Page 18 of Luck of the Devil

“I was going to broach this with you later,” he said slowly. “But since we’re sort of on the topic, I thought I’d bring it up.”

Was he going to make a confession? It seemed highly unlikely given he’d proven his cowardice just last week, refusing to own up to his involvement with Simmons until he was cornered. But I was still curious to hear what he had to say. “I’m listening.”

“As you know, your mother was quite depressed.” He paused and cleared his throat.

“Actually, that's what I wanted to talk about,” I said. “She seemed anxious and worried. Like a boogeyman was out to get her. Or maybe both of us. At the time, I blew it off as manipulative behavior. I figured she was lonely without you, so she decided I was suddenly an acceptable alternative. She wanted me with her almost every night, and she’d asked me to go to two historical society luncheons with her. She seemed off.”

“It was all due to her depression,” he said. “And I’m sure you’re right that there was a manipulative component.”

“How do you know she had depression?”

“Well, it stands to reason that she was depressed,” he said defensively. “As far as she was concerned, I blew up her life.”

“But it seems weird that she’d want to be with me, when I was the cause of you blowing up her life.”

He remained silent.

“I know you said you left because of how she was treating me, and it means more than you could possibly know that you said that, but I can’t help wondering if something else was going on with her.”

“Why would you think that?”

I didn’t want to come out and insinuate she’d been murdered, so I pushed the conversation in a different direction. “When do you think she started talking to her parents again?”

“I don’t know.”

“If she was talking to them again, then why weren’t they at the funeral?”

He paused. “Because I didn’t invite them.”

I gasped. “Why not?”

“Because of how they treated me,” he said defensively. “And of course, how they treated her. She needed them after Andi died and they made her choose—me or them.”

Did my mother regret choosing him? Look where they’d ended up. Then again, she could have had me in her life—I would have done anything to have her interest and love—and she’d tossed me aside like garbage. Worse than garbage. Like I was evil.

“Do they even know she’s dead?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t intend to tell them?”

“No,” he said, his voice cold as ice. “I’ll never speak to those people again.”

“They need to know, Dad.”

“Then you can tell them.”

“Fine. Do you at least have a number for them?”

“You’re a hot shot detective,” he said in a hard tone. “Use your skills to find them.”

The words landed like a punch, sharp and unexpected. For a second, I was ten years old again, sitting in my room with my arm around Andi, listening to him yell at Mom about something I didn’t understand—his voice cold and clipped, just like this. I’d spent years forgetting this side of him. Pretending he was only the man who used to bring Andi and me to his office and spoil us rotten.

“So, this is how you really feel about me?” I asked, my heart breaking. “Has all this I want to be closer to you and I’m sorry for everything I’ve done act been bullshit?”

He released a long groan. “No, Harper. I didn’t mean it like that, I swear,” he pleaded. “I’m so sorry. I’m just on edge, and you’re dragging up all of these feelings about your grandparents. They should have been here for the funeral, but their choices kept them away.” He paused, then his voice broke as he added, “It’s just been a horrible, horrible day.”

“Those words didn’t come out of thin air,” I said, tears burning my eyes. “You must have actually thought them at some point. Is this because I pressed you about your involvement with Hugo Burton and J.R. Simmons?”