Page 89 of A Secret to Die For

“I’m afraid that’s not possible under the terms of our contract.”

Somehow, this nightmare got worse with every passing hour.

“Can’t you get rid of them?” I begged Luca.

“There’s nothing I can do as long as they stay off private property and don’t cause a public nuisance. I just spoke with Garrett, and he’s standing firm.”

Rich, powerful, privileged. This was what I was up against.

“Well, if you speak with him again, tell him I want to introduce his genitals to a chainsaw.”

Both men winced.

“And you…” I turned back to Jack Morrow. “You’re currently on private property, and you’re not welcome here.”

“Understood, ma’am. We’ll be outside if you need us.”

Once he’d retreated down the ramp, I took a bracing breath and parked my behind back on a stool. I couldn’t live like this.

“Ask the questions. Ask me anything you want. Just end this, one way or another.”

We started at the beginning. Before the beginning even, the way Blue had a month and a half ago. How I wished I could turn back the clock. Luca deferred to Blue on the questions, which was probably against police rules, but I felt much more comfortable talking with another woman. She got me to lie on the couch and close my eyes, and when I did that, I could almost imagine we were having a private conversation, just me and her.

“The accident happened in February, right? So let’s go back a little farther. Let’s think about Thanksgiving. Everyone remembers Thanksgiving, right?”

I did. We’d celebrated in Texas with the Colvins, over thirty of us seated at tables set out in a U-shape in Mike Colvin’s vast dining room. While we were waiting for dinner to cook, his daughter had taken us kids out to the barn to see the animals, and I’d sat on a big brown-and-white Quarter Horse while she led me around the riding arena. Madison had been there with Scooter running around her feet as usual. It had been a good day. The best day.

We’d flown back to Virginia soon after, and normal life resumed. Dancing for me, painting for Dad, and work, work, work for Mom. Yoga too. She used to get up early and go to yoga classes three mornings a week. Marcin had a birthday, and I’d been both excited for the party—his parents had hired acrobats—and nervous because now that he was ten, we’d have to move up an age category and all those couples were so much more experienced than we were. Mom and Dad had date night once a week, but sometimes in those final months, I recalled them skipping it. Dad had been…not angry, more disappointed.

But Mom had made up for the missed evenings after Christmas. In January, she was home almost every night. At the time, I’d been happy to see her, but now that I picked through memories I’d kept shuttered for years, I didn’t think she’d been happy. Mom and Dad didn’t yell or throw things, not the way Marcin’s parents had, but there was a weird tension.

“Your mom was upset, and yet she was spending more time at home?” Blue asked.

“Yes.”

“And that was before Senator Colvin passed away?”

“Before and after. He died in the middle of January, didn’t he? But I don’t recall her working late at all after Christmas.”

“Which suggests the problem was with work rather than your dad.”

“I guess. I only ever heard them have one proper shouting match, and that was after Mike Colvin’s funeral. Don’t ask me what it was about—all I could hear was muffled yelling coming from the kitchen.”

“Your mom went to pay her respects to Colvin?”

“Of course. Both of my parents went, and Marcin’s parents too. We stayed at his place with a babysitter.”

His babysitter had been nicer than mine. His babysitter helped us to make cookies and didn’t hump her boyfriend on the couch.

“How did your mom seem after Colvin died? Sad? Scared? Angry?”

“None of those. I think…I think…relieved? There was a phone call one evening, as I was about to go upstairs to bed. Mom slumped into an armchair and stared at the wall for a full minute. Just stared. Then Dad came in and asked what the matter was, and she said, ‘It’s over.’ That’s all. It’s over.”

“What was over?”

“His life, I guess. Her job. She wanted to move back to Texas, but Dad’s paintings were in a bunch of galleries in Virginia, and he wanted to stay. That was one of the things they fought about in our final month together.”

“One of the things? What were the others?”

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