Page 77 of Murder By the Millions
“Where could what have gone?” Tegan asked.
I told her about my phone not displaying the text messages after Jason wrote me the night he died. “Zach didn’tnotbelieve me about receiving them, but he was skeptical. I suggested Jason had deleted them via his phone, but Zach said Jason wouldn’t have been able to delete them on mine.”
“Aw, geez, I meant to mention this earlier. I did some research this morning, and … tech lesson two hundred and twelve …” In high school Tegan had been a nerd. She’d learned coding and how to build and take apart computers. She wasn’t a major geek any longer, but over the years, she’d provided all sorts of tips that had helped me understand how to navigate the Internet, utilize social media, and access apps on my phone. “I discovered there’s an app that can erase text messages.”
“Really?”
“Yep. It’s new. It allows you to delete messages from other people’s phones. You know, for those people who make the huge mistake of drunk texting at three a.m. and wish they hadn’t. They’re able to reach into the stratosphere and hit delete, delete, delete. On both of their platforms.”
“Wow. It sounds illegal and like you’d have to be supersavvy to do so.”
“I could master it. I’m not sure you could.” She grinned. “You know, Jason didn’t have to be the one to delete them. The killer might have.”
I shuddered as a new theory occurred to me. “Building on that premise, what if Jason didn’t text me at all? What if the killer posed as him to lure me there and deleted the texts to destroy the trail and make me look like a liar?”
“Whoa.” She palm slapped her forehead.
I couldn’t see Patrick being a techie, but I didn’t know him well. Looks could be deceiving. Lots of brawny guys could probably do rings around me when it came to this kind of stuff. I recalled a conversation the other day at Ragamuffin between Finette and Iggie. They’d chatted about keeping up with Burt the Cyber Buddy’s blogs, meaning they might be up-todate with new creations in the tech world. Reika had said she was familiar with Burt’s work, too.
“Reika,” I murmured.
“What about her?”
I explained how she rued sending mean texts to people and wished she could rescind them. “What if, to toy with me, she was hinting that she’d mastered the send-and-delete skill?”
A tow truck from Garth’s Garage pulled ahead of Tegan’s MINI Clubman and parked. A guy in overalls hopped out. His grin was crooked but sincere. “Trouble?”
“We reached out to the Auto Club,” Tegan said.
“Yeah, that’s me. I’m an independent contractor for them. Garth’s the name.”
Tegan quickly described the problem.
Garth checked under the hood. “Yep. Yep. The hose does appear to be cut, but it’s not. The normal life for one is up to ten years. When they crack, it can look like a knife cut.”
“This car is three years old,” Tegan argued.
“Yep, yep, but sometimes hoses are bad when installed. You might’ve gotten a rotten hose, not to be confused with a rotten apple. Had one of those once. Yuck. Knew it after the first bite.” He pulled a face. “Where do you want me to tow this puppy?”
“Bramblewood.”
“Whewie!” He ran a hand down the back of his neck. “B-wood? What a haul.”
“Yes, but it’s where we live.”
“Okay. Yep. Yep. The Auto Club is here to serve. Hop in the truck. I gotcha.” He hooked up the car by extending a hydraulic arm underneath the front of it. Once the wheels were raised, he climbed into the cab and secured his seat belt.
“Good thing you’re a club member.” As he cranked the truck into gear, he rattled off how much it would have cost Tegan otherwise. “B-wood sure is pretty. You like it there?”
On the drive back, while Tegan and Garth chatted about the beauty of living in Bramblewood, I phoned Zach, but he wasn’t in. I started to leave him a message about the incident and my concern Iggie might have tampered with the radiator hose, but I stopped short. It was merely a theory, and nothing untoward had happened to us. It might have been a coincidence.
Instead, I said, “Hope we can talk soon,” and hung up.
Tegan broke off her conversation and gawked at me. “What was that about?”
I whispered, “I want to be friends with him again. As long as I’m a suspect, it’s impossible.”
“We’ll figure this out.” She patted my knee. “Don’t worry.”
