Page 9 of Luck of the Devil (Harper Adams Mystery #3)

I grabbed my phone and texted him.

Sorry I just took off this afternoon. I couldn’t deal with all those people

To my surprise, he answered within seconds.

I understand, Harper. I’m sorry you had to go through that.

Since I knew he was by his phone, I called him, deciding this was better than communicating through text.

“Hey,” he said when he answered. “I was hoping you’d want to talk.”

“Yeah,” I said, a lump filling my throat. “I figured it would be better this way.”

“How are you doin’, kiddo?” he asked in a gentle tone.

Tears swam in my eyes. A new nickname. He’d been trying them out over the last month, saying he wanted to get closer. Surprisingly, this one didn’t grate against my nerves like the others had.

“Um…” I looked up and blinked. I needed to keep it together. “I’m hanging in there. How about you? I’m sure this couldn’t have been easy given how you’d moved out last month.”

“No matter what happened between us, I never would have wanted this for your mother,” he said emphatically.

Was he talking about not wanting her dead, or was he suggesting he had something to do with it? “I know. I never thought otherwise.”

“Good.” He was silent for a moment. “I’m sure you’re dealing with a whole host of feelings right now.”

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat, then took a breath.

While I’d planned to ask him to meet me for dinner, I doubted he’d want to come here, and I wasn’t so sure I wanted to look him in the eye when I asked him some hard questions.

A number one rule in interrogating a suspect was to do it in person.

Body language often said more than their actual words, but then again, he wasn’t a suspect, and this wasn’t an interrogation.

It was a daughter asking her father questions.

There was also the thought that if he did have something to do with it, I wasn’t sure I could face him.

“I keep going over the last month,” I said, struggling to find the words that would get him talking without making him suspicious.

I couldn’t tip him off. If he was innocent, I didn’t want to destroy our fragile truce.

But if he did know something, I couldn’t give him a reason to hide it better. “She just seemed so off.”

“Well,” he said, gruffly. “Keep in mind I moved out and asked for a divorce. As far as she was concerned, I also stole her identity, which was being the wife of a prominent attorney. She thought she was nothing as a divorced woman.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I muttered, not that I didn’t believe him. I wasn’t surprised by her antiquated view.

“ You and I and everyone else knows that, but she put her entire being into being a wife and mother. Not to mention, she was raised to believe divorce was wrong, and her parents have been married for decades.”

“But she hadn’t been in contact with her mother in years.”

“Maybe,” he said carefully. “Maybe not.”

“Wait,” I said, sitting up straighter. “She was in contact with her?”

“After Andi…” His voice broke and he took a moment before he continued. “Your mother had a falling out with her parents and they went no contact. I can’t be sure, but I think she still talked to her parents from time to time.”

“And she kept it a secret from you? Why?”

“Part of the reason they stopped talking was because her mother blamed me for Andi’s death.”

“ What? ”

“And to my surprise—your mother, who was looking for scapegoats wherever she could find them—actually stood up for me and cut contact.”

That was because I had been her scapegoat. Maybe she couldn’t handle adding my father to the list and alienating everyone around her. “That’s crazy. Why would it be your fault?”

“Why did your mother blame you ?” he asked softly. “Sometimes there’s no rational reason.”

He was right, of course, but her reaction had still shredded what was left of my heart. Still, I couldn’t make sense of why my grandparents would turn on him. They’d seemed to love him before Andi’s murder. I’d never been my mother’s favorite so it was easier to understand why she’d blamed me.

Had my father done something to rouse their suspicion? It had happened years before his involvement with J.R. Simmons, not that Simmons had anything to do with John Michael Stevens. But what if Simmons wasn’t the first criminal my father had struck a deal with?

“Mom’s parents liked you. Why did they blame you?”

“I really can’t get into it tonight, Harper,” he said, sounding exhausted. “We can talk about it some other time, okay? We buried your mother six hours ago.”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me, because my throat was clogged with emotion. “Yeah,” I finally choked out.

“I was going to broach this with you later,” he said slowly. “But since we’re sort of on the topic, I thought I’d bring it up.”

Was he going to make a confession? It seemed highly unlikely given he’d proven his cowardice just last week, refusing to own up to his involvement with Simmons until he was cornered. But I was still curious to hear what he had to say. “I’m listening.”

“As you know, your mother was quite depressed.” He paused and cleared his throat.

“Actually, that's what I wanted to talk about,” I said. “She seemed anxious and worried. Like a boogeyman was out to get her. Or maybe both of us. At the time, I blew it off as manipulative behavior. I figured she was lonely without you, so she decided I was suddenly an acceptable alternative. She wanted me with her almost every night, and she’d asked me to go to two historical society luncheons with her. She seemed off.”

“It was all due to her depression,” he said. “And I’m sure you’re right that there was a manipulative component.”

“How do you know she had depression?”

“Well, it stands to reason that she was depressed,” he said defensively. “As far as she was concerned, I blew up her life.”

