Patrick’s eyes widened, clearly surprised that his father had raised what was usually a taboo topic. “Well…yeah.”
He nodded and squeezed Patrick’s foot through the covers. “So let’s talk. What do you want to know?”
His son swallowed hard and wrinkled his nose reluctantly. “Um…how did she die?”
Peter inhaled deeply, determined to keep his voice steady and reassuring. “There were…complications when you were born. Internal bleeding that the doctor’s couldn’t stop.”
“Oh. Do you miss her?”
Peter squeezed the sports-print bedspread in his hands. “Every day. I wish you could have known her. She was terrific. Really fun, creative, loved to laugh.”
Patrick’s cheek twitched in a quick grin before sobering. His gaze dropped, and he stared at his hands.
“What is it, Patrick? You can talk to me about it. About anything.”
“Do you…” Patrick gulped a deep breath. “Do you blame me for her dying?”
Peter’s heart jolted. “What? No!”
Patrick’s chin quivered, and Peter felt himself starting to unravel. He scooped his son into a bear hug and crushed him to his chest. “No way, sport. Not one bit. I love you, and I thank God for you every day. Don’t ever forget that.”
“But she died because of me.” Patrick muttered, his voice tight with tears.
“No, she died because her iron was too low and they couldn’t stop the bleeding. That’s not your fault. No one blames you. No one. Especially not me.”
Patrick shuddered and sniffled, and Peter kissed his son on the top of his head. “What’s more…” He paused to gather his composure before finishing. “Your mom would have loved you as much as I do. More even. I have no doubt she is looking down from heaven and smiling because she is so proud of you.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Patrick wiggled free of Peter’s embrace and wiped his face on his pajama sleeve. “Dad, are you dating Ms. Navarre?”
Peter leaned back to get a better view of his son’s face. “Would it bother you if I was?”
Patrick groaned. “You’re not supposed to answer a question with a question!”
He grinned. “You’re right. And no, I’m not dating her. We had dinner the other night, but it was strictly business.”
“Business? With my teacher?” Patrick narrowed a skeptical glare on him. “Does that mean you were talking about me?”
“Part of the time. But she also helped interview someone for a case and dinner was my thank-you to her.” That much was mostly true.
But Peter heard Lisa’s voice in his head, urging him to be completely honest with Patrick.
“But, uh… I do like Ms. Navarre.”
Patrick tipped his head. “Just like, or like like?”
Peter chuckled. “I think she’s pretty and very nice, and I’d like to see her some more, be her friend. Would that bother you?”
Patrick’s grin spread. “That’d be okay. You can even date her if you want. I like her, too.”
Peter laughed. “Well, thanks. It’s good to have your permission.”
Patrick slid back down in his covers with a shrug, missing Peter’s sarcasm. “No problem.”
Ruffling his son’s hair, Peter rose from the bed and snapped off the bedside lamp. “Night, sport. Sleep well.” He turned at the door and added, “And anytime you want to talk about Mom or school or anything, you can come to me. Okay?”
“Okay. ’Night, Dad.”
Peter headed back to the living room, where he logged onto his computer to catch up on email correspondence and research for a couple cases he had pending. He was at the Montana state records website searching for documents regarding a client’s recent divorce when it occurred to him that he could look up May Masterson’s and Jeremy Colton’s birth certificates to see exactly when the young teens were born and if either certificate listed Mark Walsh as the father. His internet search led him to the usual red tape, but Peter hadn’t been a private investigator for seven years without learning a few tricks to get what he needed. A copy of the kids’ birth certificates should be on file with their official school records. If he could find a way to steal a peek…
Thoughts of the local schools brought him back to his dinner with Lisa. The pain in her eyes when she’d described her heartache over her broken marriage and her inability to have children gnawed at him. He couldn’t imagine his life without Patrick, and if he was honest, he’d always imagined that someday he’d have more kids. He’d come from a large family and wanted Patrick to know the joys of brothers and sisters.
