Page 13 of As the Rain Falls (Sainte Madeleine #1)

Oh, great. He tried reaching out before calling me, but my parents ignored him.

I lean back against the chair, spreading my legs further apart, and imagine the kind of face my father must have made when Detective Leblanc tried to inconvenience him amidst his mid-forties crisis-induced vacation.

“As you may know,” I start sounding sarcastic. “My parents are out of the country.”

Thomas’s jaw tightens. “But they’ve been gone since your sister passed.”

Lucia died in August.

We’re in October now.

My smile widens. “I know that, sir.”

“How long until they come back?”

I place my arms over the table, leaning closer and reading what’s written on the papers again. It’s a settlement of sorts. A good one at that, but I’m my parents’ son, which means that I am avoidant until the end and prideful to a fault. I won’t be the one to praise it.

“It depends,” I admit it, sounding cheerful.

“On what?”

My parents don’t really like to have their hands forced. Thomas doesn’t seem to know that. He is really lucky that I’m here and not them. I’m much nicer than Gregory Evans.

“They’ll come around when they want to come around.”

Dad might fly back home once he gets over his most recent girlfriend and realizes what’s truly fulfilling to him—trying to make a real man out of me again—but my mother…

Lucia died on my watch, so I’m dead to her.It’s as simple as that.

“This is an urgent matter, Mr. Evans. Our investigation needs to be closed and the evidence sealed for the privacy of all those involved,” Thomas explains, spitting out what I already know.

I grew up here.He didn’t.I know how things work around here, how easily important documents get leaked.

It’s how I got my hands on Lucia’s autopsy in the first place.

Someone leaked it to the press. Dad had to threaten to sue them to get the printed versions taken back.

I don’t remember much about the whole thing; the early days after Lucia’s death are blurry to me.

“There really are no leads?” My voice comes out quieter now, understanding dawning on me that Thomas isn’t just annoyed for no reason. “You found nothing after all this time?”

“No signs of foul play,” he says, voice low but steady. I have no other choice but to believe that he is telling the truth. “My hands are tied, man.”

“I get that. I get that you can’t push it for much longer because of the department and all that,” my words come out rushed and desperate, but my anger is getting to me, simmering just beneath the surface. “But you said her tires were fucked, man. You told me that, remember?”

It’s the only thing that made me consider something other than an accident happening to her. Lucia was drunk, but if her tires were slashed, her death would’ve been ruled as murder.

“I said I thought her tires were damaged,” Thomas corrects me, readjusting the tie around his neck. “But then I talked to my father and checked, and they weren’t.”

“You’re sure of it?” I ask.

“Yeah, man. We’ve done everything we can to find the reason why your sister lost control over the car that night, but it seems like she was really just very drunk, Beckett.”

“We pay our taxes, sir. Very high taxes at that,” I suggest dryly, finding this conversation entirely unserious.

It’s impossible for me to mask my irritation, not when I trusted him about this. About her. Why is he backing down now?

They should be doing more.Lucia’s death should be revolting.

Someone should be seeing what I’m seeing—she wouldn’t have just died.

It’s so unlike her to drink and drive, and I know my sister.

Irresponsibility can’t be the only explanation.

I refuse to believe it, not after spending years figuring out ways to go pick her up at parties.

Lucia knew better than that.

I taught her better than that.

“And I respect it,” Thomas explains, turning to face me again. “But hear me out. I listen to the radio. I know what’s being said about your family around town, about her.”

“Yeah, it’s not good,” I immediately agree. “But if we figure out what really happened, maybe we can—”

“It’s bad, Beckett,” he cuts me off. “You have to face it. What’s happening is against your interests and ours, too. Why don’t you let this go, man? Why don’t you let this story die?”

There was a time, back in the early years after we moved to Port des Ondes, when my father had a lot more sway in Le Port’s politics.

It’s a very small island, and for a man with money, reaching out to the right people was really child’s play.

These days are long gone now, but the truth of the matter is, Le Port will never change.

It’s way too fucking small, too close-knit and traditional, and people like Thomas Leblanc are way too good at bending every story to their advantage, helping only when it’s convenient to them.

This can only mean that finding out what happened to Lucia is, in fact, inconvenient. The question left unanswered is why.

I blink hard. “So, you’re just giving up?”

“Don’t say it like that. I’m only being realistic here,” Thomas sighs, looking tired. “Do you know how many cases hit my desk every single day?”

“Her case is the most broadcasted we’ve had in years,” I argue. “Even if it ends up just being related to whatever mess L’Impasse has going on.”

