Bones Don't Lie (Morgan Dane #3)(26)

“Oh, my God.” Stan brushed a hand over his receding hairline. Then his hand froze and his eyes snapped to Lance’s, as if something just occurred to him. “Was Vic inside?”

Morgan had interviewed hundreds of witnesses in her career. Her internal lie detector was well honed, but she couldn’t read Stan. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about him didn’t feel genuine.

“No.” Lance shook his head. “But someone was. Do you remember Mary Fox?”

Stan frowned. His gaze dropped to the wood floor for a few seconds. Was he thinking or hiding his eyes? “I don’t think so.”

“She worked at PJ’s,” Morgan prompted.

“Oh.” Stan’s gaze snapped to Lance’s. “There was a waitress at PJ’s named Mary. Was that her?”

Lance dropped his joined hands between his knees. “Now do you remember her?”

“Yes,” Stan said. He held eye contact for a couple of seconds, then looked away. “I didn’t know her last name. Mary was memorable, all right. Vic and Brian and I used to meet for a beer at PJ’s. Sometimes she waited on us.”

“Why was she memorable?” Morgan asked. Until Mary’s name had entered the conversation, Stan’s responses had almost felt rehearsed. Now he seemed far less comfortable.

“Um.” Stan glanced from Morgan to Lance. His hands went in front of his chest, and he made a cupping gesture. “Frankly, she was stacked, and she wasn’t shy about it.”

“In what way?” Morgan pressed.

“She used to lean way over when she put a drink down on the table. It was impossible not to notice. They were in your face.” A flush brightened Stan’s face. “She had a reputation for being friendly, if you know what I mean.”

Morgan had a vague idea. “Could you be more specific?”

The red of Stan’s cheeks deepened. “She slept around. Once I saw her giving a guy a blow job in the parking lot. Rumor had it, if she was in the right mood and the electric bill was late, she’d do anything to anybody for fifty bucks.”

Sadness filled Morgan, thinking of a twenty-one-year-old waitress trading sex to ward off the power company.

“She was a prostitute?” Lance asked.

“I don’t know.” Stan waved away the question, then his hand froze in midair. “I guess she kind of was. I didn’t really think about it like that. You think hooker, you have a certain image in your head of a woman out walking the streets in spandex and high heels.”

Lance shifted his weight. “Did you ever . . . ?”

“No.” Stan shook his head. “I was never into sloppy seconds.” He winced and shot Morgan an apologetic smile. “But some guys don’t care.”

Morgan asked the hard question. “Did Vic ever hook up with Mary?”

“No,” Stan said, relaxing again. “I can’t picture Vic ever doing anything like that.”

“Did you see anyone taking particular interest in Mary in those days before Vic disappeared?” Lance’s face remained impassive, and Morgan wondered how he was keeping it all in. She wouldn’t want to have this type of conversation about her late father.

“Plenty of guys took her up on her offers.” Stan shrugged. “I don’t remember any specific names.”

Don’t know or won’t say?

“Did you know anything about Mary’s personal life?” Morgan asked.

Stan shook his head. “No. I’m ashamed to say, we thought of her as Slutty Mary. But looking back, I see her now as a sad case. She had no self-esteem.” Stan examined his fingernails for a few seconds. “It’s funny how age and life changes your perspective.”

“It is,” Morgan agreed. “What about Vic? Was anything going on with him in the weeks that preceded his disappearance?”

Stan’s gaze flickered to Lance. “You dad was worried about your mom. Her behavior was becoming more and more erratic. She was missing work and spending money like crazy. Vic spent a lot of time managing her. We used to play in a men’s baseball league. Vic quit the team a few weeks before. He said he couldn’t be away from home. He told me he felt like he was treading water twenty miles out to sea. If he stopped, he’d drown.”

“In your opinion, is there any chance my father left?” Lance’s mouth pressed flat. “Maybe he just couldn’t take the stress anymore.”

Stan considered the question. “No. I don’t think he would have walked away from you.”

For once, Stan’s statement rang with truth.

“Was he suicidal?” Lance’s voice dropped, as if he didn’t want to ask the question.

“I have no doubt that Vic was depressed, but again, you kept him going. He once told me that if it hadn’t been for you”—Stan nodded at Lance—“he would have let himself go under.”

Lance’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and sadness clouded his blue eyes. He cleared his throat. “Do you remember where you were the night my dad disappeared?”

Stan nodded and looked away. “I can’t count the number of times that Detective Sharp asked me this question over the years.” Stan’s voice shifted from conversational to mechanical. “Brian and I were at the baseball field. We hit a few balls, practiced some fielding, but mostly we were there to drink beer and blow off some steam. We called your dad, but he said he couldn’t come.”