Page 107 of Dying to Meet You

“It doesn’t,” I insist. “But I’m tired of hearing that, so I did a little digging. Did you know that Tim was born at the mansion?”

“I can’t share information we may have uncovered during an ongoing investigation.”

I roll my eyes again. “So youdoknow. His mother probably told you. This was news to me until recently. But now I think I found the name of his birth mother, and I’m pretty sure she was at his funeral.”

There’s a deep silence on the line. That’s how I know I’ve shocked her. “Are you going to share the name?”

It almost pains me to be helpful to someone so aggravating. But I definitely need her help. “It’s Laura Peebles. With ab. She has a Facebook profile, and I think she lives out in Westbrook.”

Riley is quiet for another moment before she asks, “And how did you come by this information?”

“I found it in the handwritten birth ledger—the same one Tim had photos of from my phone. I went back to the original document and found the relevant page. The names don’t match up exactly, but I think it’s her.”

She curses under her breath.

“Everything okay over there?”

“She won’t open the door for me,” she says. “We found her name in Tim’s phone data, so we knocked on her door. But she’s afraid of cops and won’t talk to me. What do you know about her?”

“Just that she’s grieving. She was a mess at the funeral. I handed her all the tissues I had. But she left the service the moment it was over, instead of greeting the family.”

“Maybe she’d talk to you,” Riley says slowly. “If you think this will change the direction of the investigation, maybe you can help me out.”

“How?”

“We’ll take a ride out there. You’ll knock on the door by yourself. If she recognizes you from the funeral, you can talk to her a little and ask her to invite me in.”

I don’t see how that would ever work. But I’m mulling it over, because I think Jules is right about why Tim died, and I need the police to see that—and leave me and Harrison alone. “What if she won’t let me in?” I ask.

“Then we tried,” she says. “How’s tomorrow afternoon? Two o’clock?”

“I can’t get away until four. And you don’t even know if she’ll be home.”

“I’ll drive by first to see if there’s a car in front of the house.”

She’s left me almost no room to argue. “Fine. I have one of Tim’s watches. I’ll bring it for her. That might get me in the door.”

“I’ll be in front of the mansion at four.” She hangs up.

I roll over and try to get comfortable. But I haven’t been truly comfortable since Tim died. Too many regrets.

If only I hadn’t sat down with him in the coffee shop.

If only I hadn’t followed his avatar around Portland. Or leashed up Lickie to find his car...

My phone buzzes again, and I pick it up. A text from Harrison, to both me and Natalie.

Harrison: You’ll hear the door open in a minute. Don’t panic. And I’ll be sure to lock up.

About a second later, my daughter puts a heart on the text.

From upstairs, I barely hear the front door open and close, but I do hear the jingle of Lickie’s collar as she goes to investigate.

There’s no barking—just the low sound of Harrison’s voice as he greets the dog and probably the cat, too. They’re both smitten.

I put my phone facedown on the bedside table and curl under thequilt. For a few minutes, I listen to Harrison moving around downstairs. Then all is quiet.

Closing my eyes, I relax against the sheet. My eyelids feel heavy.