“It is exactly the same statement. Word for word.”

“So? His dad is a lawyer. Of course he coached him.”

“You’re right. I should have expected it.” Morgan stuffed the notebook into her bag. “Do you still have the video of the fight on your phone?”

“Yes.” He handed it to her and gave her his passcode.

“When I interviewed Nick, he said that he punched Jacob because Jacob knocked Tessa down when she tried to break up the fight.” Morgan pulled up the video and played it. She watched the scene play out exactly the way Nick described. “Jacob conveniently left that out of his version.”

“He has a very selective memory.”

“You picked up on that too?”

“Yes.” Lance drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel. “He remembered everything that made Nick look guilty.”

“Omitting something from his statement isn’t the same as lying. Mr. Emerson provided Jacob with an alibi, and his phone records back that up, which is why I didn’t bother asking him about it. There goes our opportunity. We have no motive.”

“Jealousy?” Lance suggested.

“We have no evidence that Jacob wanted Tessa for himself.”

“So where to next?” Lance asked.

She checked her messages. “I still haven’t heard from Felicity.” Since she already had a connection with Felicity, Morgan had called the girl directly. She consulted her notes. “That puts Robby Barone on the top of our to-question list.”

Lance frowned. “The Barone place gave me the willies. Maybe I should go there alone or take Sharp.”

“Or perhaps I should go there alone. Mrs. Barone might be more willing to talk to another woman.”

“No.”

Morgan shifted her attention from her notes to Lance’s profile. “Excuse me?”

Lance pulled over to the shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out so authoritatively.”

“I should hope not,” Morgan said dryly. “You know I have plenty of experience with criminal investigations? I take care, but I also do my job.”

Lance turned his shoulders to face her. “I already stopped there to talk to Robby Barone once and got a very bad feeling about the place.”

“What kind of bad feeling?”

“Like both Robby and Mrs. Barone were afraid that the mister would come home while I was there.”

“Maybe they’re scared of him,” she said.

“And afraid of him discovering them talking to me.”

Morgan considered the options. “If she was nervous because her husband is the jealous type, then a visit with another female is less likely to cause friction.” Morgan mentally reviewed the police interview reports. Robby had been briefly questioned at the bowling alley. Horner had never brought him down to the station for a more formal interview. Clearly, the police didn’t think Robby had anything exciting to add to the statements they’d already taken.

“We’ll go together.” Lance pulled back onto the road. “Can you text Sharp and let him know where we’re going? If we never come back, at least he’ll know where to look for our bodies.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Lance drove toward the Barone place. He still didn’t like taking Morgan there, but he was going to have to put a leash on his inner guard dog. She’d been a prosecutor for six years. She knew her business, and the Barones wouldn’t be the first hostile witnesses she’d interviewed.

“What do we have in background information on the Barones?” he asked.

Morgan took a file from her giant bag, flipped through some pages, and began to read. “I’ll summarize. No one at the Barone house has a criminal record. Robby, or Robert William Barone, is the second of six kids. He turned sixteen four months ago. His license was issued on his birthday. He has one older sister and four younger ones. The oldest is eighteen. The youngest is eight.”

“Six kids in ten years?”

“My kids are two years apart,” Morgan said.

“But you don’t have six of them,” Lance pointed out.

“We talked about having another.”

“Did you?” Why was he surprised? She was only thirty-three, and she clearly enjoyed her kids. So did he, come to think of it, which was a far scarier revelation.

Morgan turned a page. “Ivy Melissa Barone, age thirty-six, has no record of employment. This is interesting. Ivy doesn’t have a New York State driver’s license.”

“Medical condition?” Lance hadn’t noticed any obvious impairment when he’d spoken to her.

“She had six kids so she can’t be too frail. Pregnancy and childbirth aren’t for the weak.” Morgan’s finger skimmed the paper. “She doesn’t appear in many places. Birth certificate, Social Security registration, marriage certificate, the birth certificates of her six children. And that’s all the information on her. She owns no vehicles or real estate.”

“She doesn’t have a job, she doesn’t drive, and she lives a good distance from town. Mrs. Barone doesn’t get out much.”

“The oldest daughter is eighteen. She doesn’t have a driver’s license either.”

“Robby does,” Lance said, “though he’s only sixteen.”

“Yes. And while Robby attends Scarlet Falls High, all five girls are homeschooled.” Morgan frowned and a deep-in-thought line creased above the bridge of her nose.

“Homeschooling is getting more and more common.”

“It is, but in this situation, it feels more like Dwayne doesn’t like the women to have outside contact.”

Lance agreed, and he didn’t like the impression he was forming of the family.

Morgan continued. “Dwayne David Barone is fifty. He’s worked for Marker Construction for twenty-five years. His position is listed as supervisor. The house is in his name only, as are the cable and utility bills. There’s no mortgage. The property operates as a farm and produces a small income. All taxes are current.”

“So no red flags about Dwayne Barone?”

“No.” Morgan glanced at him. “Except for the lack of information about him. Also, there are no credit cards issued to any of the Barones.”

“That’s unusual,” Lance said. “Mrs. Barone was awfully anxious for me to leave before her husband came home.”

“Possible domestic violence?” Morgan suggested.

Lance nodded. “My impression of her was that she was scared.”

“There’s no record of domestic disturbances or arrests or restraining orders,” Morgan said. “But just because no one ever reported a crime doesn’t mean one never occurred. Plenty of domestic abuse victims are too intimidated to call the police.”

Lance turned into the driveway. Robby’s Toyota sat next to the house. A Ford Bronco in remarkable condition for its age was parked in the shade cast by the barn. The hood was up, and a man leaned over the engine. The German shepherds went ballistic, and the man straightened and stepped away from the vehicle.

That can’t be Robby’s father.

Lance estimated him at six-six and two hundred forty pounds. Dwayne’s middle name should have been “The Rock” instead of David. He took a few steps away from his vehicle, his posture relaxed but ready, his stance almost military-like.

“There’s no record of Dwayne serving in the military?” Lance navigated around a rut in the gravel lane.

Morgan checked. “No.”

Lance stopped the Jeep next to the Bronco and got out of the vehicle.

“Hello,” he said.

“Can I help you with something?” Dwayne held a torque wrench in one hand. Grease stained his gray coveralls, and his shaved head gleamed. He set his wrench in the toolbox at his feet, took a bandana from the back pocket of his coveralls, and wiped his hands. Despite the sweat, Mr. Barone was a cool customer.

“Yes.” Lance took a business card from his pocket while Morgan made the introductions.

“I’m representing Nick Zabrowski,” she said.

Dwayne shook their hands. “What can I do for you?”