Page 5 of Memory of Murder (Colby Agency: The Next Generation #3)

“When I was nineteen I watched a documentary about them.” Anne turned her hands up.

“I went through something. Maybe because I was in college and the reality of adulthood had hit me hard. I felt like I needed to know all I could.” She surveyed the items on the table.

“But to tell you the truth, the only thing I learned was what the police discovered and released to the public. There was quite a bit about the trial but basically nothing after that. No really deep details from before or after, you know. There wasn’t a lot of attention on the case—ever.

That one low-level documentary was the only thing I ever found, and I can’t be sure everything in it was accurate. ”

Lisa nodded. “I get it.” She gestured to the journal. “Anything in there?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t looked beyond the first page. It’s almost like I don’t want to look.” She smirked. “That maybe I’ll find something that changes everything—as if the possibility that nothing I thought I knew was right. I’m not sure I’m adequately prepared for that journey. Pathetic, huh?”

“Not pathetic at all.” Lisa studied her for a moment. “Did you ever try to visit her?”

Anne looked away. The answer to that question was maybe the most painful of all.

Finally, she turned to her friend. “Yes. During that same time, when I was a sophomore in college. After the documentary. I realized I had so many questions. I wanted to talk to her. To know the truth or at least her side of it. So I went to the prison. But she wouldn’t see me.

” She laughed dryly. “No matter how many times I went, she wouldn’t see me.

Eventually I stopped going, and that was when I decided I was never looking back.

I told myself Mary Morton was nothing to me and I was nothing to her. End of story.”

“That’s really awful. My first thought is what mother would deny her only child a few minutes of her time when time was all she had.” Lisa shook her head. “But the truth is what I’m getting from you is that you’ve never heard her side of what happened.”

The words shook Anne just a little. “Well, no, I suppose not. I mean, I read all these back then.” She indicated the clippings with a sweep of her arm.

“And everything else that was available ten years ago online. Like I said, I watched the documentary. But that’s it.

There was nothing else. She wouldn’t talk to me, so what was I supposed to do? ”

“You did what you could. The situation is not your fault.” Lisa surveyed the items on the table once more.

“All right, then. As your best friend, this is my advice, for what it’s worth.

Read the journal. Get her side of things or whatever she wants you to know from those pages.

Then decide if you want to do this thing—for you, not for her.

None of this is about her anymore. She’s gone. This, Anne, is about you.”

The suggestion made almost too much sense.

“That’s a good idea.” Anne’s gaze fixed on the journal. “I can read it tonight and then give him my answer in the morning as promised.”

The doorbell rang.

Anne jumped, almost laughed. She rarely had unscheduled visitors. Most of the time appearances at her door were either a client or Lisa. Today she felt like she was living at Grand Central Station.

Lisa stood. “That will be the pizza.”

Of course. Right. Anne had entirely forgotten the pizza order.

While Lisa went to the door, Anne gathered the clippings and placed them back in the box.

She’d read all those articles on the internet.

No need to read them again. The locket and key she decided she might need.

She held that one photo of the two of them for a moment, stared at the image of herself as a newborn.

Then she studied the vague smile on Mary Morton’s face.

Anne traced the image with the pad of her thumb.

The woman in the photo, nearly five years younger at the time than Anne was now, looked happy and at the same time terrified.

Why wouldn’t she be the latter? She was facing life in prison, and she’d just given birth to a child.

Mary’s parents were dead. She’d been accused of murder, and certainly her friends had turned their backs on her. She’d been alone…

Anne knew that feeling all too well.

“Here we go.” Lisa placed the pizza box in the center of the table. The scent of freshly baked dough and cheese and meats wafted from it.

Anne tucked the photograph into the journal, then put both, as well as the locket and key, into the box. “I’ll get paper plates.”

“And cocktails,” Lisa reminded her.

Anne smiled in spite of herself. “Coming up!”

She arranged paper plates on the table. Made sure a roll of paper towels was handy. Then she prepared two more of those lovely strawberry-lemonade cocktails—adding extra vodka this time. For a little while they gorged on pizza and sipped their drinks.

“If I decide to do this,” Anne said, a new worry niggling at her, “I can’t say for sure if I’ll be losing a day or a week, and this is really not a good time to be doing that.”

Lisa smiled. “If it’s our new big client you’re worried about—don’t. I can handle things for a few days while you do what you have to do.”

Admittedly, the idea was troubling. They had just landed this amazing opportunity, and the thought of suddenly being unavailable was terrifying. Anne couldn’t help wondering if her distant past was really worth the risk.

That part was still up in the air.

“I know one hundred percent that I can trust you to go above and beyond. That’s not a question. But, just to make sure we’re on the same page, let’s go over everything.” Anne reached for the portfolio she’d brought down from her office. “Of course, you can call me any time no matter where I am.”

Did that mean she had made up her mind already?

The idea had her pulse quickening.

“Going over the details is a good idea,” Lisa agreed, drawing her back to the here and now. “We’re only human.” She grinned. “We can’t be perfect all the time.”

Anne grinned. “Just most of it.”

They grabbed more slices of pizza and continued eating as they discussed the details.

“I’ll call the contractors and suppliers,” Anne said. “Make sure we’re good there and send you an email with the dates they give me.”

“I can lay out a schedule and pass it along to all parties,” Lisa suggested before biting into the thick-crusted slice of pie.

“Add reminders to our calendar.” Anne then took a bit of her own slice.

“Will do.” Lisa held up her half empty glass. “To the future.”

Anne tapped her glass against it. “The future.”

She just hoped it wasn’t about to turn into a nightmare.

7:30 p.m.

A NNE HAD TOUCHED base with all the necessary contractors and suppliers, then passed along the results of her conversations to Lisa by phone and via email.

There appeared to be no glitches to worry about with scheduling.

During the calls to the suppliers, she had ordered the items—like the special floor tile—that required additional lead time.

Now, a fourth cocktail in hand—she never had four cocktails in a single day, but somehow this day called for it—she settled onto the sofa to begin reading the journal.

Deep breath. This is the right decision . She opened the slightly worn cover and stared at her mother’s handwriting. Then she sipped her cocktail to wash down the lump that had risen in her throat.

Reading this journal was a necessary journey into whatever had been happening when her mother committed murder—or not. Like the documentary, it would be one-sided. That said, in order to have both sides of the issue she had no choice but to do this.

It was often said that the truth would set you free.

Anne had no idea if that was true. Mostly the only thing this particular truth had done for her in the past was to make her a pariah.

Kids at school had tortured her. Even foster parents had treated her differently.

Some had been afraid of her, while others had decided she was something with which to be toyed, and not in a good way.

After all she was the daughter of a monster.

Why not treat her like a little monster?

She’d been mistreated and abused…but mostly she had been neglected and unloved.

No child should grow up believing he or she was alone and unloved.

But it happened all too often.

Maybe that was why she had never managed a long-term relationship. She hadn’t been able to trust anyone to care for her or to love her properly as a child. How could she possibly trust anyone as an adult? The answer was she could not.

She’d had the occasional date. Even an official boyfriend once or twice, but nothing lasted more than a month or two.

The first one had only been interested in sex, as were most teenage boys.

The other was obsessed with true crime and, as it turned out, only dated her in hopes of learning the dirty details.

Nothing ever lasted.

“Get over it,” she muttered. This was her life.

To her credit she had made the most of it, and damn it, she was proud of her accomplishments. Once this unexpected bump in the road was behind her, she wasn’t looking back ever again. Forward would be her only direction.

Satisfied that she had made the right decision, she began to read, starting with the Present Day note that had been added to page one by taping pink pieces of notepaper on top.