Page 40 of Luck of the Devil (Harper Adams Mystery #3)

Chaos erupted as my grandparents started shouting that my mother had been murdered, then demanding why Hannah had never told them.

“At least you could have warned Sarah Jane!” Grandma said, her voice shaking. “You could have saved her!”

“I did,” Hannah said quietly. “I did warn her.”

My grandmother’s face fell and she slumped back in her seat.

“How soon after you saw the article did you tell her?” Malcolm asked, his voice tight.

“That very day,” she said, tears filling her eyes as she glanced at me.

“I told her everything—about your father screwin’ that woman in his office, how Paul shoved and threatened me, hearin’ his conversation outside, and then what I saw in the paper.

She was quiet through the whole thing, and when I finished, she said, ‘Are you done?’ I expected her to be pissed, if not at Paul, then at me for keeping it to myself for so long.

But she wasn’t pissed. Her voice was quiet and calm, like she was a Stepford Wife or something. ”

That sounded like my mother. I’d heard her use that tone on my father and me multiple times.

“Well,” Hannah continued, “When she asked if I was done, I said, no, I wasn’t done.

I told her to take the girls and get away from him.

I even offered to help her. That’s when she accused me of making up lies and exaggerating, and I told her that in this case, it was one or the other—either I was lying about the whole thing or part of it was true and I was exaggerating the truth. Which one did she pick?”

“I’m sure she didn’t take that well,” I said under my breath.

She titled her head, still full of attitude from her storytelling.

“You’re right on the money. It was no surprise when she said she picked her husband, then she hung up on me.

After that, the only time we saw each other was when she came to see Mom and Dad, and she barely spoke to me. But then Andi disappeared…”

Her face twisted into an apologetic look, like she knew bringing up my sister’s kidnapping would hurt me. “It’s okay,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Go on.”

“After your sister…” Aunt Hannah’s voice faltered, the sharp edge of her anger dulling. “I was worried sick about Andi. About your mother. About you . I didn’t know how she’d take it, but I had to try. I called her, and when she answered the phone, I asked her if Paul had something to do with it.”

I blinked. “You asked if she thought my father had something to do with Andi’s kidnapping?”

She gave a tight nod. “I braced myself for her to tear into me—call me delusional, vindictive. But she didn’t. I’ll never forget her answer. Or how she said it.”

The room tilted, and I gripped the table, my knuckles growing white as her words hit me like a physical blow. A cold weight dropped into my stomach, spreading through my chest like ice water. “What did she say?”

Aunt Hannah’s eyes met mine, her jaw tightening. “She said, ‘I don’t know.’”

I felt like the floor had vanished beneath me. My chest constricted, each breath coming shallow and fast. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out—the air seemed too thin, like I was drowning. I didn’t even realize Malcolm had reached over until his fingers closed around mine, firm and steady.

Never—never in my life—had I considered that my father could have hurt his own daughter.

Even if he’d gotten mixed up with bad people.

He’d loved us. He’d adored us. I could still see him squatting in front of Andi when she was six years old and had just found a dead bird in the backyard.

His voice had been so soft, so patient, as he gently wiped her tears with his thumb and told her that death was a part of life, but it was okay to be sad.

His hands had looked so large and safe around her small ones as he’d helped her choose the perfect spot for the burial.

Those same hands had pushed my aunt in anger. The thought made my stomach lurch.

It was hard to believe he would have caused her harm, even unintentionally. But, hadn’t he hurt me? Not physically. But after Andi’s murder, he had withdrawn. Left me alone in a house full of grief and silence. Ignored me like I was too painful to look at.

It wasn’t the same thing. Not even close. Or was it? Doubt slipped into me like a draft under a locked door.

“She really thought he might have made her disappear?” My voice cracked on the last word.

Aunt Hannah winced. “I needed her to tell me I was wrong. That I was being paranoid. But she didn’t.”

“You wanted reassurance,” I said, needing reassurance of my own.

“And she didn’t give it,” Hannah said, “So I asked what she thought had happened to Andi. Had she overheard something about your dad’s business dealings? There was a long pause. Then she said it again. ‘I don’t know.’”

My mother hadn’t said no.

She hadn’t said no.

My entire life began to unravel like a loose thread tugged too far.

