Page 13 of Luck of the Devil (Harper Adams Mystery #3)

“That makes sense,” she said. “But I’m not sure sitting around dwelling on what happened is good for you.

” She took a beat. “In fact, when you’re ready to work again, maybe you should ask the law partners if they have any investigative work you could do.

Something simple, like an adultery case or something. ”

“Good idea,” I said. “I’ll ask them.”

“Good,” she said decisively. “Keep me updated on how long you’re gonna be at your grandparents. We’ll do something when you get back.”

“I’ll let you know,” I said. “You’re the best, Louise. Thank you for being there for me.”

“Of course. That’s what friends are for.” I thought she was going to hang up, but then she said, “Before you go…” She drew out the words, like she was weighing what she was about to say. “Have you talked to Nate? I saw him at the funeral, but I was surprised he didn’t come say something to you.”

I wasn’t surprised. Disappointed, but not surprised. “Maybe he had to get back to the bookshop.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she said. “I’m struggling to understand it. You two are friends.”

“Yeah…”

She heard the hesitation in my voice. “Did you guys have a fight?”

“No, but I had a couple of weird run-ins with him last week.”

“Neither of you have mentioned that,” she said. “What happened? Did you finally tell him you aren’t interested in dating him?”

“I never said I wasn’t.”

She sighed. “Well, it’s obvious you’re not. And not telling him is only going to hurt him.”

I picked up the fork next to my plate and twirled it between my fingers. “You know I’ve told him that I’m not ready and he should date other people.”

“Not being ready and not being interested are two very different things,” she said bluntly, “and you and I both know you’re not interested. If you want to keep his friendship, then you need to tell him before it gets too awkward when you do.”

She was right. While I really liked the idea of having someone like Nate as a significant other, the fact was, he was too normal for me—no matter how much I wished I could be happy with normal. It stung that Malcolm had been the one to point it out last week—bonus points to him that he was right.

“It doesn’t help that I showed up in his bookstore kind of a mess twice last week.”

“What?” she asked in surprise. “What happened?”

“I stopped by his shop after getting some bad news.” I released a bitter laugh. “I don’t think I have to worry about letting him down, because I probably permanently scared him off.”

“I doubt that,” she scoffed.

I wasn’t so sure. Especially since he’d smelled alcohol on my breath in the middle of the day.

Then again, I’d had reason to be upset. I’d just connected the dots that my father had given J.R.

Simmons access to Hugo Burton’s office after the man had been declared missing so Simmons could clean it out before the police went through it.

Not that Nate—or anyone besides Malcolm—knew those details.

I’d given Nate no explanation. I’d dropped in, cried on his shoulder, and then ran. I was embarrassed, to tell the truth.

“When was the last time you talked to him?” I asked.

“I don’t know … I guess after you found out about your mom.”

“So, several days?”

“Yeah. But he was at the funeral, and he wouldn’t be much of a friend if he wrote you off for being upset.”

It was more than that, but I couldn’t bring myself to admit it. And I was also eager to change the subject. “I went out to the river today.”

“Oh,” was her quiet reply.

We were both silent for a moment before I took a breath and said, “I wanted to see where my mom’s car went into the water.”

“Harper…”

“It’s okay,” I said firmly. “But after seeing it, I’m confused about what made them decide to dredge the river for her car. We hadn’t reported her missing.”

“I’m not really sure,” she confessed. “But you could always call Detective Monahan and ask him.”

“I don’t want to bother him.”

“You, of all people, should know you wouldn’t be bothering him,” she insisted. “That’s part of his job.”

“I don’t want to make any unnecessary trouble,” I said. And alerting my father to what I was up to by asking questions could definitely cause trouble. I released a short laugh. “I guess I have a whole new appreciation for the victim’s side now. The need to know everything.”

“I thought you would have gained that after your sister.”

An unexpected pain stabbed my heart. “I think I was too young. Not to mention, I didn’t want to know what she’d gone through. It was too much.”

“I get that.”

“Anyway…” I decided to make a confession, telling myself it would help sell my story—but I also had to admit that I needed to confide in someone who might understand.

“I keep obsessing about what she was thinking when her car left the road and plunged into the water. How scared she must have been.” My voice tightened.

“I know it’s morbid, but it’s not unexpected, I guess.

I met my fair share of families while working traffic fatalities who asked the same questions.

They were desperate to know if their loved one died quickly, or if they suffered. ”

“Harper…”

“It’s all part of the grieving process,” I said, suddenly feeling like bugs were crawling all over my skin. “The need to know all the details, like having them will ease the pain. Like wondering what made the sheriff look for her car, and everything else.”

“You should call Monahan, Harper. I know he’ll share what he knows.”

“Maybe not with the infamous Harper Adams.” After I was disciplined for an on-the-job shooting last fall, most cops seemed to consider me a pariah. Like if it happened to me, it could happen to anyone.

Louise knew that better than most people, but she was willing to take professional risks to be my friend. “Monahan seems pretty fair minded, but how about this? If I’m around Monahan, then I’ll ask some casual questions. I can do that without making it a big deal.”

“Thanks. Whatever you find— whenever you find it—is fine. It’s not like it’s going to bring my mother back.”

“True, but it fills in the pieces of her last moments,” she said softly. “I get it. I’ve had cases like that too. It’s stupid to think we wouldn’t want the same answers when it happens to us.”

“I suppose,” I admitted. I sat with the phone in my hand for a moment before I said, “You’ve been a good friend, Louise. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through the last few months without you.”

“You would’ve been even more of a mess,” she said with a laugh. “But I know you’d do the same for me.”

“Yes,” I assured her. “Definitely.”

“Well, I hope it goes well with your grandparents. If you need to talk afterward, you know how to reach me.”

We hung up, and I couldn’t stop the flood of guilt. I was lying to her, and you didn’t lie to friends. Which meant I was a shitty friend to someone who’d been a great one.

Another sin to add to an already lengthy list, but I could pick it apart later. I needed to devote my time and attention to finding out who’d killed my mother.

Would my grandparents know anything that would help me solve the case? It seemed doubtful, but it was worth a try, not to mention, telling them in person about my mother’s death was the right thing to do.

I couldn’t imagine how they’d react—if they’d slam the door in my face or pull me into a hug.

After Andi’s death, they’d retreated into silence.

Maybe they’d buried me too. Had they realized that I was the Little Rock police officer accused of killing a supposedly unarmed boy?

If they did, would they turn me away before I could tell them why I was there?

I was sure it wouldn’t help having James Malcolm in tow.

What would they think if they realized I’d brought a former crime boss to their doorstep?

I guessed I’d be finding out soon enough.