Page 29 of Memory of Murder (Colby Agency: The Next Generation #3)

Crystal Lake

Crystal Lake Cemetery

Anne stared at the sleek black granite headstone. It was beautiful and at the same time cold and distant. The name Neil Aaron Reed was engraved in big letters. Beneath that was Beloved son . And of course his dates of birth and death. No mention of his wife or his child.

She hadn’t expected to feel anything, but somehow she did.

The man buried here was her father. He’d died at a younger age than Anne was right now.

No, he hadn’t just died—he had been murdered.

Not because he’d been a bad man or because he’d done bad things but because someone had wanted what was his.

Fury swelled in her chest. She had never felt so wronged in her life. All those years in foster care could have been avoided. She could have grown up in a good, stable home with good, loving parents…but that opportunity had been stolen from her.

Sure there were plenty of kids in the system who got lucky and ended up with amazing families for their foster care years.

But Anne had been one of the unlucky kids who’d bounced from neglectful home to abusive home to overcrowded ones where no one received the care and attention they needed.

She supposed it was, in part, because she’d been somewhat difficult between the ages of five and twelve.

It was hard when you reached a certain stage in childhood and understood that no one wanted you.

Not a single person in the whole world loved you.

And all the stories you had heard about your mother labeled her a monster.

A barrage of those old emotions twisted inside her, had her eyes burning with the need to cry.

She would never cry over those years again.

Ever. Now she knew things no one had bothered to tell her as a child.

According to the journal, this man—her gaze traveled over his name once more—had wanted her.

He and Mary had made plans for their future—theirs and their child’s.

It would have helped so much if she had known this back then.

Anne thought of the people closest to her parents.

Eve and Kevin Langston. Carin Carter Wallace.

Judith Hudson. Beatrice Farrell. Why had no one bothered to find Anne and tell her any of this?

Why had they heartlessly allowed her to believe the worst?

Jack rested his hand at the small of her back as if he sensed the turmoil inside her. “You okay?”

She was shaking. She hadn’t realized this until he touched her. Her fists were clenched at her sides. Deep breath . Reaching for calm, she steadied herself and turned her face up to his. “I will be.”

“From what I’ve learned so far,” he offered, “I don’t believe your parents were responsible in any way for how this turned out. I also don’t think either of them would have wanted you to suffer the hurt and unhappiness you went through as a child. This was a tragedy of someone else’s making.”

“I’m beginning to see that.” She was. For the first time in her life she believed someone had cared and wanted her. The realization that her parents had not thrown her away was so overwhelming it was almost painful. She waffled between wanting to weep and wanting to scream.

The sound of a vehicle arriving drew their attention to the red BMW Alpina that parked behind their rental. Anne recognized the car. Carin Carter Wallace’s luxury automobile—the one her dead husband’s money had paid for.

Carin emerged from the driver’s side, closed the door and strode toward them.

The woman was a year younger than Eve. She had managed to maintain her looks considerably better than the other woman.

Maybe she’d had more cosmetic surgery or simply better surgeons.

Possibly better skin to begin with. Good genes often made all the difference.

Additionally, unlike her friend, Carin’s wardrobe appeared to be far more stylish and youthful.

She could be an influencer on social media.

“Anne Griffin, I presume,” Carin announced as she paused a few steps away.

Her hands rested on her silk-clad hips. She wore creamy pearl-colored pants and a button-up shirt in the same elegant, flowy fabric that flared open sharply since the top three pearl buttons were unfastened.

Her long blond hair and dark sunglasses were emphasized by ruby-red lips.

The woman actually looked as if she’d just stepped off the set of a Vogue or Vanity Fair photo shoot.

Anne gave her a nod.

“Jack Brenner.” He thrust out his hand, which prompted Carin to step closer, only the headstone separating them now.

She touched her hand to his briefly. “Carin Wallace.”

“Nice of you to join us,” Anne said, drawing the woman’s attention from Jack.

Carin reached up, removed her designer sunglasses and hung them in the vee of her shirt, which resulted in more showing off of her cleavage. “Have you been here before? Or is this only a drive-by to settle your mother’s affairs?”

Anne worked at restraining the anger building inside her. “If by settle her affairs you mean find the truth about who murdered my father, yes, that’s why I’m here.”

Carin laughed softly. “I can’t imagine you’ll find anything the police didn’t.” She eyed Jack. “Even with your world-class private investigator.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Your agency has quite the gold-standard reputation…not to mention a fascinating history.”

“We do our best.” Jack’s tone and his expression were proof enough that he was not impressed by the lady.

Anne appreciated that more than he could know. “We’ve concluded a number of new scenarios since we arrived,” she told the woman devouring Jack with her eyes. “You play a major role in most of them.”

Her red lips parted in a laugh. “How strange when I wasn’t even here during the time frame of the murder.”

“You were less than an hour away,” Jack countered. “An easy, quick commute.”

She looked from him to Anne. “So I’m your prime suspect, am I?”

“One of them,” Anne said.

“My money’s still on the senator.” Jack eased his hands into his pockets and studied Anne for a moment. “I know we talked at length about Carin being at the top of our list, but now that we’ve met in person—” he gave the older woman a once-over “—I’m not so sure she could have handled the job.”

Carin laughed again, but there was no humor in the sound. “It’s nice to have someone on my side who recognizes I’m not capable of murder.”

Jack was the one chuckling this time. “Oh, I’m confident you’re capable.

I’m just not sure you could have pulled it off without getting caught.

The person who murdered Neil Reed was very careful.

Meticulous, even. Unless the police were completely incompetent, the killer left no evidence whatsoever. ”

Anne nodded. She got where he was going now. “A mastermind.” She made a no way face at Carin. “You’re right. She’s obviously not the one.”

