And he wasn’t afraid to call me out on my bullshit when necessary.
Like he did yesterday.
“I broke things off with her,” I finally admitted as I pressed the button on the coffee maker and it whirred to life, the nutty aroma surrounding me.
“You did?” His eyes widened.
“You were right. She doesn’t deserve this.”
I didn’t tell him she figured out the truth, but instead of admitting it, I put the blame on her, making her out to be a woman still in love with a ghost.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to confess what I’d done, the guilt still weighing me down. Especially every time I closed my eyes and saw Imogene’s bewildered expression in the seconds before I stormed out of her bedroom. Not to mention the hurt in her eyes as she examined my body, finding the same burn marks as Samuel.
As me.
“That couldn’t have been easy,” Henry offered sympathetically. “You care about her, whether as the man you once were or the man you are now. I’m glad you finally saw the harm you’d continue to cause her.”
I didn’t respond, taking a sip of my coffee and trying to push thoughts of Imogene out of my mind.
“What kept you up all night?” I cleared my throat, needing to change the subject.
He studied me for a beat, but thankfully didn’t press any further about Imogene. “Follow me.”
He headed out of the kitchen and down the corridor leading to his office, the evidence of his all-nighter scattered on the desk in the form of discarded coffee mugs and dirty dishes.
“Remember how James kept looking at his phone today? Or yesterday,” he corrected.
“Sure.” I scrunched my brows, wondering why he thought that odd. “I figured he was just searching for any potential public relations backlash over Alton’s death.”
“I thought so, too. But I never like to assume anything, especially where these assholes are concerned.”
“You have a point there.”
After all, I’d assumed these men were my friends, only for Liam to stab me in the back.
Or, more accurately, shoot me in my abdomen.
“I did some digging and was able to access James’ phone records.”
“I’m not sure I want to know how you did that.” I laughed under my breath.
It was one thing to access a random citizen’s call log. It was another to access that of a United States Senator.
“You don’t.” His lips turned up into a conniving grin, reminding me why I was glad to have Henry on my side. “He made about a dozen calls to the same number in half as many hours. And these calls didn’t start until he was notified of the somewhat surprising evidence found at Alton’s cabin.”
“Who was he calling?”
“The number was untraceable, but lucky for us, James has never been a patient man. Or all that smart. After not getting an answer for the tenth or eleventh time, he made another call. This one to a number that is traceable. Hell, it’s more than just traceable. It’s searchable on the internet.” He typed on his keyboard, and the webpage for a funeral home in Atlanta popped up.
I stared at it for several long moments, my mind spinning. “Maybe he’s planning Alton’s memorial. He did get his start in Atlanta.” I swallowed hard. “We all did.”
“That doesn’t explain the incessant calls he made whenever Liam was out of the room. Which is why I decided to do some digging.”
“I figured you would.”
“The owner of this funeral home is a man by the name of Brian McGuire. He’s been a licensed funeral director for the past fifteen years. But for the ten years before getting his degree in mortuary science, he worked for a company called Aftermath Cleaning.”
His fingers flew over the keyboard once more, and another website popped up on the monitor. But unlike I initially assumed, this wasn’t a normal in-home cleaning service. Their specialty was crime scene cleanup.