Page 4 of Memory of Murder (Colby Agency: The Next Generation #3)

Anne watched from the front window as Jackson Brenner drove away.

Despite her misgivings, she had assured him that she would have an answer in the morning.

On some level she wanted to simply say no.

Mary Morton didn’t deserve the time of day from Anne, much less a day or more of her life.

The very idea was ludicrous. But in her current emotional state, Anne didn’t trust herself to make the right decision.

As he so cleverly pointed out, she didn’t want to have future regrets.

As soon as the man from the Colby Agency had walked out the door she had called the one person she trusted—her friend and personal assistant, Lisa Gilbert. Lisa was on her way over.

Anne crossed to the chair she had vacated and picked up the box.

The box .

It sounded so ominous…as if her mother’s ashes or some dark secret were ensconced inside.

Her mother . Anne moved her head side to side.

She had no mother. This woman—the biological mother—had never been a mother to her.

None of the foster moms had been anything more than a supervisor.

Anne felt confident there were good foster parents out there.

Probably plenty of them. Sadly she had never been placed with a good one.

She closed her eyes and pushed away the memories that tried to surface.

Maybe her long run of bad luck had been in part due to the attitude she developed by age three, but mostly, she was certain, it was about her being the child of a murderer—born in prison.

No one had wanted her.

Anne forced her eyes open and kicked aside all those painful feelings. She had survived. And eventually she had thrived. All on her own, damn it.

Lips tight with frustration, she picked up the box and carried it to the dining area.

Unlike many who kept some sort of decor on the table, Anne left hers clean for the purpose of spreading out her work.

The one she’d chosen was larger than her sofa, its size necessary since she used it as a multipurpose piece.

Although her office was upstairs, she often worked here with the French doors open so she could enjoy the fresh air.

Not this time of year, obviously, because it was too hot.

Open doors or not, she regularly used this as a conference table for meetings with clients.

With Lisa on her way to confer , Anne removed the items from the box and spread them out over the tabletop as if they were samples related to a potential customer.

Flooring, paint, cabinetry… All sorts of sample pieces ended up on her table during a brainstorming session with Lisa or a meeting with clients.

Generally, there were photographs of the space in need of a redo.

Sometimes there were blueprints. Always there were options, photos from previous projects or magazines or Pinterest, for consideration.

For this unexpected session there were only the things from the box.

The journal. A fist formed in Anne’s chest. The photographs she’d never seen.

Knots tightened in her belly. A dozen or more newspaper clippings.

A key. Curiosity joined the mix of emotions.

She picked up the key and turned it over.

No markings, but there was a number stamped into the metal: 168.

Could be an apartment key. Maybe a lockbox key. Anne had no idea.

Then there was the necklace. Delicate silver chain with a locket. There were two tiny photos inside. One was of a woman she believed to be Mary Morton with a young man. The other was even harder to distinguish other than the fact that there appeared to be three women huddled together.

Maybe there was something in the journal about the locket.

The pink blanket… Anne pulled it from the box and smoothed her hand over it. Was this the blanket she’d been wrapped in after she was born? Tiny white flowers dotted the soft pink fabric. She set it aside.

These items represented the life of Mary Morton. A murderer who had died in prison at the age of fifty-two after nearly twenty-nine years served.

The doorbell sounded, and Anne jumped. She pressed her hand to her chest and forced a breath. This whole thing had her far too jumpy. Of all the surprises she had hoped might come into her life, this was not one of them.

She hurried to the door, checked the viewfinder.

Lisa . When Anne had called her, she’d told her friend first about the business news.

Like her, Lisa had been ecstatic. She wanted to celebrate.

Then Anne had spilled about the unexpected visitor.

Lisa couldn’t believe it. On some level, Anne still didn’t.

She unlocked the door and wrenched it open. Anne had gotten so caught up in the contents of the box she hadn’t realized enough time had passed for Lisa to be here already. “Thanks for coming. This is…” She took a breath. “This is something I just can’t do alone.”

