Page 82 of Lethal Danger

“I’m investigating what happened to Sam, and I wondered if I could ask you a few quick questions?”

She glanced beyond the door, her gaze darting to her left, then right. “It’s not allowed.”

“Please, ma’am.” Hawthorne softened his voice. “I think Sam may not have gotten the justice he should have. I just want to hear a little bit about him from his mother, the woman who knew him best. And then I’ll leave as quick as I came.”

She watched him another few moments.

He waited, not looking away as he tried to interject the sincerity of his concern for Sam into his gaze.

“For a minute.” She pulled the door open wider and stepped back.

“Thank you.”

She closed the door behind him and stayed standing by it.

The interior of the condo looked almost exactly like the one he’d spent his awful teen years in, though newer and in better condition. Open floor plan with a living room and kitchen, and a closed door that probably led to a small restroom. A narrow staircase rose upward on the left, where it no doubt led to the second floor that housed two or three bedrooms and two bathrooms.

He squelched a shiver of repulsion as he halted his scan and brought his attention to Mrs. Ackerman. “I know you want me to be quick, so you’ll need to forgive the directness of my questions.”

Her gaze shifted away toward the kitchen. But she didn’t respond.

“Mrs. Ackerman, does your husband still live at Best Life?”

That brought her focus back to him. “No. He left right after…” Pain filled her eyes before she looked away again.

“Did he blame Best Life for what happened to Sam?”

She nodded, her lips pressing together as she stared in the direction of the wood-paneled floor. “He blamed everyone.” Her voice thickened with emotion. “Desmond, the fair, us.”

“Did you agree with him? Do you think Desmond Patch was to blame?”

Her head shot up, eyes widening. “No, of course not. Desmond always does what’s right for us. Including Sam.” Not a trace of doubt flickered in her gaze, despite how much Hawthorne wanted to see it there.

How were thinking adults so easily fooled by Patch and his philosophies? His empty promises and lies? Hawthorne would never understand it. Or maybe he did understand and didn’t like the answer.

Head in the game, Emerson. The reminder brought his mind back to the ticking clock, the seconds he’d probably have before this faithful BL member kicked him out. He couldn’t believe she was breaking the rules this long. Must be only for the sake of her dead son.

“I need to know about Sam that day. Before he went to the fair in the evening, was he acting normally? Or in the days before, were there any signs that he was nervous or scared? Had anyone been bothering him?”

“No.” She shook her head, then stopped and looked at Hawthorne. “You think someone killed him, don’t you?”

“The evidence is starting to suggest that’s a definite possibility.”

“You sound like my husband.”

“But I’m not angry, ma’am. I only want the truth and justice for Sam if the findings were wrong.”

“So you say.” There it was again. That suspicious glint in her eyes and set to her mouth. Why, Hawthorne wasn’t sure. She couldn’t know Hawthorne had any reason for a personal grudge against Patch and the cult.

“So there wasn’t anything strange in Sam’s behavior leading up to that night? Or anyone bothering him here at the commune?”

“No. I would have noticed if there had been.” She crossed her arms over her white robe, the collar pulling away to show a glimpse of the gray shirt all members wore underneath the robe. “We were very close.”

“I’m sure you were.” At least in her mind. Clearly, they hadn’t been as close as she thought or liked to pretend.

Sam had snuck out successfully and gotten drunk, doing who knew how many other things that were against cult rules and his mother’s wishes.

But Hawthorne would use the opening she’d given him. “Then I’m sure you must have known the name of the friend he was in contact with outside the cult.”

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