“So . . . How’s Desert Oaks?”
“It’s okay,” she admits grudgingly. “They’re awful strict, though.”
“You’re surprised?”
“No, I guess not. But does the FBI need me there? I could come. I could—”
“No, you need to stay in rehab. You’re still detoxing, Mom. You won’t be credible as a heroin addict and you need to be credible. For Dad.”
“Yes. Of course. I just . . . I want to help.”
“I’m sure they’ll want to come out to speak to you at some point.”
“I’ll tell them everything I remember.”
Everything you should have told them fourteen years ago, that bitter voice inside my head chirps. I push it aside. What’s done is done.
“Oh! I remembered something! That’s what I wanted to tell you. About that guy who broke into the house. I mean, it’s not really anything, but I thought you should know. It probably won’t help—”
“What is it?”
“The man, he was wearing that awful cologne that some of the customers at Aunt Chilada’s used to wear. It’s called Brut, I think. And he wore so much of it, like he spilled a bottle on his clothes.”
Familiarity washes over me.
“I don’t know if it helps, but—”
“It does help. Call me if you remember anything else.”
Kristian’s curious gaze flickers to me.
“Any news on Betsy?” She sounds hopeful.
“Not yet, but they’re looking. We’ll find her soon.” I sound more hopeful than I feel. But that’s what my mother needs—hope.
“How’s Noah, by the way?”
“He’s good.” I think. I can see him through the glass, his elbows resting on his knees, talking to his uncle. His expression heavy. “Listen, the FBI agent is here to talk to me. I’ve got to go.”
“Okay.” There’s a pause. “I love you, Grace.”
My voice gets caught in my throat. It’s been so long since she’s said those words out loud. Years. Long enough that I was sure she’d forgotten their meaning.
I don’t know how to accept them yet.
“I’ll phone when I know more.” I end the call and look to Kristian, who’s pretending to study the gate that leads out the back of the property, to the treed park directly behind us. The one that we think Stapley used to make a quick escape. “Did you need something? Or do you just like to listen in on personal calls?” I mentally scold myself for being snarky with him. Kristian is one of the good guys, even if he can be a real ass.
If my tone bothers him, he doesn’t let on, leaning down to put his cigarette out on a stone. “I actually do like listening in on personal calls. You learn a lot.”
“And what did you learn just now?”
“Nothing I didn’t already know.”
I roll my eyes as he settles down onto the end of my lounge chair without asking. “How is she?” His voice is suddenly soft with sympathy.
“A thousand times better than when you saw her last.”
“Yeah, she was . . . not good.” He has a square jaw and it tenses now as his thoughts drift somewhere. To my mother, perhaps, a collection of frail bones lying in that hospital bed, barely lucid. Probably raving mad. “So what did she remember about that night?”
I tell him about the cologne. “I don’t think it was Stapley who broke in and threatened her. I’m betting it was Mantis.”
“Maybe. I had a headache by the time I left the interrogation room today.” So casual, so unfazed by everything. He nods toward the kitchen. “Wasn’t that something, back there?”
“That’s a loaded question if I’ve ever heard one.”
He purses his lips, as if considering his words. “Stapley and Mantis are trying to set Jackie up to take the fall for your dad.”
“Didn’t we already come to that conclusion?”
“They named her today. In the interview. Similar stories, about Jackie and Abe having a huge fight. Apparently Abe had something on her. They didn’t know what, but they got the impression it was big. Something that could get her into a lot of trouble.”
“My mother said as much.” About the huge fight, anyway. “So what are you saying? That Jackie had motive to kill my father?”
“That’s what they made it out to sound like.” Klein’s eyes wander over the pool, stalling at the planter sitting at the bottom. The pool guy never did make it back to clean it this afternoon, what with the FBI crawling all over the house.
“Then why didn’t that come up in their investigation, seeing as they were the special investigators for his death?”
“My thoughts exactly.” Kristian smiles knowingly. “They also said that Jackie was there, at The Lucky Nine, the night your dad died.”
“So what if she was? We know they’re guilty. Jackie didn’t kill my father.” I can’t believe I’m actually defending that woman.
“I think they’re both guilty,” Kristian agrees. “But that doesn’t mean Jackie isn’t, too.”
I steal another glance at Noah, his face drawn and serious as his uncle chatters on, likely giving him grief. Hopefully giving a valid explanation for his silence about the video all these years. Silas has been nothing but helpful since he charged through the front door today, even if that help was uninvited and unwanted by the likes of Kristian.
Still, I don’t know how I feel about Silas. He unsettles me. It’s probably because from the moment I met him at the DA’s office, I knew he wasn’t happy about me being in Texas. That usually makes for bad first impressions.
Maybe, once this case is resolved, I’ll get a chance to see another side of him, the side that Noah knows, trusts, and loves.
“If we hadn’t found those drops of blood, would Stapley have gotten away with this?”
“Probably. And it wouldn’t have looked good for Jackie, having Wilkes’s gun locked up in her safe. You don’t mind, do you?” Kristian slides another cigarette out of his pocket and lights it before getting my answer.
He can smoke a crack pipe for all I care, as long I’m getting information from him about my father’s case.
“Did you find anything in that motel room yet?” I ask, changing gears.
“Dried blood behind the strips of wallpaper, like I expected. We’ll have to test it. See if we can get a match. Thanks for that, by the way.” He nods to my arm, where a specialist drew blood earlier, at the FBI office. A familial sample to compare DNA markers against. The next best thing to having my dad’s blood, they said. I want to help, but still, it feels strange to know that federal agents now have my DNA on record.
“And if it does match?”
For the first time, Kristian’s face shows signs of concern, of doubt. “We have a long way to go before we have anything to tie a person to your father’s death, Grace. If we ever do.”
“I know that,” I admit grudgingly. I’ll never accept it, though.
His mood shifts again, and he’s back to his typical indifferent self. “Who knows, though? Mantis pulling you two over yesterday was one thing. But what Stapley did today was stupid and reckless, and that tells me he’s worried.” He studies the lit end of his cigarette for a long moment, the ember glowing like a firefly in the dusk. “I like it when guilty people are worried. They make a lot of fucking dumb mistakes, and that’s how I nail them.”
I hug myself against the evening chill. “At least now everyone thinks my dad was innocent.”
“Right . . . That was quite a show Canning put on.”
“It works for me. And for my dad.”
“It’ll probably work for Canning, too, that arrogant son of a bitch.”
Pot and kettle. “You still think he’s behind this?” Maybe my judgment is clouded by his words on the TV not long ago, by the way Canning seems so vested in clearing my father’s name, because I don’t see it.
“If I were him and I were involved in this? I’d be looking for a way to clear your dad’s name to get you off my back, while making sure someone other than my star guys take the fall. Someone who can’t defend themself anymore.”