“L’Impasse is not the issue here. There’s no proof she got drinks from the bar.”

I groan, “Because she had older men buying it for her.”

And how is it not the issue? Everybody knows that’s one of the places kids manage to buy drinks from. Lucia had been partying there all night long before she tried to come home.

“Let’s just say the municipal council isn’t very thrilled about our completion rates as of late.”

A bitter laugh finally comes out of me, derisive and mean.I feel my body shake with anger.

“No offense, Thomas, but the council is rarely ever happy.” I rise from the chair, sizing the redhead idiot up. “So what if Lucia is rotting seven feet under, right? She doesn’t matter anymore now that she’s dead. Nobody is at fault but…”

Me .

I’m the responsible one.

I’m the oldest brother.

“Beckett, please.”

Thomas swallows hard, but his face stays unreadable. I can’t tell if he is on my side or not, which means that he might be against me after all.

“I understand that this is a difficult time for you, and this might be tough to hear, but your sister died months ago. It’s time to move on. We need to finish the paperwork.”

Paperwork? Like, closing this case is just the next step.A box to check.Something to be done.

Lucia was my only family.

She was my whole world.

“This is just another way for you guys to keep sweeping things under the rug!” I point to the stack of paper, voice rising. “Really, how is that even legal? You’re the cop! You’re supposed to want to get to the bottom of this!”

“Tell that to my boss, Evans!”

I flinch, but so does Thomas, realizing what he just said sounds completely unprofessional. But he did mean it, exactly like it came across. He knows there is some validity to my suspicion, but the truth of the matter is that what I’m thinking isn’t the most obvious answer.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but your sister wasn’t a child. She was nearly eighteen, wasn’t she?”

But being eighteen doesn’t make you an adult. It takes a lot more than that, actually. Never mind that Lucia was almost eighteen; she was still a little kid. Clueless, innocent. She deserves far more than this town is giving her.

“She knew what she was doing, Beckett. Or maybe she didn’t, but Lucia still made a choice that night. I mean, you read the autopsy, right? She got drunk.”

“My parents are not coming home,” I say quietly, not wanting the entire office to hear me. “My mother is back with her family, and my dad’s off with this new girlfriend, you see? So, they’re very busy people.”

That makes him hesitate. For a split second, Thomas has the decency to almost look surprised.

“Too busy with traveling to take care of their only son?”

Don’t worry, dude.

You’ll get used to it.

I know I did.

“I’m grown.” I shrug, waving my hand around dismissively. “They don’t need to take care of me anymore.”

“But you’re only, what, about to turn nineteen? You shouldn’t be handling all this alone.” Thomas shakes his head, massaging his temples like this is giving him the biggest headache. “Look, I know it feels like I’m your enemy right now, but I’m not.”

I smile sarcastically. “Right.”

“I’m not,” he repeats himself, his voice almost pleading. “Listen, I don’t like this any more than you do.”

For a second I start to believe he might actually mean it. I don’t know. His voice does sound earnest. Unfortunately, it’s his actions that I can’t trust.

“I just want this to be over with so you are able to move on, man.”

“Is that so?” I ask slowly.

“Yes! And I want to stop being the asshole who keeps harassing a grieving brother, okay?”

My stomach churns.

I knew the chances of proving Lucia’s death was provoked were slim to none, but the way everyone’s in such a hurry to shut it all down, close the case, I don’t know.

It doesn’t sit right with me.

Maybe I didn’t think the possibility of foul play would be dismissed so quickly.

“I get it.” I push my hair back, the too-long strands falling at the front. I really need to get a haircut. “I’ll have to call my dad and explain everything. Just give me a few days, okay?”

He cleans up his front teeth, licking them with his tongue, before handing me the papers again. “That’s fine by me, but I need an answer soon.”

“I’ll figure something out,” I promise, starting to stand up from my seat and glancing at the door.

“But I’m not giving up. I’m going to keep trying, even if it takes me a long time to figure out what happened.

No matter what you and the others think of it, I won’t stop until I know what really happened to Lucia. ”

Thomas just nods in a very stupid way.

“If you say so, Evans.”

His answer kind of makes me want to slam his face against the table. I won’t. I don’t. Of course not. Because that would be wrong and unreasonable, and I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding what was wrong and unreasonable. So, really, why start now?

I text my dad, hoping to get him to come back as quickly as possible. Gregory reads it. He doesn’t reply or call me back.

No surprise here, none at all.

“Great.” I slam my fist against the steering wheel, making the car honk. “Just fucking great.”