Page 83 of No One Can Know

She couldn’t help the diseased laugh that emerged from her lips. “Not remotely, but I don’tthinkthey’ve gotten much worse,” she told him. “I talked to Hadley.”

“Is that a good idea?” Gabriel asked.

“Probably not,” she admitted. She scraped her hair back from her forehead. “Nathan called Ellis the night he died, right before he called Addison. He said he found something that had to do with my parents’ death.”

“The flash drive,” Gabriel supplied.

“The only thing I can think, the only thing that makes sense, is that it had evidence on it,” Emma said. “My mom had it, and I know she told Chris she had something on my dad. Which your dad knew about, too.”

Gabriel’s hands were in his pockets, his stance seemingly relaxed, but his eyes were hard. “Emma. We know my dad came back right around when your parents died. He hated your dad. Had some choice words for your mom, too,” Gabriel said. “He had a temper. A violentone, sometimes, when he was drunk. Which he usually was. If he killed your parents…”

“We don’t know that,” Emma said. “We don’t know anything for sure.”

“We should talk to Lorelei.”

Emma hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“He might have told her something, when he came back. She might not have realized it was important. Just don’t tell her that he might have…” He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

She thought suddenly and vividly of the portrait she had painted of him all those years ago. The question on his lips; the weight of responsibility already in his gaze; the raw youth of him. She wished she could paint him again the way he was now. Those two paintings, side by side—

But of course, there was no painting of Gabriel at twenty-one any longer. And she hadn’t put a brush to canvas in over a decade.

He gestured toward the back of the house, beckoning her to follow him.

The garden out front was orderly and formal, but out back Lorelei had always let things run a bit wild. Ivy snaked along the fence, sweet peas clambered up trellises, daylilies jostled with peonies for space. Lorelei sat on a cushioned bench out back with a sun hat on, squinting at a text on her phone.

“Your cousin is attempting to communicate with me through a strange runic language,” she said as Gabriel stepped out.

“Those are emojis, Nana,” Gabriel said.

“I’m aware of that. I’m not stupid, just old. It doesn’t change the fact that it’s gobbledygook,” Lorelei said. Her eyes tracked to Emma. “Emma. Goodness, you look terrible.”

Emma darted a look at Gabriel. His expression flickered with brief embarrassment, which she took to mean he’d thought the same thing, just hadn’t said it out loud. “It’s been kind of a terrible week,” Emma said.

“Gabriel’s been keeping me apprised,” Lorelei said. Her lips pursed. “I’ve made it clear that I don’t think it’s a good idea for either one of you to be spending time together right now, but you’re grown adults and I can’t control you. Now, I assume you didn’t come over to admire my garden, Emma Palmer.” Emma thought she detected a hint of a warning in those words.

“She wants to talk about Dad,” Gabriel said. Lorelei’s brows rose.

“Seems like you’ve been very interested in my son lately,” she said.

Emma shifted uncomfortably. “Kenneth was right. My dad was involved in some really bad stuff. And I’ve been wondering if it had something to do with why my parents were killed.”

Lorelei sighed. “If I’m going to talk about this, I’m not doing it craning my neck. Get us a couple of chairs, Gabriel,” she commanded. Gabriel ducked his head and emerged a few minutes later with two light kitchen chairs, which he positioned on the back deck so they could face each other. Emma sat at the edge of her seat, not wanting to look like she was settling in.

“Your grandfather, he was a stern man, but fair,” Lorelei said, looking off into the distance. “Hard, but not cruel.”

“I don’t really have fond memories of my grandfather,” Emma said. “I don’t think he knew what to do with three granddaughters. He gave us presents. Pink, frilly things he thought girls must like.” His wife had died young—when her father was a child. Her grandfather had raised her father on his own. Their relationship had always seemed more like that of an employer and employee, or maybe a senior officer and one of his men, than a father and son.

“I don’t think that every child needs one father and one mother to come out right, but they do need love. And your grandfather, whatever his skills, had no idea how to show that,” Lorelei said. “In any case, I don’t have to tell you who your father was.”

Emma nodded mutely, and Loreleihmm-ed.

“Kenneth and your father were in school together. Them and Rick Hadley, and that other young man—your lawyer.”

“Christopher Best,” Emma supplied.

“Now, he couldn’t draw a stick figure to save his life, but anyone could see he was the smartest out of the four of them. Kenneth was the clown of the group.”

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