Page 50 of One Last Goodbye

He laughs at his joke, and to my utter amazement, Catherine does too. Even the children smile. Catherine looks at her son and daughter, and a wave of love that I haven’t seen since meeting her crosses her face.

I feel sorry for her. I’ve judged her too harshly, it seems. She does love her children. I don’t think she loved her husband at all, but now that I know about Hugo’s gambling debts, I amconvinced that he acted alone in Frederick’s murder. I am about to take away the man she truly loves, and whatever fantasy she has of a future with him will be dashed. I can only hope that her relationship with her children continues to strengthen and that she finds happiness with them.

Thomas cheers when the door opens, and Sophie brings out the first breakfast plates.

“These are for the children,” she scolds. “Keep your paws off.”

“I’m glad you said something,” he teases, “because I was just about to scoop a fistful of scrambled eggs up with my bare hands off of a teenager’s plate.”

She slaps him playfully on the shoulder, much to Olivia’s and Ethan’s delight. Hugo and Catherine share a smile, and I feel a rush of conflicting emotions. Disgust for Hugo—and a little for Catherine. Sorrow for the pain the children will feel when they learn that their mother’s lover is responsible for their father’s death.

Mostly, though, I feel a righteous anger on Frederick's behalf. The children haven't done anything wrong, but it's still the morning after their father's memorial, and they're laughing and joking as though they've already moved on. His wife is beaming at his killer, and his best friend is ready to throw up his hands and abandon the family to their fate because he can’t handle the drama.

This is why I fight for the victims. This is why I don't let these cases go. This is why I meddle. Someone has to care about the victims. It has to matter to someone that they are denied justice and that someone is me.

But I must be shrewd. I can’t accuse him now. I can’t count on anyone’s support. Perhaps Thomas, but he would want proof before he restrained Hugo.

That’s what I’ll have Sean do. Even if he’s stuck in Boston, he can look into Hugo’s financial records. If he finds proof that Frederick has been supporting him, then that is evidence I can bring to Dubois. It’s not everything I need, but I am nearly resigned to the fact that I will probably not have an ironclad case this time around. It’s time to—as Sean would put it—let the professionals handle this.

I check my emails surreptitiously and find a response from Sean.Stuck at airport. No cars or trains until the storm passes. Might be able to call later, though.

I close my phone and enjoy my breakfast. I keep a cordial attitude with Hugo, but inwardly, I await the moment when I can finally expose him and bring him to justice.

“Mary?”

Hugo’s voice startles me, and I spill my coffee. Everyone laughs, and I redden a little, far angrier that my discomfiture comes at a murderer’s expense and not someone else’s. I hide it well, though.

“Sorry about that,” he says with an easy grin that I want to tear off of his face. “I was only going to say that Catherine, the children and I are going to watch movies in the theater until the storm passes. I’ve secured Catherine’s permission to allow R-rated movies in spite of Ethan’s tender age, so if you’d like to join us, I can promise more fulfilling entertainment than superhero movies.”

“Superhero movies are very entertaining,” Ethan challenges.

“Hugo’s just upset that he doesn’t look like Thor,” Olivia adds with a grin.

“Thor, if you must know, was a fat, bearded man most famous for getting drunk and annoying all of the other Norse gods,” Hugo retorts.

“Maybe we should let Mary pick the first movie,” Catherine says.

“Perhaps I’ll pick the second,” I reply. “I have some personal errands to attend to. I’ll join you after the first one.”

Hugo shrugs. “As you wish. What about you, Thomas?”

“Errands too,” Thomas says. “Business, not personal in my case. I’m afraid there’s a lack of solid leadership in the front office right now.” He smiles grimly. “I suppose that will fall to me until the board decides to name a new figurehead.”

“Careful,” Hugo warns. “They might name you.”

“Now why would you wish that on me?” Thomas retorts.

The rest of breakfast continues in this playful vein. I do my part, but I am impatient for the meal to end and the others to disperse. When they finally do, I practically rush to my room. My phone says I have connection, so I dial Sean’s number and pray that he answers.

“I meant thatIwould callyou,” he says grouchily, “but I can’t sleep on these damned benches anyway, so we might as well talk. I hope you’re truly prepared to pay my expenses, because it’s going to be at least three days before they can let anyone leave the airport. This isn’t just a snowstorm, this is a blizzard of the century. I can’t even get a car.”

“If you help me solve this murder, I will pay you whatever you ask.”

“Well, I can do just about half of what I could have done if I were still in Boston and about a tenth of what I could do if I were back home in Dublin.”

“Can you look into Hugo Van Doren’s financial history?”

He hesitates for a moment. “I suppose so. Do you think Catherine paid him to kill Frederick?”

---