“You showed that girl something on your phone. What was it?”
“Mrs. Hall attacking me at her son’s grave.” She rallied her courage; she did not want to look into those eyes of his anymore. There was nothing looking back; under the muscle and the strength she could feel the emptiness of him.
“Show me,” he said.
“My ride is coming…”
“Show me, Jane, please.”
She did. He watched the video in silence. “Well, she seems not well.”
“David’s grave had been defaced with the words ‘ALL WILL PAY,’ she was upset.”
“If she’s come after me, and Brenda, and this investigator dude, like you said, where do you think she stops? Who is she warming up for? Who gets it in the end?”
Jane stuffed the phone back in her pocket.
“You? Your mama? They sure hate your mama.”
The rideshare car pulled up. “I have to go,” Jane said.
“They’re coming for you, Jane,” he said. “Maybe you and I can do something about that. Don’t you want to make that bitch pay?”
“Pay?” she asked, her hand on the car door.
“I read the articles. The ‘Girl Who Doesn’t Remember.’ I read how she treated you and your mama after the wreck. Outcasts in your own town. Blamed, suicidal supposedly, her boy a saint, you a waste. Wouldn’t you like to make them pay for what they did to you?”
“I just want to remember. That’s all I want. Just to remember.” Jane opened the door.
“They’ll come for you. ‘All will pay,’ right? How are they going to make you pay?” He leaned close to her as she got into the car, holding the door before she could shut it. “What more can they do to you? They’ve taken everything from you. What’s left?”
She felt cold and sick. The pictures of Laurel kissing Cal swam up before her eyes, and she slammed the door and the driver pulled away from the curb. Jane looked back through the window.
Shiloh Rooke was watching her, his hand held up to his face, miming a phone.
37
JANE WAITED FOR Kip Evander, the Halls’ attorney, in the parking lot, where she’d had the rideshare driver drop her off. She had seen his car once before, when he came to the Halls’ house and her mom had told her, “That’s their lawyer.” She knew he had a daughter a year younger than Jane, at the high school, but Jane didn’t remember her.
“Mr. Evander?”
The man walking toward the BMW, studying his phone’s screen, glanced up. He had a kind face, brown hair, stylish eyeglasses, and wore a very good gray suit. “Yes? Oh. Ms. Norton.” He sounded surprised.
“You know me.” She risked a smile.
He smiled back, but very briefly before returning to an utterly neutral look. “I recognize you.” He paused. “How are you doing?”
“I’m all right,” she said. “I wonder if you could talk to me for a minute about the car crash and the lawsuit.”
“Ethically, I can’t really disclose anything related to a client matter.”
“Please. I don’t want you to tell me a secret or anything.” She coughed, trying to cover her nervousness. “I just was wondering if you knew why the Halls dropped the lawsuit and settled for the insurance proceeds.” Because Cal Hall is kissing my widowed mother.
“Usually I advise all my clients to do that, especially in a case like this, one involving a minor driver.” He had a good voice for the courtroom, a Southern-tinged, theatrical baritone.
“I know Cal dropped it and Perri didn’t want to, but I don’t know why.”
He looked at her with sympathy. Not pity. Those were two different states. He blew out a long breath. “Grieving parents sometimes think a lawsuit will bring justice. Then they realize it won’t, because justice would be their child restored to them. I think Cal didn’t want to ruin you and your mother, given what you’d already been through with your father’s passing. It wouldn’t have brought David back.”
“I wondered if it wasn’t because there was some history between Cal and my mom. Like, you know”—she let the pause carry a weight—“an affair.”
“I certainly couldn’t say.” His gaze was steady on her. “I need to get home to my family now.”
“Because my family had a note, too. One David wrote to me, expressing that he was in danger on the day he died. I haven’t had it analyzed.” She made dramatic little air quotes around the last word. “But maybe the Halls didn’t really want the world to know that David was in a serious bit of trouble. Maybe my mom told Mr. Hall, and you, that note existed and that’s why he dropped the lawsuit. Could you nod yes or shake your head no?”
He was still. Then he said, “Such a note, if it existed, would have had limited legal value. It would have been hard to enter into evidence.”
She gave a ragged, soft sigh. “See, Mr. Evander, it’s a little disconcerting to know my own mother had physical evidence that could have, you know, maybe not cleared my name but it could have made all of my friends hate me a little less or even a lot less”—here her voice broke—“and she didn’t let the world know about it. I’m thinking the only reason she didn’t is because there was a deal. A trade-off. No lawsuit, no note.” She crossed her arms.
“You really should ask your mother, Jane.”
“She won’t tell me. And I don’t have a whole lot of peace of mind, but I would like to know the answer to this. I’m not going to do anything with it, except know it. If you can tell me. Ethically.”
“I cannot say.” He cleared his throat. “I could say that your mother met with Cal Hall in this parking lot before he came in to meet with me. I could see them from my office window. There was a discussion. She left. Cal stood for a long time in that lot, then he came in to meet with me. That was the same afternoon Cal dropped the lawsuit. Make of that what you will.”
There was a relief in knowing. “One other question. Randy Franklin. Is he the type of man to investigate someone without a client?”
“You mean just snoop?”
Jane nodded. “In hopes of finding compromising information.”
“Are you asking me if he’s a blackmailer?”
“I don’t know what to call it. He might call it insurance.”
“Then I would guess that the rumor he has some dangerous clients is true and you should stay away from him. Just a guess.”
“Thank you, Mr. Evander. Have a nice evening with your family.”
“You’re welcome, Jane. I hope life improves for you soon.”
It was an odd parting wish.
Kip Evander got into his BMW sedan, started it up, and drove away from her in the lot, never looking back at her.
She decided she needed to get home. She had a party to crash.
38
PERRI HAD NEARLY dozed off in the car when knuckles rapped hard against the driver’s-side window.
Shiloh Rooke.
“You here to burn down my house?” he drawled.
“No,” she said, rallying herself awake. “I tried your doorbell and you weren’t home. So I waited. May we talk?”
“What do you want?”
“I want to convince you I’m not the bad guy here. I’m not this Liv Danger.”