Page 45 of Luck of the Devil

Chapter 13

When I walked through the back door, Malcolm was setting two plates with eggs, bacon, and buttered toast on the breakfast table.

“Any luck?”

I walked around him and sat down at the table, then picked up my coffee cup, which I noticed had been refilled. “More than I expected.”

“Oh?” he asked as he took a seat.

“I talked to three neighbors. Two didn’t know anything, but one saw my mother leave on Tuesday afternoon with her suitcase sometime between two and three.”

His brow lifted. “So, she didn’t leave right after her call to the burner phone.”

“No, but I’m burying the lede. I might have a clue about who she called.” I took a sip of my coffee, then lowered the cup. “The neighbor said a black sedan dropped off a woman who was anywhere from her thirties to her sixties in front of the house. My mom opened the door before the woman knocked and let her in, then the car drove away. A few minutes later, Mom and the woman came out of the back of the house and got into Mom’s car and left. My mom had her suitcase with her.”

“Any idea who the woman was?”

I shook my head. “I don’t have a clue. Mrs. Comstock said she had salt and pepper hair that was more salt than pepper. She was wearing dark jeans, black knee-high boots, a gray winter coat, and a black T-shirt.”

“Could it be one of her friends?”

“Maybe,” I said, “but she didn’t recognize her, and she made a suggestion that caught me off guard.”

His face remained passive, waiting.

“She suggested the woman could have been my father’s mistress.”

His brow lifted. “Was he having an affair?”

“I never saw any sign of it, but that doesn’t mean anything. Especially after he moved out. Mrs. Comstock didn’t know if he was unfaithful. She claimed to be guessing. And then she said she wouldn’t have been surprised if my mother had invited her over to murder her. Or if the mistress was the person who ran her off the bridge.”

He looked momentarily stunned. “She thinks your mother was murdered?”

“Honestly, I don’t think so. She didn’t contact the police or the sheriff’s department about any of it. I think she was just speculating for entertainment.”

“Gossiping,” he said dryly, then cut into one of his fried eggs and took a bite.

I picked up a piece of bacon, my stomach giving me mixed signals about what it wanted. “Same thing.” I took a bite, hoping it would make me feel better, not worse.

“Do you think your mother was capable of murdering your father’s mistress, if he even had one?”

“No,” I said. “Maybe another time, but not last week. She was too broken. I’ve seen my mother vindictive more times than I can count, so believe me when I say she wasn’t plotting anyone’s demise, literal or figurative, over the last few weeks.”

He nodded, accepting my answer as he cut off another piece of his eggs. “We obviously need to find out who this woman was.”

“Thankfully, we might have help with that. I noticed her doorbell didn’t have a recording device, so I was shocked when she told me she has a camera in her upstairs window. She said she’d get footage of the woman and send it to me.”

He sat back in his chair. “I wonder what else she has on there.”

I took another bite of bacon. “What do you mean?”

“What if Skip Martin’s guys weren’t the only people to show up at your mother’s house looking for something?”

“Martin’s guys were looking for the information I had on Hugo Burton’s case. It didn’t have anything to do with my mother.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but I’m still not convinced they weren’t looking for you.”

I released a sigh. He wasn’t wrong. Skip Martin had planned to kill me. There was every likelihood his goons would have kidnapped me that night if Malcolm hadn’t shown up.