Page 3 of Quiet Beautiful Things

I scan the card. “A private investigator?” My eyebrows shoot up. “Am I being investigated?”

“Perhaps we should talk inside.” She glances into my trunk. “How about I help you with these bags?”

Refusing her help, I string the lot of them up both my arms. “Follow me,” I say, reluctantly, wanting to tell her to get off my property, but at the same time, curious over why she’s here.

She shuts my trunk and we head inside. I drop the bags on the counter and shove the cold food away in the refrigerator. Then I lean against the bar. “I’d offer you a cup of coffee, but at this point, I’m not sure if you’re friend or foe. Mind telling me what this is about?” I nod to the front door. “And will your friend be joining us?”

“That depends,” she says.

“On what?”

She walks behind one of the chairs at my kitchen table. “May I?”

I hold out my hand in a be-my-guest gesture. “Sure, why not.”

I remain standing, trying to deduce what a private investigator could want with me. For a moment, I wonder if it has anything to do with Phoebe’s and DJ’s deaths a few years back. But it was evident Dallas’s wife and son were killed in a carbon monoxide accident, so that wouldn’t make sense.

“Mr. Montana, does the name Lucinda Wilcox mean anything to you?”

I narrow my eyes and nod. “Lucinda. Yeah, she was at NYU when I was an undergrad.”

“You knew her well then?”

“I wouldn’t say well. We went out a few times. But her name, it’s unique enough that I’d remember it.”

“Youwent outa few times? Can you elaborate?”

I pull out a chair and sit. “Oh, shit. Is she dead? Was she… murdered? Listen, I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen her in five years.”

“She’s not dead, Mr. Montana.”

“My dad is Mr. Montana. You can call me Blake. And if she’s not dead, would you mind getting to the point, Ms. Nelson?”

“Trish, please.” She places her hands on the table. “This is the awkward and typically shocking part where I tell you I’ve been hired to find the father of Miss Wilcox’s child.”

My eyes bug out and my stomach clenches. “Ah, damn. Really?”

“Before I go much further, you should know you’re one of eight men who could be the potential father.”

“Eight?” I scrub a hand across my jaw. “Jesus.” A thought occurs. “Did she find out who my family is and decide I’d be a good meal ticket?”

She shakes her head. “It’s not Lucinda who hired me. It’s her parents.”

“I’m confused.”

“Honestly, Blake, I would be too were I in your position. I’m not at liberty to say much until the identity of the fatheris confirmed. Except I’ll tell you the child is in danger of being placed in a foster home. In an attempt to avoid that, the Wilcoxes gave me full access to their daughter’s phone and social media accounts. Through those, I was able to identify eight men she may have had relations with during the period in question. You are the sixth one I’ve been able to track down.”

“What happened with the other five?”

“Three refused to take a paternity test. Two complied but have been ruled out as the father. I’m still working on locating the other two.”

“You want me to take a paternity test?”

She motions to the front door. “I have a home health professional with me. All it involves is a swab of your cheek. The Wilcoxes have paid for expedited results which we should have within a week.”

“Three others refused?”

She nods. “You have every right to refuse. However, if the father can’t be identified based on those who volunteer, the Wilcoxes will seek court orders requiring you and the others to take one.”

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