“But it seems weird that she’d want to be with me, when I was the cause of you blowing up her life.”

He remained silent.

“I know you said you left because of how she was treating me, and it means more than you could possibly know that you said that, but I can’t help wondering if something else was going on with her.”

“Why would you think that?”

I didn’t want to come out and insinuate she’d been murdered, so I pushed the conversation in a different direction. “When do you think she started talking to her parents again?”

“I don’t know.”

“If she was talking to them again, then why weren’t they at the funeral?”

He paused. “Because I didn’t invite them.”

I gasped. “Why not?”

“Because of how they treated me,” he said defensively. “And of course, how they treated her. She needed them after Andi died and they made her choose—me or them.”

Did my mother regret choosing him? Look where they’d ended up. Then again, she could have had me in her life—I would have done anything to have her interest and love—and she’d tossed me aside like garbage. Worse than garbage. Like I was evil.

“Do they even know she’s dead?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t intend to tell them?”

“No,” he said, his voice cold as ice. “I’ll never speak to those people again.”

“They need to know, Dad.”

“Then you can tell them.”

“Fine. Do you at least have a number for them?”

“You’re a hot shot detective,” he said in a hard tone. “Use your skills to find them.”

The words landed like a punch, sharp and unexpected.

For a second, I was ten years old again, sitting in my room with my arm around Andi, listening to him yell at Mom about something I didn’t understand—his voice cold and clipped, just like this.

I’d spent years forgetting this side of him.

Pretending he was only the man who used to bring Andi and me to his office and spoil us rotten.

“So, this is how you really feel about me?” I asked, my heart breaking. “Has all this I want to be closer to you and I’m sorry for everything I’ve done act been bullshit?”

He released a long groan. “No, Harper. I didn’t mean it like that, I swear,” he pleaded.

“I’m so sorry. I’m just on edge, and you’re dragging up all of these feelings about your grandparents.

They should have been here for the funeral, but their choices kept them away.

” He paused, then his voice broke as he added, “It’s just been a horrible, horrible day. ”

“Those words didn’t come out of thin air,” I said, tears burning my eyes. “You must have actually thought them at some point. Is this because I pressed you about your involvement with Hugo Burton and J.R. Simmons?”

“I can’t do this right now, Harper.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” I said, my bitterness slipping through.

“Harper, I’m sorry,” he said, sounding panicked. “I swear I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just frustrated. But before you go, I do need to share a concern I have.”

I froze. Had he found out about my drinking? Or that I’d spent the afternoon with Malcolm? I steeled my back. “Go on…”

“As we both noticed, your mother was depressed and several of her friends say she wasn’t acting like herself.”

“You mean scared?”

“She wasn’t scared,” he scoffed. “They think her depression had an anxiety component.” He drew an audible breath. “In any case, we have reason to believe that perhaps she did this herself.”

My heart skipped a beat. “You mean she might have driven off that bridge on purpose?”

“We have no proof…” He hesitated. “But that’s our concern.”

“When you say our, who exactly are you talking about?”

“Me and Detective Monahan. He knows the status your mother held in town and given my career and your recent troubles, he agreed to keep things quiet. She didn’t have a life insurance policy, so it’s not like we’re defrauding anyone. This protects us.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” I asked. “Why not tell me when you found out?”

“I was trying to spare you. I didn’t want you to blame yourself.”

I blinked. “Why would I blame myself?”

“Because I was the one who insisted you come home, and we both know she wasn’t happy about the whispers and the gossip about you.”

My chest tightened. “Wait, let me get this straight. You’re saying that my return was so distressing she couldn’t live with it anymore and drove her car off a bridge?”

“That’s not the only reason, Harper,” he said sympathetically.

“In her eyes, my leaving was much worse. She said I abandoned her.” He paused.

“I considered not telling you, but I also know you’re curious by nature and you might start asking questions.

I wanted you to hear it from me instead of someone in the sheriff’s department. ”

“I see.”

He hesitated. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you.”

“No,” I said in a tight voice. “I would rather live with the heartbreaking truth than a cold lie. Especially since I heard several women gossiping about it after the service today.”

“Oh,” he gasped. “I’m so sorry you had to hear that.”

Where had the rumor come from? Had he spread it? Would he tell me if he had? “Like I said, I’d rather have the truth.”

“I knew you’d see it that way.” He sounded relieved.

He’d be less relieved if he knew what I really meant. I wanted the actual truth, not his bullshit story.

“I just wish she’d tried to get help,” I said, trying to bait him. “If only she’d gotten some medication, maybe it wouldn’t have come to this.”

“She was on Zoloft,” he said. “But obviously it wasn’t enough.”

According to Malcolm, there’d been Zoloft in her bloodstream. Did she have a prescription or had my father known she was drugged?

“So that’s how you knew she was depressed?”

“Yes, she told me she’d started taking it a couple of weeks ago.”

“So, you knew she was depressed because she was taking Zoloft,” I said, trying to make my voice sound neutral. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“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.