But having more kids meant remarrying. Remarrying meant putting his heart on the line again. Getting involved with a woman meant he must overcome the icy ache deep in his bones when he remembered losing Katie. If he hadn’t been able to move past his loss in ten years, what chance did he have of ever putting his wife’s death behind him?
And yet…for a few hours Saturday night, Lisa had made him feel as if a future relationship might be possible. The chemistry was definitely there. He’d seen the same attraction burning in her gaze that had sizzled through him when they touched.
I can’t put myself through the heartache of another childless relationship.
Peter sighed and rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t push Lisa into a relationship she didn’t want, and belaboring the point tonight wouldn’t help him. He was better off concentrating on his caseload. And on his promise to Craig to find the link between the poisoning and his father’s murder.
Setting aside his circular thoughts concerning Lisa Navarre, Peter typed arsenic sources into the search engine and looked for something that he could use to prove the Coltons supplied Lester Atkins with the poison used to make Craig sick. Most of what he found he already knew—arsenic is used to make insecticides, fungicides and rodent killer, all of which could have been purchased in bulk from one of the many farm-and ranch-supply stores in the area. While the Coltons had access to these poisons, so did everyone else. Peter raised an eyebrow when he read that a large number of commercially raised chickens were fed a compound containing arsenic. He dismissed this as the source of Craig’s illness. Plenty of people ate chicken and didn’t wind up in the hospital from it. Craig’s poisoning had been deliberate and heavy-handed, intended to kill him.
By midnight, Peter’s vision was blurring from reading the small print of the web pages he’d searched and he hadn’t learned anything significant to help track down his father’s killer.
Shutting down his computer, he decided to pursue the trail of his father’s romantic liaisons in the morning. Perhaps someone in town could confirm whether Mark Walsh had gotten involved with Maisie Colton or Lily Masterson fifteen years ago.
As he turned off the lights and headed to bed, Peter recalled his trip to the library last weekend and Maisie’s tirade.
Your father sure didn’t care how many women he hurt, how many hearts he broke, how many lives he ruined! Did that number include Maisie?
Peter frowned as he climbed into bed. “Guess it is true—Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
But had his father’s scorn driven one of his women to murder?
The following week dragged for Peter. His cases felt more tedious than usual, and his attention drifted frequently to the unresolved murder of his father. By itself, his father’s murder would only be a general concern of wanting justice for his family. But the mounting evidence that Mark Walsh’s death had only been the first attack of many directed at his family made finding the person responsible an urgent matter for Peter, a sentiment Sheriff Colton didn’t seem to share.
He made a few casual inquiries around town with trusted friends regarding the possibility that his dad could have had a brief, contentious affair in 1995 with either Lily Masterson or Maisie Colton. His straw poll overwhelmingly favored Lily Masterson as the most likely candidate.
“Face it, Peter. Lily earned the reputation she had back then. She was a wildcat,”
his barber said as he trimmed Peter’s hair. “And Maisie? Well, the way she’s storming around town, complaining to anyone who’ll listen about the Dr. Sophie show not taking her calls, tells me she’s not involved with what happened to your dad. Why would she want to go on national TV and draw attention to herself if she were guilty? Don’t make sense.”
Peter scoffed. “Not much about Maisie Colton makes sense. Besides, have you seen Dr. Sophie’s show? Everyone who gets on there is airing their dirty laundry for fifteen minutes of fame.”
He was still musing over his barber’s comments, though, when he met his mother for lunch the next day at the Honey-B Café on Main Street. Jolene kissed his cheek before she settled in the booth across from him.
“Craig says hello. He’s feeling better every day. Stronger.”
Peter nodded. “Good. I plan on stopping by to see him later today. I haven’t made much progress connecting his poisoning to Dad’s murder or the attack on Mary, though.”
“Whoever did this had plenty of help. Or they had lots of time to plan and hide themselves under layers of false leads. Like Lester Atkins. Atkins may have had his own reasons to poison Craig, but I’m not convinced he acted alone. But why our family? What do they have to gain by attacking us?” Jolene rubbed the joints of her hand where the earliest stages of arthritis often gave her trouble. “Did you talk to Tess Cantrell?”
