Page 43 of Luck of the Devil (Harper Adams Mystery #3)

“Okay,” he said, his forehead creasing as he considered the possibilities. “Mistress or not, how did your mother get to know her? Especially since her friends don’t recognize her.”

“That’s the question, right? My mother lived a small life. She didn’t meet new people. She rarely left her bubble.”

He nodded slowly. “Regardless of who she was, it seems like they must have connected through your father. Agree?” He gave me a questioning look.

I considered it. “While it seems likely, I don’t want to declare it as fact.”

“Agreed, but if they are connected by association to your father, how did it occur? Could she be one of your father’s clients?”

I considered this for a moment, then said, “Or the wife of a client. What if she had information about her own husband and approached my mother? Like what if she was married to the Richard Aunt Hannah overheard him talking to?”

“And if not Richard, then some other underhanded partner or client.”

“Yeah.”

“So, what if you show the photo to the people in his office and see if any of them recognize her? That way we can figure out if she knows your father through his profession.”

It was a good place to start—with one problem. “They might tell my father.”

“Would they?’ he asked. “Or would they just gossip about it?”

I only took a second to come up with the answer. “Gossip. But I’ll have to come up with an excuse to show up at the office. I can’t just come in and show them the photo and take off, or their tongues will really be wagging.”

“You could say you’re checking on your father. Is he back at work?”

The thought of seeing my father felt like a punch to the gut. It took me a second to respond. “He is, but I’m not sure I can face him right now.”

He gave me a quick glance, then nodded. “We’ll hold off on that one for now.” He took a beat, then softened his tone. “You’re gonna have to face him at some point. You think you can get yourself ready for that?”

“I want to face him,” I said, the anger in my belly beginning to smolder. “But when I look at him, I want to be ready to nail him to the wall.”

“I can wait for that.” A slow smile spread across his face. It was terrifyingly menacing, and some part of me soaked it in.

I had a partner in this. A real partner, and not the self-indulgent, back-stabbing partner Keith Kemper had turned out to be. I knew in my gut that Malcolm had my back. Just like I had his.

I knew I should question that feeling, but I didn’t want to. I was going with my instincts, just like I used to before I’d lost everything last fall, and right now, my instincts told me that I could trust him. Hell, if I was honest, I never felt this sure about Keith, even in our best moments.

“There’s one thing I can’t quite wrap my head around though,” I said.

“When I asked my father if he’d told my grandparents about my mother’s accident, he told me to do it.

He practically sent me to them. I can’t believe that he’d send me here, knowing Aunt Hannah might tell me everything.

It makes me wonder if my mother ever confronted him about Hannah’s accusations. ”

“Maybe she didn’t.”

I tried to put myself in my mother’s head over twenty years ago. “You’re probably right. If she liked her life as it was, then I don’t think she would have confronted him and risked losing it all. Even if she had proof. I think she’d keep it to herself.”

I took a second to let that revelation sink in. Further proof that she didn’t give a damn about our safety.

As if reading my mind, he said, “Just because he was involved with bad people didn’t mean he didn’t care about you and your sister.”

The way he said it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince me.

But that didn’t make sense. Malcolm had said his own father was a piece of shit. So, who had he been thinking about? His friend Jed? But that still didn’t fit, because from what he’d said, Jed had left the criminal world behind to raise a family.

Still … his statement had sounded personal.

Did Malcolm have any secret children? It didn’t seem like any of my business. If he did, then I’d leave it up to him to tell me.

He glanced at me, and I realized I’d left him hanging.

“You’re right,” I said. “Just because he was involved with murderous people didn’t mean he would hurt us himself. Just because someone kills another person, doesn’t mean they would hurt the people they love. Especially if they thought they were killing to protect their loved ones.”

He drew in a deep breath, his shoulders drawing up. “You think your father had Ambrose killed to protect you and your sister?”

“No,” I said, running a hand over my head. “I don’t know.” My brain was sluggish, as though it had worked too much today and it was calling it quitting time.

Focus.

“I have to believe he loved us,” I said, my voice breaking slightly as the nostalgia of my childhood flooded my head.

So many memories, and now I was looking at them through a new lens.

“You can’t fake that kind of affection. Not for as long as he showed it.

And yeah, he stopped showing me affection after Andi died, but I think that’s because he was grieving for her so hard. ”

“Or distancing himself from you.”

My brow shot up.

“We don’t know what he was doin’ or thinkin’,” he said.

“But what if there was something goin’ on with him when your sister was kidnapped?

What if he—and your mother—suspected he was the reason your sister was taken?

Sure, it turned out she was taken by a sick pervert, but what if your father pissed someone off and he thought they took his daughter as retribution?

It hurt like hell, so he distanced himself from you.

That way it wouldn’t hurt him as much if they took you. ”

Horror rushed through my head, stealing my breath. “That…” I didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

“That’s sick. Twisted,” he said, punctuating each word. “Again, we don’t know what happened, but we do know he turned his back on you.” His gaze turned to me, a challenge on his face. “There’s no disputing that.”

He was right, so I didn’t even try.

