“The keys were probably in it,” Peter mumbled.
“Uh-huh. And what crackhead did you loan it to?”
“I didn’t loan it to anyone.” Peter sighed and ran a dirty hand through his greasy hair. Max saw Erica wince and turn her face from the man’s odor.
“All right, give me the description of the vehicle, the tag number, make and model, color and all that.”
As Peter provided the information, Erica massaged her sore shoulder, and Max said, “Come on. We can’t do anything else here. Let’s get you some Ibuprofen then we can head to my house and I’ll show you Lydia’s room.”
They left Peter to fill out his stolen car report and to retell his story to the officers. Max wondered if they’d believe him, but as of right now, they didn’t have any proof to refute the story. Max knew Chris and Steve would continue to investigate the accident. He just hoped for Erica’s sake that her brother wasn’t lying.
Erica looked at the modest brick two-story from Max’s driveway. “Very nice.”
“I bought this house about four years ago.” Pride echoed in his words. “I’d never owned anything in my life. I lived mostly in apartments while trying to go to school and just keep my head above water financially, but when I decided to get custody of Lydia, I wanted someplace special to bring her.”
Together they walked toward his front door. Erica couldn’t help a glance over her shoulder, wondering at her feeling of being watched. She forced herself to brush it aside. Once inside the house, her uneasiness disappeared and she gasped in delight. “It’s beautiful. Did you decorate this yourself?”
A flush crept up into Max’s cheeks. “Well, I did the woodwork, the molding and the painting. A friend of mine helped me out with the decorating aspect.”
A friend? Erica couldn’t help wondering if that friend was more than just a “friend.” A little dart of jealousy shot through her and she stood still, shocked by the feeling. Not wanting to dwell on it, she turned back to admiring his home. Shiny hardwood floors made her pause. “Should I take off my shoes?”
He laughed. “No. You’re fine.”
A simple, classy chandelier hung overhead. Stainless steel appliances and granite graced the kitchen to the right. “It’s truly lovely.”
He motioned toward the steps. “Lydia’s room is upstairs.”
Erica followed him up the steps, her fingers trailing over the banister. At the top, he turned left and entered the first room on the right. Erica stepped inside and was once again impressed. “I can’t believe she didn’t want to stay here. It’s charming, but simple enough she could put her own stamp on it if she wanted to.”
Max gave her a warm yet sad smile. “Yeah, well, I’m still not her favorite person so—” He shrugged, and she could tell his heart was heavy.
She laid a hand on his arm. “Maybe she’ll come around soon.”
“Maybe.”
Even though she felt sorry for Max and the angst his sister was putting him through, she still couldn’t get past the fact that the evidence pointed to Lydia’s guilt. She removed her hand.
“What if she’s staying away because she’s guilty and she’s afraid you’ll turn her in to the cops?”
He sighed and dropped his head. “It’s more likely that she’s staying away because she believes that I think she’s guilty. That’s one of the reasons I have to find her. I have to convince her that I believe in her.”
“Do you have to convince her? Or yourself?”
Max stared at her. “You’ve already got her tried and convicted.”
“And you’ve bypassed the evidence and are letting your emotions get in the way.”
Max held up a hand. “We’ve agreed to disagree. Can we please not argue about it?”