There were few things Anne had ever felt she wasn’t prepared to face alone—God knew she’d had no real choice in the matter—but this… This was different. She really needed an objective voice here.

Rather than immediately respond, Lisa grabbed her in a hug and squeezed. “I’m so sorry this is happening.”

For a few seconds Anne sagged into her dear friend’s embrace. Then she drew back. “It’s okay. I just need to be sure that I make a decision that won’t come back to haunt me in the future.”

As much as she hated to admit it, Mr. Brenner had been right about that. Mary Morton was dead. Anne wanted to put her and the nightmare legacy behind her. But first, she needed to do this…maybe. The final decision was still up in the air.

Lisa closed the door and locked it. “Of course you do. This is a big deal. It’s like if you don’t do it, you’ll always be wondering. And if you do…” She shrugged. “It’s an enormous decision.”

Her friend was right, even if Anne didn’t want to acknowledge it. If she simply said no without further consideration, she might truly regret the decision in the future. Why not just do this and move on once and for all? Sounded simple enough. Well, maybe not simple, but straightforward.

Doubt nudged her. Or not. One way or the other she had only a few hours to make a decision with which she could live.

“Would you like something to drink?” Anne led the way to the dining table. “I’ve already had a cocktail, but I could go for another.”

Lisa dropped her shoulder bag onto a chair and set her attention on Anne. “Have you had lunch?”

Her friend knew her too well. “I was just about to when that guy arrived.” She stared at the items spread across her table. “I forgot all about food after that.”

“I’m ordering pizza. Now.”

Anne didn’t argue. She needed to eat, and she sure didn’t need another cocktail. At least not until after she’d eaten. If there ever was one, this was definitely a two- or three-cocktail afternoon.

She was supposed to be celebrating this new big deal. Instead she was fretting over the past.

“Okay.” Finished with the pizza order, Lisa tossed her phone onto the table, pulled out a chair and settled into it. “Let’s see what we have here.”

While her friend studied the items from the box, Anne went up to her office and grabbed the portfolio for her new clients.

In spite of all else, she smiled. Not just clients, she amended, but her big-deal clients who were going to make this little firm a household name. At least in the greater Chicago area.

Hopefully.

At the bottom of the stairs, she contemplated her friend. With this new contract, it was time to make the offer she’d been secretly putting together. If her friend accepted, she and Lisa would become partners.

Smiling to herself, Anne made her way back to the dining table. Lisa was studying the newspaper clippings, her face lined in concentration. She was such a great assistant. Always going above and beyond. Anne knew without a doubt that she would make an amazing partner as well.

“She was young,” Lisa said without looking up.

“Yeah.” Anne sat down at the table. “She’d just finished her master’s in education. She was starting her third year of teaching at an elementary school when the murder happened.”

Lisa glanced at her. “You look a lot like her.” Anne nodded. “I mean, a lot like her.”

“I know. It used to bother me,” she admitted.

“But I blocked it from my mind. In fact, I haven’t thought about her—really thought about her—in years.

It seems surreal that this is happening.

” She dropped into a chair across the table from Lisa.

“I’m still reeling at the shock. I feel torn in a dozen directions.

Afraid. Seriously, I feel like a kid who doesn’t want to look under the bed. ”

“Understandable.” Lisa placed the newspaper clipping back on the table. “Give me the gist of what happened based on what you actually know.”

Anne moistened her lips, took a breath and launched into the story.

“Mary Morton met Neil Reed in high school. They’d known each other forever, and they were sweethearts all through senior year and through college—though long distance.

Mary went to Wheaton with a major in education, and Neil was a student at Northwestern’s Pritzker School of Law.

They were only an hour or so apart, but still, it made living together difficult.

Neil shared an apartment with three other students while Mary got a small studio apartment without roommates, which allowed them to spend their weekends and holidays together. ”

Lisa frowned. “How do you know those specifics?”