Page 84 of Pretty Poison
“We all have skeletons,” Grant said.
Rocky nodded. “I know this all too well. All I can promise is that we approach each investigation with utmost respect and care. You might not always like what we have to say, but you can rest assured our words will be spoken without malicious intent.”
Grant studied him long enough for it to become awkward. He finally relented with a nod and stepped aside. “It’s best not to keep my mother waiting.”
He led the trio of trouble past an unoccupied formal living space that looked like something fromSouthern Livingmagazine. Rocky never understood the concept of a space created for looking and not living, but it was common among Tess’s generation or high-society homes. Why even call it a formal living room, then? Why not a formal looking room?
The kitchen and dining areas were in the middle of the home, bisected by a walkway leading to the family room in the rear. Rocky could see through the wall of windows that Tess’s lush gardens continued to the back of the property as well. She had a Southern magnolia tree similar in size to Rocky’s. A well-used rope swing hung from one of its lower branches.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” a soft, genteel voice asked.
Rocky turned his head and met Tess’s gaze. “It is.”
“My grandchildren argue over it when they visit,” she said, extending her hand. “Tess Hamilton.” She wore a pale pink blouse, ivory slacks, and pink ballet flats. The woman couldn’t be much over five feet tall, but her direct gaze and confident movement gave her a larger presence.
“Rocky Jacobs.” Her hand felt dainty in Rocky’s, but her grip was firm. “These are my partners, Felix Franklin and Jonah St. John.”
Felix and Jonah both shook Tess’s hand, then she led them over to a cozy seating area. The space was as beautifully decorated as the formal living room, but it had a lived-in vibe. Bookshelves lined an entire wall, and they were packed full of books, movies, and family photographs. In the opposite corner sat a velvet club chair and a matching ottoman, where a paperback lay facedown beside a pair of discarded house slippers. Steam rose from a dainty teacup on the antique side table.
Rocky had a strong urge to examine the book Tess had set aside to meet with them, as well as the ones lining her shelves. You could tell a lot about a person by their choice of entertainment. He glanced over at the bookcase once more, this time focusing on the photographs. His eyes homed in on a particular image that snagged his attention. It was a much younger Tess Hamilton with her arm wrapped around a woman with vibrant red hair and memorable blue eyes. Helen Girard’s hair might be white as snow now, but there was no mistaking her identity.
Rocky’s attempts to find out why Helen no longer worked at Whispering Willows were wholly unsuccessful. The HR rep had been friendly but stated he’d have to submit a written request before they’d respond. He’d tracked down Bethany Fields, but she wasn’t willing to speak, not even off the record. Those two things only made him more curious about the woman who seemed so devoted to Tess Hamilton.
“That’s my dear friend, Helen,” Tess said. “You might’ve seen her pictures from the trial.” Not a longtime friend. Not a best friend. Tess called Helen her dear friend. Was there a deeper meaning, or was he grasping at straws?
He hadn’t meant to be so damn obvious about his interest and latched on to the excuse Tess had given him. Smiling, Rocky said, “That’s why she looks familiar.” The photo looked like it had been taken on the set ofM*A*S*H. Tess and Helen wore green fatigues and appeared to be in their early twenties. The ladies stood next to a group of wounded soldiers. “Army?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “We met in 1968 during Vietnam. It’s also where I met my first husband. Bob was a chopper pilot who transported the wounded soldiers for treatment.”
Rocky already knew these things, but they established a baseline for what Tess was eager to discuss. He scanned the rest of the framed photographs, noticing that not even one included a husband—only Tess with her kids, grandkids, and Helen.
“Why don’t we have a seat,” Tess said. “Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?” The men declined, but a true Southerner never stopped there. “Are you sure? I have hot and cold beverages.”
Jonah finally caved and accepted a Coke, and Felix asked for water.
“I’ll get it,” Grant said to his mother. “I think I’ll make myself a cup of coffee. Any other takers?” he asked, looking around the room.
A cup of coffee suddenly sounded great to Rocky, but he’d be up all night if he drank caffeine this late. “You don’t happen to have decaf, do you?” he asked when Grant’s gaze landed on his.
“Decaf?” Felix and Jonah asked at the same time.
“Since when?” Felix wanted to know.
“Since I like sleeping at night,” Rocky countered.
“Fake meat and fake coffee,” Jonah grumbled. “What’s next?”
Grant chuckled. “Mom, do you havedecafcoffee?” He, too, made the word sound like a loathsome thing.
“Of course,” she said. “In the freezer.”
“How do you take it?” Grant asked.
“A splash of creamer or milk and a little sugar. Don’t go to any trouble on my account,” Rocky said. “I can drink water.”
“Nonsense,” Tess said as she returned to her club chair. She propped her feet up on her ottoman, put her book on the end table, and picked up her cup of tea. “I like the three of you already.”
“Should we place bets on how long that lasts?” Felix quipped.