Page 86 of Pretty Poison

Rocky turned and looked at Grant. Tess had an excellent point. What the hell did he think Rocky might find if he dug too deep? The man seemed lost in thought as he stared at the coffee table.

“Do you think I killed your father or your stepfathers?” she asked when her son remained quiet.

Grant snapped his head up and looked at Tess. “Of course I don’t. That doesn’t mean these guys won’t paint you as a cold-blooded killer.”

Tess made a frustrated sound, pulling Rocky’s attention back to her. He saw the first ripple in the water as she continued to stare at her son. “I loved Arnie with all my heart, and I miss him every day,” Tess said. “I hate that the world lost a good man, but more than anything, I loathe how cynical this situation has made you. Will you please get the boxes out of the spare bedroom and bring them in here?”

“Mom,” Grant said softly. He let out a little growl, then ran his hands through his hair. “This is a big mistake.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But it’s mine to make, and I’m still your mother. Will you do as I’ve asked, or shall I hoist those heavy boxes all by myself?”

Grant chuckled dryly and shook his head. “I’ll do it.” He stood up and pointed at Rocky. “And you can help.”

Jonah and Felix didn’t look comfortable, but Rocky thought it would be an excellent opportunity to soothe some ruffled feathers. So, he rose to his feet and said, “Sure.”

Grant stood up and walked out of the room without another word or even a backward glance to make sure Rocky followed. As soon as they reached a hallway leading back to the bedrooms, Grant stopped and turned so fast Rocky nearly plowed into his chest.

“You’re not taking these boxes out of here, so don’t even ask,” he told Rocky.

“What’s in them?” Rocky countered. He couldn’t agree to something if he didn’t have all the facts.

“Everything you could possibly need to know about my mother’s husbands.”

“I don’t need to know their shoe size,” Rocky said.

Grant narrowed his eyes. “You’re a real smartass, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but you knew this already.”

“Would having access to medical records make you happy?” Grant asked.

Rocky tried hard not to let on just how happy it made him, but he wasn’t as cool as Tess. “I’m not opposed to viewing them.”

Grant snorted. “You can scan them with your phone or take pictures, but you’re not taking a single document out of this house. Also, you need to obtain written permission from my mother before posting any of these documents on your website or social media accounts for the podcast.”

“Deal,” Rocky said.

Grant studied him for a few more moments before he pivoted and led Rocky to a spare bedroom in the back of the house. The area wasn’t much larger than his home office, and the stacks of boxes and storage containers made it seem even smaller. In the center of the room sat three boxes, each labeled with a husband’s name. Grant stacked Donald Trout’s box on top of his father’s and lifted them, leaving Rocky to carry Arnold Hamilton’s back to the family room.

“What’s in here? Bowling balls?” Rocky asked.

“My mom is a bit of a packrat,” Grant replied. “I’m carrying two, so quit your bitching.”

“Okay.”

Grant shook his head and kept walking.

The mood in the family room seemed relaxed when they walked in. Tess searched Grant’s face for a few seconds, then smiled.

“Jonah was telling me about supercomputers,” she said to Grant. “Have you ever heard of those?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It exceeds my technical skill level, but I’ve heard they can accomplish pretty cool things.” Grant looked at Jonah. “You’re the GBI agent, right?”

“I am,” he said. “But I’m not here in an official capacity. This isn’t some kind of gotcha game.”

Tess gestured to the three boxes. “These are important documents for all three of my husbands. I have everything from their birth records to their death certificates and everything in between.”

On the one hand, it made sense that these boxes were heavy. On the other, how sad was it to think their lives could be whittled down to fit in a single cardboard box? Rocky couldn’t help but think of his mother’s possessions that he kept tucked away or her paintings and photographs hanging on his walls. Legacies weren’t defined by keepsakes but by the emotions they evoked. Bloodlines died out, but the stories lived on.