Page 76 of Canvas of Lies
A nurse approached us and gave Hanson a meaningful look, but the detective held up a finger. “Just one last question, Ms. Willoughby. When’s the last time you saw your mother?”
Kat jerked as if struck. “My mother? I assume you don’t mean on television, Detective Hanson,” she said sharply, “so that’d be about seventeen years ago, when she left me with my father after the divorce.”
Hanson held up her hands in a gesture clearly meant to be soothing. “We just had to ask. They’re ready for you, Ms. Willoughby, if Mr. Beaumont will excuse us?”
Though I didn’t like the idea of her facing the task alone, Kat squeezed my arm and nodded.
“Let’s get this over with,” she said quietly.
Ford stayed behind with me, and though his questions led me to believe he suspected there was more to the situation thanwe were letting on, I was fairly certain they had nothing solid to connect us to any of it.
Unfortunately, that also meant he had no answers to any of the questions winging through my head.
I never expected to be grateful for our own terrifying accident, but if it kept us out of the limelight in what I expected might be a rather high-profile investigation into Aidan Willoughby’s death, maybe it was for the best.
Chapter Thirty-One
Kat
Followingthenursedowna quiet hallway, I stole a glance at Hanson and wondered why she’d asked about my mother. As far as I knew, the woman wasn’t even in the same state yet as her quest for publicity continued. A horrifying thought struck me so suddenly that I stopped in my tracks.
“Oh, Christ. Do I have to notify my mother?”
Hanson valiantly smothered a smile at the expression of dread on my face. “We can take care of that, if you’d like.”
“Yes, please. And then when you ask for a raise after having to deal with her, I’ll write you a letter of support.”
At that, Hanson laughed, but then the nurse opened the door to a silent room and all humor fled. I hesitated only for a heartbeat before walking toward the bed. My father had beenlarger than life, even just hours ago, but there on the bed, covered to the neck by a white sheet, he looked almost frail.
I felt Hanson’s gaze on me as I studied his peaceful expression. None of it made sense, but I didn’t think I had the energy to untangle the mess surrounding us right now, so I focused on the task at hand. Aside from an ugly bruise on his forehead, my father’s face was surprisingly unmarred.
I’d spent a lifetime already mourning his absence, and now the finality of it left me utterly empty.
“I don’t know what happens next,” I said softly. “I don’t even know if he wanted to be buried or cremated. How do you organize a funeral for someone you barely know?”
Hanson moved to stand beside me and looked down at my father’s body. “His lawyer might know. I’m sure he had a will drawn up, being a lawyer himself. Katherine—”
“Kat,” I interrupted. “No one calls me Katherine. Except him, I guess, and he’s gone.”
“Kat, then. You don’t have to worry about all of that just yet. Give yourself some time to process.”
This unexpected kindness from the stoic detective made my eyes burn. Though Hanson didn’t bring up the investigation, I understood what she wasn’t saying—this wasn’t over yet. The end of all of these machinations over the painting had seemed so close. Now it felt like we were staring down a long tunnel, one filled with shadows and hidden enemies.
“Do you think we’re in danger?” I asked, turning away from my father’s body to look up at her.
Hanson considered me for a long moment before responding. I was sure she knew there were things we weren’t sharing with the police, that much had been clear from our first meeting. If anything, it only seemed clearer now.
“If I knew the whole story, I could give you a better answer,” she replied finally. “Tell me what’s going on here, Kat, and we’ll find a way to help you. Without being able to see the whole picture, you’re making it very hard for us to assist in whatever way we can.”
Though I considered it, I couldn’t make that choice without consulting Nico. His hacking had definitely been beyond the bounds of the law, but if the packages hadn’t been delivered yet, that had no bearing on my father’s death. The rest of the saga was pretty much public knowledge at this point, down to the source of the leaked photos that had pressured my father into announcing the return of the painting to Nico. As far as the rest of the world knew, there was no forgery in existence.
“There’s nothing more to tell,” I replied wearily, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.
“You and I both know that’s not true, but since I don’t believe you or your boyfriend were involved in your father’s death, I’m going to let you go home. Get some rest, talk to Mr. Beaumont. We’re not the enemy here. We might be able to help you both, if you’d let us.”
I looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “I know. I appreciate everything you’re doing, Detective Hanson. I have your card if I think of anything more that might be of use.”
We walked back to the waiting room after one final glance at my father’s unusually peaceful expression. Nico stood as soon as he spotted us, drawing me into his arms when I approached. It boggled my mind just how much that contact settled me, inside and out. He was like a piece of my heart that slotted perfectly back into place whenever he was near.
