Page 20 of Luck of the Devil

“She didn’t want people to know. You know how she was. She never wanted to admit weakness.”

Which wasn’t entirely true. She picked and chose which weaknesses she would cop to. But I suspected taking an antidepressant would be on her secret list.

“Did she get it from Dr. Albright?” My mother had been going to our family practice doctor forever, and I couldn’t imagine her willingly going to a psychiatrist.

“Of course,” he said. “He always took good care of her.”

Would Dr. Albright tell me if he’d prescribed it? “They returned her suitcase,” I said. “Do you know if her prescription bottle was in there?”

“It’s not,” he said. “Detective Monahan took it.” After a moment, he asked, “Why?”

“I didn’t want the pills sitting around in your garage,” I fibbed. “If the wrong people found out they were in there, they might break in and steal them.”

“Good point,” he said, sounding relieved. “But no one else knew she was taking the pills, so I think we’re safe.”

“I’m surprised she told you,” I said. “It must have really gotten under her skin to take them.”

“She was hesitant about filling the prescription,” he admitted. “And I think she told me as a way to try to get me to move back. More manipulation.”

His words sat heavily on my heart. While everything he’d said was plausible, I wasn’t sure I believed him. I wanted to be able to trust him, but I couldn’t.

“Thanks for telling me all of this,” I said, trying to sound grateful. “It means more than you know.”

“Of course, kiddo,” he said, sounding more light-hearted. “I’m just sorry you’re going through this. I love you.”

I closed my eyes, my heart quietly shattering. He sounded like the dad I used to know before Andi’s death. Warm. Protective. But that man had lied to me before. How many times would I let myself fall for that voice before I learned better?

“I love you too.” Because I did love him. He was my dad, imperfect as he was. Would I still love him if he’d had something to do with my mother’s death? Did you just stop loving your parent? Or was it easier when they weren’t the parent you’d needed? My heart was so tightly locked that even I didn’t know.

I hung up and leaned forward, feeling like I was going to be sick.

I wasn’t buying the suicide story, even if I’d seen plenty of evidence that my mother’s death had been no simple accident. If there was one thing I knew about Sarah Jane Adams, it was that she was a fighter. She’d proven that with Andi. She never would have just given up. She would have fought.

I knew without a shadow of a doubt that she’d been murdered. Now I needed to find out who’d killed her.

Chapter 7

Once I collected myself, I headed out to the dining area and sat at the bar in front of Malcolm.

He gave me his attention while he filled a glass with draft beer. “You look like you just talked to a ghost.”

“I talked to my father.”

“Ah… I take it you didn’t like what he had to say.”

I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “He claims she committed suicide.”

His brow shot up.

“He said he and Detective Monahan agreed to keep it quiet. She didn’t have a life insurance policy, so they figured they weren’t defrauding anyone.”

“That’s bullshit. They would have been defrauding you,” he said gruffly. “You would have had a right to know.”

I was surprised by the outrage in his voice. “You’re not buying that she committed suicide, are you? I mean, the evidence you dug up could partially corroborate it.”

“Fuck no, I don’t buy it,” he growled. “How did the subject of suicide come up?”

“I told him she was acting weird after he left.”