“I did.”
“And?”
Peter filled his mother in on the conversation with Tess about the volatile woman from Honey Creek Tess had mentioned. Jolene blanched and pressed a hand to her throat when Peter mentioned the mystery woman’s pregnancy.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”
Jolene waved him off. “Please. I’m past the days where your father’s sins can hurt me anymore. I’m just startled. That’s all. Something that big would be hard to keep a secret.” She paused and tapped her fingernails on her coffee mug. “Unless…”
Peter leaned forward. “Yeah?”
“Well, in my day, when a girl got pregnant out of wedlock, the family sent her away to stay with family or stay at a special home for young mothers until the baby came. Maybe this girl left town.”
Peter picked up his sandwich, took a big bite and chewed slowly as he thought. “Lily Masterson left Honey Creek back then.”
“Hmm…yes. But so did Maisie.”
Peter froze. “She did?”
Jolene’s gaze drifted away as she tried to recall the specifics. “I think it was just before your dad disappeared. Or was it after? I know it was around then….”
Peter flashed to the newspaper columns he’d scanned through at the library concerning the Coltons. One of the headlines had been about Maisie taking an extended vacation. Ice seeped through his veins.
“Could it have been Maisie Colton, Mom? Could Dad have had a secret affair with the Colton princess and gotten her pregnant? I thought Dad hated the Coltons. All of them.”
“It is certainly possible. And if he did, and if Darius found out Mark had gotten his daughter pregnant? Well…” Jolene tipped her head, her eyebrows lifted, as if to say, “You fill in the blanks.”
“Wouldn’t have to have been Darius. Her brothers might not have taken too kindly to someone Dad’s age messing with their sister. Don’t think I haven’t noticed Craig’s poisoning and the attack on Mary both happened right after Damien was released from prison. Don’t you think he’s got a grudge to settle with us?” Peter fisted his hand and banged it on the table. “So once again we’re back to the Coltons. They seem to be the center of everything in this investigation.”
Jolene furrowed her brow and fiddled with her coffee mug. “I know it seems that way to you, but I still think you’re focusing on them for personal reasons. Your dad was involved with plenty of other people through his business, his civic groups…his affairs.” Jolene splayed her hand on the tabletop and leaned toward Peter. “Honey, I’m worried about you digging into this too deeply. I know you’re trying to help Craig find the person who poisoned him, and tie it all to a bigger conspiracy but…I talked to Mary on Sunday and—”
Peter grunted and looked away. “I know where this is going.”
“Peter, your sister’s life was threatened when she and Jake dug into your dad’s business. She’s worried about you, worried you’ll provoke the wrong people and get hurt. And frankly, I’m worried too. Maybe the time has come to let the matter go and—”
“I can’t do that, Mom. Someone is coming after my family. Dad, then Mary, then Craig…I can’t sit back and do nothing.” Peter tossed enough money on the table to cover their tab and a generous tip. “I have to go. I’m testifying in a personal-injury lawsuit for a client this afternoon. And if I finish at court early enough, I’m going to try to track down proof that Dad is the father of Maisie Colton’s son, Jeremy. I know a Colton killed Dad. I just have to figure out which Colton.”
Chapter 8
B y Thursday afternoon, Peter had grown restless. He was tired of waiting for Saturday to arrive so he could see Lisa at the school’s Fall Festival.
As he drove home from Billings, where he’d met with a new client regarding a private search for the woman’s missing adult daughter, he had time to think. Two topics stuck center-most in his mind. The questions that still swirled around the attacks on his family…and Lisa Navarre. He couldn’t do much more today to resolve the former, but seeing the damage to the trees and buildings on the outskirts of Honey Creek as he pulled back into town reminded him of his promise to fix Lisa’s house.
Peter flipped his wrist to check his watch. School would be dismissing in ten minutes. He could pick Patrick up, stop by the hardware store and be at Lisa’s house by four o’clock. He’d have about an hour of daylight to replace the roof shingles. A spotlight would be sufficient light to replace her broken window.
