Page 68 of Little Stolen Memories

“No,” I said.

“Then why are you asking about it?”

“When I was at the office earlier, I was talking to Simone, and she said?—”

Harvey’s eyes lit up, and he held up a hand. “Sorry to interrupt. Now that I’m thinking about it, I seem to remember Owen’s mother mentioning a chain her son always wore. She thought he may have been wearing it the day he died, but she wasn’t sure. A small detail, of course. Still, I was sure I mentioned it somewhere in my notes.”

Except he hadn’t.

The sliding glass door slid open, and my mother stuck her head out, eyeing the three of us with curiosity. “You three had better not be talking about the investigation without me. You aren’t, are you?”

I wasn’t about to admit what we’d been discussing, so I kept quiet.

Whitlock, on the other hand, piped up with, “We’ve been waiting for Georgiana to tell us about her day. I thought we could all discuss it over dinner. The aroma coming from the kitchen is divine, I might add. Whatever feast you’ve prepared for us, I’m sure it will be wonderful.”

His clever, complimentary response skirted the issue at hand, flattering her in a way that seemed to satisfy her concerns.

“I’ve cooked a pot roast,” my mother said. “And I cooked up some roast potatoes, just the way you like them, Georgiana.”

“I appreciate it, Mom,” I said.

“And I’d appreciate seeing my daughter’s beautiful face more often.” She shot me a wink and added, “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”

She pulled the sliding glass door closed, humming, as she disappeared inside the house.

Whitlock crossed one leg over the other, offering a peek at the colorful bright blue socks he was wearing. He leaned closer to me and whispered, “All right, there’s no way you’d mention a gold chain without a good reason, so let’s hear it.”

“As I’d started to say before, I caught up with Simone earlier about her visits with the teens’ parents,” I said.

“Who has she talked to so far?”

“She’s visited with Owen and Jackson’s parents. Owen’s mother offered to show her his bedroom. It’s remained untouched since his death. There was a corkboard on the wall with photos. In one of them, the boys were standing next to each other, wearing the gold chains they’d been given by their coach.”

Harvey leaned back in his chair, staring through the kitchen window.

He looked nervous.

“Do you think we should wait to talk about this at dinner?” Harvey asked. “Happy wife, happy life, and all that.”

Whitlock elbowed Harvey. “Oh, don’t be such a ninny. I’m sure Georgiana has plenty more to say about her day, which we’ll discuss over dinner. Let’s finish the topic at hand and save the rest for the dinner table. Deal?”

Although hesitant, Harvey nodded, saying, “Keep going, Gigi. What are you thinking?”

“If the boys wore the gold chains all the time, it’s reasonable to assume they had them around their necks the night they died. And yet, they aren’t in any of the crime scene photos.”

“Maybe the killer took them as a memento,” Whitlock said. “A token of his crime to help him relive that night.”

I wasn’t so sure.

“I think we’re dealing with a different type of killer,” I said. “The man hasn’t murdered again in two decades.”

“That we know of,” Harvey said. “He could have moved, picked up where he left off in a new location.”

“I have a theory about the gold chains,” I said. “If he took them, I believe it was to prove a point. The chains gave the boys status. They were only given to the star football players. Strip them of the chains, you strip them of their status, making them appear no different than anyone else.”

My mother knocked on the glass door, waving us inside. As we stood up, I turned to Harvey and said, “Hey, have you had a chance to talk to her about how you’ve been feeling?”

“I … ahh … I, well?—”

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