“Whatever you believe,” the older woman snapped, “your mother is the one who murdered Neil. She was jealous and vindictive. She despised her life. I remember her fantasizing about having a life just like the one Eve had planned. I guess she thought if she got Neil out of the way—”

“She could have Kevin,” Anne interrupted. “I can’t deny that scenario is a possibility. Not since we found the lab she used.” This idea had only just occurred to Anne. She hoped Jack would approve.

Confusion flashed on Carin’s unlined face before she could restrain it. “I’m not following. What lab?”

“The one she used for a prenatal DNA test to determine whether Neil was my father or if it was…” She stared directly into the other woman’s eyes. “Kevin.”

The impact of the words visibly shook Carin Carter Wallace.

Anne kept going, determined not to let up now. “Her journal was very insightful. I’m just sorry she didn’t allow me to see it before she died. It would have changed everything for her…for me too.”

“I hate to be the one to tell you this,” Carin said, the shock under control now, “but Mary Morton was a liar. A consummate liar and a cheater. She betrayed Neil. She betrayed all of us.”

“Kevin didn’t seem to mind,” Anne countered. She glanced at Jack then. “I think you’re right. It probably was Kevin who murdered him. He stole Neil’s offer from BioTech, assaulted his wife and got away with it all.”

“Until now,” Jack pointed out.

“I would watch myself where the senator is concerned,” Carin advised. “He’ll react strongly to such unfounded allegations.”

“What will he do?” Anne demanded, taking a step in the other woman’s direction. “Kill me too? He’s already started a fire at the hotel where we were staying. He has his thugs following us.”

Carin’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You never know what a cornered animal will do next.”

Anne smiled. “Good point because he is an animal. My mother isn’t the only woman he assaulted. But I’m guessing you knew that already.”

“Knowledge is power in the world of politics,” Jack noted.

Carin backed up a step. “I warn you—” she looked from one to the other “—do not go down this path. You will regret it.”

“A lot of people are going to have regrets when we’re done,” Anne tossed right back at her. “But it won’t be us. Believe that if you believe nothing else.”

“If only you had proof,” Carin bemoaned, then she laughed.

“You mean,” Anne suggested, “like the DNA of the person my mother feared might be my father after he assaulted her? I have the lab report. It’s all there.”

Red lips pursed in fury, Carin did an about-face and marched back to her extravagant automobile.

When she’d driven away, Jack turned to Anne and clapped his hands. “Very good. I doubt she’s been that rattled in decades.”

“Probably around three.” Anger stirred inside Anne. “I hope she rushes back to the Langstons and tells them every word we said.”

“We’re really going to have to watch our backs now,” he cautioned.

“If we shake them up enough, one of them is bound to get fired up and make a mistake.”

“That’s the part that worries me,” Jack confessed. “Like the woman said, when an animal gets cornered, you never know what it might do.”

Anne met his gaze once more. “I’m not afraid. Not with you on my side.”

He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “No fear, but we will proceed with extreme caution.”

Anne nodded, then looked at the headstone once more. A small flower arrangement had been tucked against it. The blooms had drooped and fallen free, and the leaves had withered and turned brown. She couldn’t help wondering who had brought the flowers. Mr. Reed, perhaps?

She crouched down and looked for a card.

No card. The small bundle fell over, revealing something beneath it.

The bronze color almost caused her to miss the roundish object.

Anne tapped it and realized it was some sort of metal.

She pulled it free of the dirt. Someone had partially buried it next to the headstone. There was an inscription.

Mary Morton .

Anne’s breath caught. Beneath the name was her date of birth and death as well as Cremation Services of Crystal Lake . It was one of those mini urns…part of her mother’s ashes. But who put them here?

She pushed to her feet and showed the urn to Jack. “Someone brought her here.”

Anne had been told Mary was cremated, but she never asked what became of her remains. She hadn’t cared at the time.

But she cared now. Maybe her mother had one friend left in this town after all.

Jack pulled out his cell and tapped in a search. “They’re still open.” He looked to Anne. “We can see if they’ll tell us who picked up her ashes.”

“Let’s do it.”

Jack helped her to tuck the small urn next to the headstone and cover it properly. Anne dusted her hands off. At least her parents were together now.

Cremation Services

North Virginia Street, 5:30 p.m.

T HE RATHER SMALL brick building was nothing like a funeral home.

There were no rooms for services related to viewings and funerals.

This was a place where cremations were performed and a lobby where the ashes were picked up for whatever the family intended.

Somewhere beyond the lobby was likely the business office.

“Hello,” the man behind the counter said, a faint smile on his lips. “May I help you?”

Anne worked up a smile in return. “I’m here to ask about my mother, Mary Morton. She died at Logan Correctional Center.”

The man slowly nodded. “Yes, I’m familiar. I was contacted by a friend who contracted our services. We picked up Ms. Morton and fulfilled the service requested.”

“Who contracted the service? I want to thank them for taking care of her arrangements since I was unreachable. I had no idea she’d died until days later.”

When the man hesitated, Jack withdrew a business card and placed it on the counter. “We want to keep this as discreet as possible. No need to involve the authorities or warrants.”

The man studied the card. “Judith Hudson. She took care of everything.”

“Thank you,” Jack said.

Anne managed a nod of thanks before Jack ushered her outside. Why would Judith not have mentioned having taken care of the arrangements? Why be so secretive?

Frustration rolled through Anne. If she’d only been trying to help, why act as if she’d committed some crime?

Maybe the need to do this final act for Mary had been about guilt instead of friendship.