His anticipation ramped up as he headed for the elementary school. Once in the carpool line, Peter phoned his mother to let her know her babysitting services were not needed that afternoon. When the last bell rang and kids disgorged from the school, Peter stood beside his truck and scanned the mob of children for Patrick’s blue coat and red knit hat. When his son scurried past him, making a beeline for the bus, Peter placed his finger and thumb in his mouth and whistled loudly. “Patrick!”
Stumbling to a stop, Patrick turned toward his father, then trotted over. Instead of the excitement of surprise Peter expected to see, Patrick’s face was pale and wary as he approached.
“Dad, wh-what are you doing here?”
“Do I need a reason to pick you up?” Peter put a hand on Patrick’s back and ushered him to the passenger’s side.
“Is something wrong? Did something else bad happen?” Patrick’s voice cracked.
Peter’s breath caught. He mentally replayed the past several months, realizing the only times he’d picked Patrick up from school had been when Craig had been poisoned and when Mary had been attacked. “I…no. Nothing bad has happened, sport. I promise. I was just on my way into town from a business trip, and I thought we’d stop by the hardware store together then head over to Ms. Navarre’s house to help her with some repairs.” He took Patrick’s backpack from him as his son climbed onto the front seat. “Does that sound okay to you? I can call Grandma back if you’d rather go home.”
Patrick gave him a leery look. “You’re sure nothing’s wrong? I’m not in trouble?”
Peter smiled and hoisted his son’s backpack into the back of the truck. “I’m sure.”
But Patrick’s wary concern niggled Peter all the way to the hardware store. He recalled Lisa’s advice about being honest with his son about all the trouble the family had endured. After they bought the supplies they’d need, he headed to Lisa’s house and searched for an opening to discuss the recent family crises with Patrick.
“Sorry I worried you this afternoon, buddy. I didn’t realize I’d only picked you up from school on days when there was bad news for the family.”
/>
Patrick shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Can we talk about what’s bothering you?”
“I’m okay.”
Peter patted Patrick on the leg. “I know I haven’t told you much about what happened to Uncle Craig and Aunt Mary, but that was only because I didn’t want to worry you. But I guess not knowing what happened can be just as bad, huh? Not knowing is scary, too.”
Patrick glanced at his father with hooded eyes. “I’m not a baby, Dad. You can tell me the truth without me going ballistic.”
He smiled at his son. “You’re right. You’re not a baby. So here’s the deal…” Peter explained to Patrick in broad, general terms all that had been transpiring in recent months, careful to reassure him that he had nothing to fear. “The guy responsible for making Uncle Craig sick has been caught and Aunt Mary has given up her investigation of Grandpa’s death, so there’s nothing to worry about. Right?”
Patrick scrunched his face in thought. “Sorta. Are you investigating Grandpa’s death?”
Whoops.
Be honest, he imagined Lisa telling him.
“Well, I’m looking into a few things that might help the sheriff find the person who killed Grandpa. But I’m a professional investigator. I know what I’m doing and how to be careful.”
His son scowled. “Why does the sheriff need help? Doesn’t he have deputies to help him solve murders?”
Peter squeezed the steering wheel. He hadn’t anticipated these landmine questions. “Well, the sheriff didn’t ask for my help. I’m doing this on my own. Because I want Grandpa’s killer caught as soon as possible.”
Patrick turned on the seat, his eyes wide and incisive. “But if Aunt Mary was attacked because she was trying to find out about Grandpa’s killer, couldn’t they come after you now that you’re investigating?”
“I suppose there’s a chance. But I’m being very careful.” They stopped at a traffic light, and Peter reached over to catch Patrick’s chin in his hand. He held his son’s face and met his eyes squarely. “Listen to me, Patrick. If I get a sense that I’m in danger, I will quit my investigation without a second thought. Because being here for you and taking care of our family is what is most important to me. I will not let anyone hurt me, and more importantly, I will not let anyone hurt you. Ever. Okay?”
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