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She set down her pen, unable to move beyond her questions. She couldn't plan a funeral without her mom's input, not for a man she barely knew and didn't like all that much. What she wanted to do was take her mother somewhere far away and save her from what was about to come. But her mother couldn't leave, and neither could she. They would have to see this through.
Needing more coffee, she got to her feet, then froze as the doorbell rang.
Every muscle in her body tensed. The aftermath was starting, and she didn't know if she was ready. But she had to be, because her mother certainly wasn't up for anything.
She walked out of the den and down the hall to the front door. Checking the peephole, she saw Flynn MacKenzie on the porch. He'd changed out of his tuxedo, but he looked just as attractive in gray slacks and a button-down shirt with light-blue stripes. His blond hair was slicked back, and at the moment a pair of aviator glasses hid his very blue eyes.
She drew in a quick breath, quite sure she wasn't ready for him. But the doorbell rang once more, and she knew he wasn't going anywhere. She turned the knob and opened the door.
"Ms. Harper," he said, removing his glasses.
"Agent MacKenzie. My mother is sleeping."
"Then you and I can talk." He gave her a smile that was probably meant to reassure her, but it sent a tingle down her spine that screamed caution. "May I come in?"
"Can I say no?"
"It would be better if you didn't."
She stepped back, and he walked into the house, his curious gaze sweeping the entry, probably noting the slick marble floors, the impressive artwork, and the massive chandelier.
Arthur Corbyn had not only been born into an incredibly wealthy family, he'd also inherited a great deal of money after his first wife passed away, tripling his net worth.
"We can go into the living room," she said, waving him through the archway into the very formal room that overlooked the gardens of the Pacific Palisades mansion. The ornate sofas were not to her taste. Nor were they very comfortable, making this room the perfect place to put someone she didn't want to stay long.
Flynn's gaze swept the room. "It's very much like I remember," he murmured. "Not exactly the same, but close enough."
"When was the last time you were here?"
"About ten years ago, I think." He walked over to the grand piano, pausing in front of several framed photographs.
His expression grew somber the longer he stood there, his profile hardening, his jaw setting into something that looked like anger.
"Do you want coffee?" she asked, feeling an inexplicable need to draw his attention away from the photographs of Arthur and his first family.
"What?" he asked sharply, giving her a sharp look that made her shiver.
"Coffee?" she repeated.
"Oh, no, thanks." He lifted his chin, his lips drawing into a taut line. "Did you like Arthur, Callie?"
She stiffened at the surprising question. "Of course. He was my mother's husband. She's devastated."
"But you're not," he said flatly. "Oh, and by the way, that wasn't a question."
She swallowed hard, not liking the look in his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about. I need coffee."
She left him alone in the living room as she headed toward the kitchen. She didn't just need coffee; she needed to get her head together, because clearly his questions were going to be personal and probably a little terrifying.
* * *
Flynn let Callie go. He knew he'd rattled her, and maybe it would have been better to push her a little further, but he also knew he had to get a grip on his own emotions, so he didn't screw this case up before it got started.
Turning his gaze back to the photos, he felt a stabbing pain at the sight of Olivia's sweet face. The picture taken at her eighteenth birthday party had perfectly captured the optimism and innocence of the first girl he'd ever loved. The next day, she'd left on a graduation trip with her mother to Italy, Spain and France. A month later, she and her mother had died in a boating accident.
The agonizing grief had connected him and Arthur in a way that neither had expected, and for a few months, they'd leaned on each other to get through that terrible summer. But then it had been time for him to go to college. Arthur had encouraged him to do what he needed to do, to live his life in a way that would make Olivia proud.
He hadn't always done that, but he had found a way to go on. It had been fifteen years now since her death. He could hardly believe how much time had passed. He felt a little guilty that he hadn't thought about her all that much in recent years.