Page 153 of Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

Andrea slid the phone back into her pocket. She stuck her hands into the sudsy water and started to wash the dishes. Her fingers curved along the smooth edge of a plate. Again, her mind started to wander back to the diner.

An investigation by the Delaware State Police had ruled that Jack Stilton’s shooting of Bernard Fontaine was justifiable. Andrea couldn’t disagree with the finding, though she wondered if Stilton would’ve found a way to kill Nardo anyway. He had been ready to take that second shot. The only thing that had stopped him was Andrea. She understood his hatred of Nardo. Stilton had been bullied by the asshole for years—including back in the late nineties when, according to Stilton, Nardo had threatened to out him as gay unless he made a DUI charge disappear. She couldn’t imagine how difficult his life had been. Tormented by the murder of his high school best friend. Distraught over his lack of power to bring her killer to justice. Knowing Nardo was the key to solving the crime but too terrified to confront him. Andrea knew that Stilton was an alcoholic and a misogynist, but he had also been Emily Vaughn’s only true friend.

“Hey.” Mike’s arms wrapped around her waist. He pressed his lips to the back of her neck. “You all right?”

“Yeah.” The lump in her throat reminded her not to lie to him. “I keep thinking about Star.”

Mike pressed his lips to her neck again. His three bossy sisters had taught him that not every problem had a solution. He simply said, “I’m sorry.”

Laura cleared her throat. She held up three wine glasses. “I found these in the box labeled bathroom.”

Andrea shrugged. “Why take a bath if you’re not going to drink?”

Laura frowned when Mike took the glasses. “I read that judge’s obituary in the Times. No surprise that Reagan appointed her. What a fucking hypocrite.”

Mike said, “Criminals who live in glass houses …”

“Completely different,” Laura scoffed. “You don’t claw your way up to those levels of power without corrupting your soul. Look at my disgusting brother.”

Andrea was enormously grateful when her phone started to ring. The caller ID read BIBLE, LEONARD, which was strange, because it usually came up as USMS BIBLE.

She told Mike and Laura, “I know you two can’t play nice, but play fair.”

Andrea slipped out the door before her mother could argue. She walked toward the stairs as she answered the phone. “Are you calling me back about your chirpies?”

There was a long pause. She heard the rumble of shouts and profanities that served as the distinctive background chatter of a federal penitentiary.

Clayton Morrow said, “Hello, Andrea.”

Andrea felt her hand go to her mouth.

He said, “I heard you visited the old hometown.”

Andrea dropped away her hand. Her lips parted as she took in a deep breath. She did not cry out. She did not panic. She told herself the facts. Her father was in prison. Contraband cell phones were easy to obtain. Clay had spoofed Bible’s number so that she would answer.

He wanted something.

“Andy?” Clay said. “I heard the news about Ricky and Nardo. Such a toxic relationship. They always did deserve each other.”

Andrea took another deep breath. Dean Wexler might be a poor copy of Clay Morrow, but Clay’s cruel tone reminded her of Bernard Fontaine.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

Andrea stood up. She couldn’t risk her mother coming into the hall. She climbed the steep stairs. She pushed open the door to the street. Traffic whizzed by. Horns blared. Pedestrians filled the sidewalk. Andrea leaned her back against the building. If Mike was still at the sink, he would be able to see her feet through the narrow window.

She asked Clay, “What do you want?”

“Ah, there’s that beautiful voice,” he said. “I’d like for you to come visit me, daughter. I’ve put you on my approved list.”

She felt her head shaking. She would never visit him.

“Your uncle Jasper,” he said. “I know you’ve been working with him.”

“I wasn’t working with Jasper,” she told him. “I was trying to make sure you never get out of prison.”

“Alas, I’m innocent,” Clay said. “Though, correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds as if you’re wishing that I had actually killed her.”

Andrea felt her fingers clench around the phone. His parole hearing was in another five months. She was certain that Jasper was scrambling to do the unseemly work to make sure it was denied. For Andrea’s part, she had vowed not to let her world stop on a dime for her psychopathic father. She had failed at doing her part to keep him locked away, but she was not going to let Clayton Morrow make her feel like a failure.