He shifted in his seat. “Another question is why your mother sent that key to her estranged sister. Especially when you hadn’t spoken to her since you were a kid.”

“Whatever is in that safe deposit box is something she either didn’t want my father to see or was holding it as blackmail. But why would she wait until after she died to tell me she had evidence against him? Why not tell me while she was alive, when I could have tried to save her?”

“I suspect she thought she could handle it on her own,” he said. “It sounds like she was used to things going her way. She thought she could control this too.”

“Maybe,” I said, still turning it over in my head. “But maybe not. She wasn’t acting confident after he left. She was paranoid and scared.”

“What if—” He held up a hand to preemptively stop any protest. “What if she was trying to protect you?”

He was right to hold me off, because my first instinct was to tell him he was crazy. But this was why investigators didn’t work on personal cases. You were too familiar with the involved parties, prejudices and all. It made it difficult to look at things objectively.

“Okay,” I said slowly, truly considering the possibility. “For argument’s sake, let’s say she was trying to protect me. Wouldn’t hiding the information put me in more danger?”

“Not necessarily. If you thought her death was an accident, you’d never have to find out otherwise.

That would have been the end of it. And it makes sense that she would have assumed it would be made to look like an accident.

She knew about Dale Ambrose. Her sister told her.

If she thought she was in danger, she’d presume her death would be staged too. ”

“She was scared to drive alone.” I gasped as the truth slammed into me. “That’s why she wanted me to take her everywhere.”

“Which brings us back to the mystery woman. If she was scared to drive alone, maybe she called that woman to be with her.”

“My mother thought that woman would protect her?”

“Depending on who the woman was to your mother, it’s a possibility.”

“You’re right,” I said. “We have to look at all possibilities. All the angles. Let’s say my mother thought she might be murdered, so she sent the literal key to why she was murdered to her estranged sister and told her not to come to me.

To let me go to her . Why would she think I’d reach out to her? ”

“Maybe she didn’t,” Malcolm said. “But what if your mother was dotting her I’s—she figured you’d get suspicious, and if you did, it would be better for you to get the information from her rather than poking around in the wrong places.

And she figured if you started looking into things you’d probably go to her sister and ask questions. ”

I tried to wrap my head around my mother’s scheming.

“You were only in danger if you started poking. Still, there’s no arguing that if your mother wanted you to solve her murder, it seems she would have made it easier.

I released a bitter laugh. “My mother never made anything easy for me.”

He paused before he said, “She told Hannah that you had to come to her, that she couldn’t go to you.” He gave me a pointed look. “What if that was your mother’s way of entrusting the key with Hannah but protecting your aunt at the same time?”

“You could be right,” I said, mulling it over.

“My dad and Hannah’s last words were harsh.

If my mother thought my father was capable of murder, she might have been worried about what he would do if he saw her, especially if he thought she was stirring up trouble.

” I shuddered. I still couldn’t mesh the monster my aunt had described with the man I’d known.

He’d fallen to pieces after Andi’s kidnapping. My mother had been the strong one.

Further evidence my father may have thought he was responsible. What would I do if I thought someone I loved had been murdered because of my bad choices?

I supposed I’d have to let myself love someone before I could understand the true depth of those feelings.

I ran a hand over my face, my brain numb with exhaustion. I felt like we had more pieces to the puzzle, but none of them seemed to fit anything we knew.

“We’re gonna find out who did this,” Malcolm said in a firm tone. “We’re gonna get justice.”

I wanted to believe that, but at the moment it felt hopeless. I knew exhaustion was clouding my emotions, because I’d solved cases with less evidence that we had right now. We just had to follow the breadcrumbs, and that usually took time. I needed patience, something I was fresh out of.

“You need to rest,” Malcolm said. “All of this is a lot, and you’re still recovering.”

“Still recovering is a kind way to say detoxing,” I said bitterly.

He cast me a glance. “You want me to be blunt?”

“No,” I said with a sigh. “But you could have called me on my bullshit. Further proof you’re taking my feelings into consideration.” I gave him a tepid grin. “That you’re nice .”

He snorted again, but he didn’t contradict me.

“You said you’re seeing a therapist. I suspect she’d want you to own up to being nice.”

“You have no idea what we talk about,” he scoffed.

“True, but I doubt your therapist is encouraging you to be mean.”

“Maybe we’re talking about setting boundaries, which some people would see as mean.” After a second, he shrugged as though even he thought the suggestion was bullshit. “If I admit to being nice, will you try to take a nap?”

“You want a moment of peace and quiet?” I teased.

His lips tipped into the hint of a grin. “If I get to drive in silence for an hour or two, I won’t complain.”

I released a genuine laugh, then leaned back in my seat. “Fine.”

I closed my eyes, knowing there was more we needed to discuss, but I was too tired to dig through my brain to figure it out. Malcolm was right. I needed sleep, and when I woke, I’d be refreshed and ready to tackle this with a fresh perspective.

Despite the multiple thoughts racing through my head, exhaustion pulled me under, and the hum of the tires on the road lulled me to sleep.