So we went as a unit—me, Miles, my parents—walking into the hardware store under harsh white lights that made everything look too sharp. The aisles smelled like lumber and plastic. Somewhere, a radio played classic rock quietly, cheerful in the wrong way.
My dad picked up two packs of batteries, held them up, and looked at me like he was making a point. “These,” he said. “This is what they thought would beat us.”
I swallowed hard. “Let’s just pay and go.”
At the counter, the cashier was a middle-aged man with tired eyes and a tape measure clipped to his belt. He scanned the batteries with a beep that sounded like punctuation.
Then his gaze slid past us and froze for half a second.
Not at my dad.
At Miles.
Something in the cashier’s face tightened like recognition.
Miles noticed. “Can I help you?” he asked calmly.
The cashier’s mouth opened, then closed again. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You’re… with the Quinn family, right?”
My stomach clenched. “Yes,” I said. “Why?”
The cashier hesitated, then reached under the counter and pulled out a small spiral notebook—one of those cheap ones with a bent corner. He flipped a few pages with rough fingers.
“I wasn’t sure,” he said. “I didn’t want to be involved.”
“Involved in what?” Miles asked.
The cashier tapped a page with his pen. “A guy came in here a few weeks back. Bought duct sealant, a flue vent kit, and asked about… how long it takes for fumes to build up in a closed house.”
My throat went cold.
The cashier glanced toward the aisle like he was afraid of being overheard. “He wasn’t asking like a homeowner. He was asking like… someone planning.”
“Did you get his name?” I whispered.
The cashier shook his head, then pointed at the notebook again. “But I wrote down the card type and the last four digits. My manager tells us to track weird transactions. He paid with a prepaid card. But he also used a loyalty account number for the discount.”
Miles’ eyes narrowed. “You have the number?”
The cashier nodded, then ripped out the page and slid it across the counter like a secret.
My hands shook as I took it. The paper smelled like ink and dust.
Hollis was at his desk when we showed up again. He took the page, studied it, then nodded once. “This could be something.”
Miles’ voice was steady. “The intimidation package last night means someone’s still active.”
Hollis leaned back, rubbing his temple. “We pulled Owen’s contact history. He had messages with a number saved as LEO HVAC. We assumed it was a contractor.”
My stomach flipped. “Leo?”
Hollis nodded. “We’re going to bring him in. If he’s the one who touched the furnace, he might be the voice on your voicemail. Or he might know who is.”
By the afternoon, Hollis called us in again.
Leo wasn’t what I pictured when I heard contractor. He wasn’t a burly man in worn boots. He was thin, sharp-faced, with neat hair and a clean jacket like he wanted to look respectable. He smelled faintly of cologne, not sweat.
He sat across from Hollis, legs crossed, and tried to smile like this was a misunderstanding.
“I do installs,” Leo said smoothly. “Repairs. Vent checks. Totally normal.”
Hollis slid a photo across the table: the loosened vent pipe.
Leo’s smile slipped. “I tightened that,” he said quickly. “I did. They said there was a rattle.”
“They?” Hollis asked.
Leo’s eyes flicked toward me and my parents, then away. “The fiancé. Owen. And the sister. Kara.”
My mom flinched like the name physically hurt her.
Hollis leaned in. “Why were you there when the homeowners weren’t present?”
Leo shrugged, too casual. “They said they had permission. They had keys.”
Hollis didn’t blink. “Did you disable alarms?”
Leo’s face changed. A flash of annoyance. Then fear. “No. I don’t touch alarms. That’s not my job.”
“But you saw them,” Hollis pressed. “Didn’t you.”
Leo’s jaw tightened. His eyes darted, calculating. “Kara told Owen the parents were ‘sensitive to noise.’ She said the beeping was driving them crazy. She joked about ‘silencing the nanny.’”
My stomach twisted.
“And?” Hollis said.
Leo exhaled sharply, like he was mad at himself for talking. “I saw Kara take the hallway detector off the wall. She popped the batteries out and put them in her pocket. I thought… whatever. People do dumb stuff. I didn’t think—”
“You didn’t think two unconscious people might be connected to missing batteries?” Miles’ voice cut in, low and angry.
Leo’s eyes flashed. “I didn’t know! They told me they were upgrading. They told me it was safe.”
Hollis slid his phone across the table and played the voicemail.
Leo’s face went pale. “That’s not me,” he said fast. “That’s not my voice.”
Hollis watched him carefully. “Then who is it.”
Leo swallowed. “Owen had a friend,” he said. “Someone he called when he wanted things handled without questions. I only met him once. A guy named Graham. Tall. Calm. Always smiling.”
My blood chilled at the memory of the voice: smiling into the phone.
Hollis sat back, eyes sharpening. “Graham what?”
Leo shook his head, panic creeping in. “I don’t know his last name. Owen never said it. Just… Graham.”
Hollis scribbled something down, then looked up at me. “We’ll track Owen’s connections. If Graham exists, we’ll find him.”
