Death on a Deadline

obeyed, but shook my head. “You don’t understand. Carly and I were at the newspaper in the break room,” I said quickly. “For reasons too complicated to explain. And there was a bag. In the freezer. It had empty pill bottles in it from Lake View Pharmacy.”
    “So?”
    “So, it’s obvious. Brendan was doing something illegal concerning medicine. Hank found out and threatened to expose him. And Brendan killed him.” My heart thudded against my ribs.
    “And you think if you tell John this, he’ll arrest Brendan and clear Zac?”
    “Yes!” Why was he acting so hesitant? Surely he wanted to clear his own grandson.
    “But you’ve already accused Elliott to John, right?”
    “Yes, but—”
    “And Byron?”
    “Yes.”
    “So what makes you think he’ll believe you?”
    “We’ll tell him what you told me. Plus I saw the bag of pill bottles.”
    “What if Brendan isn’t guilty?”
    “He is!” How could Daddy be so calm?
    He held out his hands palms up in that let’s-reason-this-out manner I knew so well. “But what if he and Hank were arguing over some ad copy and whether or not to use certain pictures on them? And what if Brendan was saying, ‘I gave you that bag of empty pill bottles so you could get some good shots for the ad and now you’re not going to use them?’ ”
    I leaned against the wall again. “Do you think that was what they were talking about?”
    “No. But I’m still not convinced Brendan killed him. And I’d think twice before I accused another possibly innocent man.”
    The door to the interrogation room burst open and Zac walked out. He looked at Dad and me for a second—unreadable emotions in his red-rimmed eyes—then stomped down the hall. We rose to our feet as Carly came out next, Alex right behind her. “Hey, guys, I’ve got to go talk to Zac.” She looked at Alex grimly. “Would you fill them in?”
    “What’s wrong?” I asked, icy ribbons of fear braiding around my heart.
    “ Zac didn’t tell us the whole truth about the morning Hank was killed.”
    Dad shook his head. “I could tell he was hiding something.”
    I remembered having that feeling, too, the first day Zac had told us about being fired, that all wasn’t being said. “What was it?”
    Alex glanced around the deserted hallway and lowered his voice. “When he told us he was driving around that morning, he neglected to tell us that he pulled into the Main Street Park parking lot for a few minutes, then left.”
    “Oh no,” I whispered. “What are they going to do?”
    “John reminded him again not to leave town. But between us, I think if something else doesn’t break in the next few days, they’ll arrest him. I got the impression the DA may very well be preparing a case.” He looked from Dad to me. “I’m sorry.”
    I hit my fist against the wall and turned to Dad. “Meet me in the car, okay? I’m going to talk to John.”
    Dad reached toward me, then dropped his hand. “You have to do what you have to do. But remember what I said.”
    I nodded. “I’ll be cool.”
    “That’ll be the day,” I heard Alex mutter as I walked toward the interrogation-room door. I considered going back and giving him a piece of my mind, talking about me that way and especially to my own father. But I had to deal with John first.
    The Lake View Police Department’s interrogation room served as a break room when there were no dangerous criminals to question. So I wasn’t surprised to find John scarfing down a doughnut and coffee. When he saw me, he picked up a napkin and started wiping at his sticky fingers. “Jenna,” he mumbled around the remains of his pastry.
    “You’ve got the wrong guy. I think Brendan Stiles killed Hank.”
    John swallowed quickly and choked. When he didn’t quit coughing, I began to beat him on the back, but he held up his hand for me to stop. “Enough.”
    “I’m sorry. I was only trying to help.” I waited patiently while he took a big gulp of coffee.
    “That’s your problem,” he croaked. “Always trying to help. You come in here accusing everyone and his brother of murder. Next you’ll be thinking it was me.”
    “But I have proof that Brendan and Hank weren’t getting along—”
    “Hank didn’t get along with anyone. Can’t you get that through your head?” John threw his coffee cup in the trash and closed the doughnut box, then hurried from the room, without a backward glance at me.
    I guess I’d ruined his appetite. Well, pardon me. I