The Silence (Columbia River #2)(51)

“But the two of you were . . . an item?”

Her lips quirked at the word, and he was keenly aware of how out of touch he was with certain popular terms. “I wouldn’t call it that. Yes, we had a physical relationship, but he was an expert at putting up walls. Anytime I asked personal questions, he cut me off, telling me to keep it light.” She snorted lightly. “Who doesn’t discuss their feelings? I mean, we’d been sleeping together for more than a month, and I simply wanted to know where his head was at. He wouldn’t answer. He never wanted to know what I was feeling either.”

He’s just not that into you.

Mason didn’t say it out loud. Gillian wasn’t in need of relationship advice—not that Mason was any expert, but if a man was interested in a woman, he talked to her. “Strong, silent type, huh?”

“Definitely.” Pain flashed in her eyes.

She liked the guy.

“I learned to hold back any questions about personal stuff. One time I asked what his tattoos meant to him, and he clammed up.” She traced a circle on her right bicep and touched her shoulder. “Isn’t that one of the points of tattoos? To show off things that are important to you and have meaning? Everyone expects questions about them.”

Mason wouldn’t know.

She turned and lifted her hair so he could see the small round tattoo on the back of her neck. “It’s a yin and yang. I’m fascinated with the idea that opposites can be complementary.” She turned back to him, tossing her hair over a shoulder. “I showed it to him, and all he said was, ‘It’s nice.’”

“He wasn’t one to ask questions either?”

“Nope. I honestly think it’s simply how he was. It was one of the more frustrating relationships I’ve ever had. My grocery checker is more interactive.”

The natural follow-up question would be why she stayed. But Mason wasn’t interested in that can of worms. “He ever show signs of a temper? What would set him off?”

“I never saw him get angry,” Gillian said. “Sure, he was annoyed by things. He’d talk about things like store customers and politics. I think I’d told you before, I’d just listen. He needed to rant sometimes.”

“Did you ever worry he would hurt you?”

She drew back, distaste on her face. “God, no. Why would you ask that?” Her confusion appeared genuine.

“Heard he could get physical if pushed.”

“I never felt that. Even when he told me I asked too many questions.” She looked expectantly at him, clearly finished with the topic.

“Did you see a silver Mustang in his driveway recently?”

Her forehead wrinkled. “No. Why?”

“What about any other unfamiliar vehicles?”

“None. Only his truck.”

Mason glanced at his notebook. He was out of questions. Frustration filled him.

“I think I saw a silver car across the street last night. There’s been so many vehicles coming and going since . . . you know. I assumed it was part of the investigation.”

His frustration evaporated. “A Mustang?”

“Not sure.”

“Where was it?”

“In front of the Schroeders’ house.”

“How well do you know them?” he asked.

“Not that well. I say hi to Kaden when we’re both outside—he’s the teenage son. Not sure of the dad’s name.”

Mason wasn’t the only one who thought the twenty-two-year-old man looked very young. “What time did you see the car?”

Gillian gazed across the street at the home as she thought. “Don’t know the time. It was dark, though, so maybe close to ten?” She nodded as if confirming her thoughts. “I was locking up before bed.” She met Mason’s gaze, uncertainty in her eyes. “I double-check every lock before bed now. Windows too.” Her voice lowered. “I’ve asked to break my lease. I can’t live here anymore.”

“I don’t blame you.” He stood and offered his hand. “Good luck, Gillian.”

“Thank you.”

He strode across the street to the Schroeder home. He was certain no one related to the investigation had been in the neighborhood at 10:00 p.m. The crime scene team had wrapped up, and Nora drove a black SUV.

Probably a friend of Kaden’s.

He knocked on the door, waited twenty seconds, and then pushed the doorbell as he wondered if Kaden was gaming with headphones on. Mason’s son Jake never heard his phone when his were on and he was deep in a game.

Impatient, he pressed the bell again.

He took two steps to the side to glance in the window just in case Kaden was gaming within sight, and he found himself peeking into a casual living room. No screen or gamer was visible. Mason looked back at the red truck, noticing the PCC parking pass hanging from the rearview mirror. The vehicle was definitely Kaden’s.

Mason pulled out a business card and wrote a note on the back for Kaden to call him. He shoved it into the crack of the door, and it opened two inches. He bumped the door as he snatched the falling business card, and it opened farther.

Should I yell for him?

Feeling like an intruder, he’d started to pull it closed when he caught a whiff of a familiar scent.

Dread crawled up his spine, and he shoved open the door. “Kaden?”