We’d each played our roles to perfection: my mother, the brittle socialite of a small town; my father, the gentle Atticus Finch type.

Andi, the golden child. And me? I was the pancake child.

The one you practice on. You flip too soon and she’s uncooked in the middle, flip too late and she’s burned around the edges.

I’d always believed my father’s kindness was the steadiness that ran beneath our dysfunction.

Now I wasn’t so sure.

“She sounded so broken,” Aunt Hannah whispered.

Tears streamed down her face and she swiped at them, as though embarrassed.

“I asked if she’d told the police. She said Paul had them in his pocket—that they’d never believe her.

I told her to go higher, to the FBI. To someone who could actually do something.

But she said she had it handled.” My aunt drew in a shaky breath.

“I pushed her. Asked how she had it handled, but I could tell she was close to the edge. So I backed off and offered to come down and be with her. But she said Paul wouldn’t want me there, and it would only make things worse.

” Her voice cracked. “So, I stayed away, and then… after they found Andi…” She stopped again, wiping furiously at her reddened cheeks.

“She called me, sounding like that conversation had never happened. Back to her usual stiff upper lip. She said I had a lot of nerve to doubt her husband. And as far as she was concerned, her family was dead to her.”

I felt like I was watching a horror movie.

“She cut Mom and Dad off after that,” Aunt Hannah added softly.

“Why do you think she cut your parents off?” Malcolm asked, voice pitched low.

Hannah turned to face him. “Because I told her I was going to tell them everything.”

“But you didn’t,” my grandfather growled.

She turned to face him with guilt-filled eyes. “No, because I hoped she’d change her mind. And if I told you, you would have never forgiven Paul.”

“As we shouldn’t!” he exploded, slamming a palm on the table. The silverware rattled, and I instinctively jumped.

Malcolm tensed next to me but didn’t let go of my hand.

“I know,” she whispered, dropping her gaze to the table. “I know.”

Silence fell over the room, heavy and aching. The kind that follows a natural disaster, when the dust hasn’t settled yet and you’re checking for damage.

The silence roared in my ears.

I stared at my half-full plate on the table, but my vision was fuzzy, like I was about to pass out or I was waking up from a bad dream.

My mother had cut off her parents.

She’d defended my father.

She’d chosen him. Even when she’d thought he was capable of being a monster.

But she’d been cold to me my entire life, even before Andi’s death.

Every sharp word, every time she’d looked through me like I wasn’t there—it all made some kind of sick sense now.

She hadn’t been just distant . She’d been protecting my father’s dirty secrets.

She’d picked him over her daughters. Over her family.

Over me. Even knowing what he might be capable of, she’d chosen to share a bed with him, share a life.

She’d let him tuck us in at night and pretend we were a normal family, all while suspecting he was capable of murder.

I felt a wail rising inside me, begging for release, but I clamped it down. I was not going to lose it now. Not when I finally had some answers. Still, I couldn’t get past her choice.

“She said you were dead to her,” I stated, not feeling the words. “But she cut me off that day too, and she let me believe…” I stopped. I wasn’t going to confess what she’d done to me, and how it had filled me with a deep well of guilt and pain that nothing had been able to quench.

“She let you believe what?” my grandmother asked, her eyes red with tears.

I turned to her and offered her a tender smile. “She stole us from each other, Grandma. But no more.”

She sat up straighter and shook her head. “No, Harper. No more.”

“She knew,” I said, looking up at Hannah. “She knew what he might’ve done, and she still let him stay in that house. With her. With me.” I shook my head, my voice breaking. “How do we live with that?”

Aunt Hannah’s composure crumpled.

“ I don’t,” she said, starting to cry.

My grandfather leaned his forearms on the table, like the weight of reality had settled on his shoulders. “Harper. We should have checked on you. We had no idea.”

“If only I’d told you,” Aunt Hannah whispered through her tears.

Secrets were the currency my mother had dealt in—held tightly and fiercely protected. They’d made her bitter, paranoid, and miserable. And they hadn’t just hurt her. They’d harmed all of us.

They’d destroyed me.

But they weren’t just her secrets.

They were the ones she’d died protecting. The ones no one had dared to name. The rot at the center of our family wasn’t just the silence that had overtaken us after Andi’s death.

It was my father.

And I was going to crucify him.