The questions troubled her deeply, and Addison knew she couldn't let it end this way. It seemed incredibly unjust that she had lost her family not once, but twice. First the only parents she'd ever known, then the woman who'd given her life.
There was a lack of closure in the- way her search had ended. She had come here to this strange little town to meet her birth mother. Three weeks ago, someone had taken that dream away from her forever. She would never meet Agnes Beckett. After all the effort and the hope, fate had intervened in the cruelest way, leaving her with nothing but a solitary trip to the cemetery.
The reality of that hit her hard, striking her in a place that was raw and exposed. She sipped the soda to ease the tightness in her throat and read the articles again, focusing this time on the status of the case. She put them in chronological order by date, realizing only then that the stories became smaller as the news grew older. Even in small towns people grew tired of news quickly, she mused.
Even brutal, unsolved murders.
But there were positive steps she could take to make sure her trip hadn't been in vain. She could visit the sheriff and make sure the case was being investigated in a professional manner. It was a painful thought, but she could go back to the mobile home and go through her mother's belongings. It might give her some insight into the kind of woman Agnes Beckett had been. It might give her some closure.
With a renewed sense of purpose, Addison rose from the bed and pulled on her coat, deciding her first stop would be the sheriff's office.
*
"You wanna know what?”
Addison resisted the urge to sink into the vinyl chair opposite Sheriff Delbert McEvoy's desk. She was bone tired, but somehow felt she'd have the upper hand if she stood. "I'd like to know how the investigation into the murder of Agnes Beckett is progressing."
McEvoy eyed her suspiciously. "You some kind of a reporter or something?"
"I'm a relative." She'd gone over the conversation they would be having during the drive to his office. She had foreseen the questions, and she was prepared.
"The newspaper has been carrying the story," he said.
She took a deep breath and grappled for patience, wondering why he seemed indisposed to helping her. "I've read the articles and have yet to see anything that tells me how the case is progressing."
He sat up straighter, his belly shifting to expose a large silver belt buckle. "Miss…"
"Addison Fox," she said, extending her hand. She hadn't realized it until now, but she'd accepted the responsibility of making sure her birth mother wasn't forgotten. Certainly not before her murder was solved.
Taking her hand, he shook it gently. "Just how are ... were you related to Agnes Beckett?"
That was the question she'd pondered most. Had her biological mother been alive, Addison would have kept her relationship to Agnes Beckett confidential. Now that the woman was dead, she supposed it really didn't matter. "I'm her daughter." Her voice seemed unnaturally loud in the silence. The words sounded strange, and she realized it was the first time she'd spoken them aloud.
"You're pullin' my leg." His face split into a lopsided grin as if one side of him believed her; the other, that she was somehow trying to dupe him.
Irritation sparked inside her, and she did her best to squelch a nasty retort. "No," she said coolly. "I'm not kidding."
As if realizing his rudeness; he lost his smile. "That's a mite surprising, is all I'm saying."
''That she had family?"
"Well ... yes."
"Why is that surprising? She was capable of reproducing, wasn't she?"
Crimson crept into his cheeks. "That's not what I meant."
"What exactly did you mean?"
"I had no idea she had kin. No one in town knew it," he said.
No longer feeling the need to stand, she sank into the chair, letting a long, tired sigh slide between her lips. "Well, she does, and I'd appreciate a little cooperation."
He leaned back in his chair and slid the wad of chewing tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other. "I reckon Pete Lyons down at the funeral home will want to talk to you."
"She left a debt?"
"The trailer is foreordained for auction to pay for the funeral expenses. Ladies Club paid for the marker."
"I'll take care of the debt," Addison said quickly. "And I'd like to go through her things." Both sentences were out before she realized her thoughts had taken that route. Odd what shock and stress did to one's mindset, she thought dully.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible until the estate goes through probate." His chest swelled with newfound authority.
"In that case, I'll have my attorney contact you." She felt a moment of satisfaction when he stiffened. "For now I'd just like to know if you've got any leads or if you're any closer to making an arrest."
Glowering, he sauntered to a vertical file cabinet. He reminded Addison of a big, fat turkey that had had its feathers ruffled by an unassuming hen.
"Her credit cards haven't been used." He paged through the file. "No checks have turned up."