Page 54 of Little Stolen Memories

“I didn’t know about your wife,” I said. “Did she die after being hit by a drunk driver?”

“Sure did.” He bent his head toward the leaf-shaped tray. “My wife had a pottery studio. Made all kinds of things. Sold them at craft festivals. People came from all over America to buy the things she made.”

“I’m sorry about what happened to her,” I said.

“Yeah, me too. Feel lost without her, you know? She was the glue, the one person who made everything okay in this life. And she was a far better parent than I’ll ever be to our daughter, Lila. I’m doing my best, but most of the time, I feel like I’m treading water, like I’m not doing a good enough job. Nothing I’ll ever do can compare to how good of a parent my wife was when she was alive.”

What he’d just said spoke volumes about him as a person, and I found myself seeing him in a different light. He loved his wife, and he loved his daughter.

But time had a way of changing people.

Had it changed him too?

“The best parents I know feel the same way you’re feeling now,” I said. “I like to think it makes them better parents. Not because they’re perfect, but because they care enough to be better, the best version of themselves for their children.”

“I do the best I can.”

I crossed a leg over the other and said, “If you don’t mind me asking, how is your daughter coping with the loss of her mother?”

Xander blew out a long, heavy breath. “As best as she can. She’s quiet, doesn’t say a lot.”

“Was she always quiet?”

“Lila was a ball of wild energy before my wife passed away.”

“Perhaps she needs time to process what happened.”

“I get the impression you’re speaking from experience.”

“My niece lost her father a few years ago. She was seven at the time.”

Xander raised a brow. “How’s she doing now?”

“Better. Therapy helped her get through it. Do you have any help or support system around?”

“My brother is going through a divorce. I told him he could move in with us. Lila’s always been close to him, so having him here has been a positive change in her life.”

As he was talking, another man entered the room. He was dressed like Xander in a white T-shirt and black pants, but he was slenderer in build. In his hand he held a sandwich wrapped inside a paper towel. He looked at Xander and said, “Here’s the sandwich you asked me to make for?—”

The man’s attention shifted from Xander to me, and then he said, “Oh, hello.”

“Hello,” I said.

“This is my brother, Marcus, the one I was telling you about,” Xander said.

I introduced myself and explained the reason why I was there.

Marcus nodded and sat in a chair next to his brother, running a hand through his thick, black hair as he said, “I’ve often wondered if the investigation would ever start up again. Shame it was never solved.”

“Giorgiana’s confident she’ll find the person who’s responsible for the murders this time around,” Xander said.

“Don’t see why not,” Marcus said. “You ever seen Cold Case Files on TV? Been off the air for a while now, but it’s fascinating stuff. With all the advances in forensics, I bet a lot of cold cases could be solved. You been a private eye for a while?”

“I’ve been in law enforcement for a long time. I used to be a detective for the San Luis Obispo Police Department. I left the position a few years back and opened my own private investigation agency with a couple of friends. They’re also former detectives.”

“What made you decide to look into the case?” Marcus asked.

“I was hired.”

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