Page 53 of Still Missing You

“Matthew concerns us,” I say softly. “He might be dead.”

That lands. Lyle flinches, and for just a second, his bravado cracks, something raw flashing underneath.

“I told you, I never put my hands on him,” he says flatly.

I shoot him a pointed look. “Someone did.”

“Not me.” Lyle’s hard stare holds mine. “I know what people say about me, but it’s not true. Yeah, we fought, and I yelled. Half the time, it turned him on. He liked it rough.”

Hunter leans forward slightly, voice dropping. “Careful.”

Lyle’s grin falters.

“And the other half of the time?” Hunter asks, calm as ever.

“I didn’t touch him, and I definitely didn’t kill him.”

Hunter doesn’t interrupt. He waits.

Lyle exhales hard, raking a hand through his hair. “He came home from work late, and I could see the bruises around his throat. He wouldn’t tell me who did it or what happened. Wouldn’t tell me anything. He just packed his shit and left. Said it was safer.”

“Safer from who?” Hunter asks.

Lyle laughs again, but there’s no humor in it. “If I knew that, don’t you think I’d tell you?”

Silence settles, thick and uncomfortable. I’m not sure if I believe him or not.

“I didn’t steal his equipment.” Lyle grabs a cigarette from the table next to his chair. “And I sure as hell didn’t break into your room. If I wanted the footage, I’d have taken it from Matt directly. Before he left.”

Strangely, I believe him. Not because he’s especially convincing, but he makes a valid point. If he’d been the one to choke Matthew, he could have taken his equipment then. Instead of taking it then, he gave Matthew the chance to hide with Justine.

Hunter seems to come to the same conclusion.

“One more question,” he says. “Did Matthew ever say if he was afraid of anyone?”

Lyle stiffens. “No, but that last week he lived here, he was acting strange. Jumpy, and he kept looking out the windows.”

Like he had the night he turned up at the café.

“You didn’t ask him why?” I ask.

“If he wanted to tell me, he would.” Lyle takes a long drag of his smoke and exhales. “I told him to sit the fuck down and stay still.”

“Very helpful,” I mutter, shaking my head.

When we leave, Lyle doesn’t follow us to the door. He leans back in his ugly chair and takes another drag from his cigarette while looking at his half-packed boxes.

Outside, the cold feels sharper, seeping through my clothes and stinging my skin. It was too cold for early April.

We get into the truck without speaking, but I hesitate before starting the engine. My thoughts are racing, pieces shifting into new, uglier shapes.

Hunter breaks the silence first. “It wasn’t him.”

“I don’t think so either.” I finally turn the key in the ignition and put the truck in reverse. The snow crunches beneath the tires as I back out of Lyle’s driveway and start us back to town.

“I believed what he said about Matthew acting spooked. He was like that when he first started at the café,” I say, keeping my attention on the road. “If Lyle didn’t try to choke him, someone else did.”

“You’re right,” Hunter says. He must be distracted by his thoughts. He barely pays any attention to my driving. “Whoever did that to Matthew knew him well enough to scare him into leaving.”