Page 50 of Shelter for Shay
“A few neighbors. A couple of ladies from the book and garden club,” Moose said. “All people I want to talk to, but it’s not like she had a best friend.”
“That’s weird. We all have one or two of those,” Frank said.
“Shay always said she was too busy saving everyone else and taking care of her to have much of a social life,” Moose said. The words settled heavy in his chest. “We’re talking in circles. It’s like standing over that mission plan where you know it’s gonna go to shit, but you can’t put your finger on why. We’re missing something. Something important. Something that mattered toMargaret so much she felt like she had to lie to the one person who mattered more to her than her own happiness.”
“I hate to ask this question, but what about Margaret’s financials?” Frank asked.
“Shay set them all out for me to go over today. Lots of medical bills and Shay said she remortgaged the house last year,” Moose said. “She didn’t have a lot of money saved. Margaret was a proud woman and did her best to deal with all the money herself until she couldn’t and finally relented about four weeks before she passed. It was a hard-fought battle, I guess.”
“Shay always let her mother win,” Andy said. “I remember when she wanted to take a gap year and travel. Her mother talked her out of it, saying that she’d support a semester abroad, but not that. Later, when it was time for grad school, Shay wanted to put that off, but her mom wouldn’t hear of it. She told her that it would be one year out of her life. Do it, and then she’d support her doing whatever travel she wanted. And Margaret kept her word.”
Moose ran a hand over his mouth. “Do you know if Shay took out school loans?”
“I believe her mom paid for her undergrad, why?” Andy asked. “Do you think it matters?”
“I don’t know.” Moose leaned back. “Just searching for a reason why Margaret would want to—or need to—lie. Money is always a good one.”
“Yeah, but that’s not really tracking for me,” Frank said. “Not unless Margaret was taking money to keep Shay’s paternity a secret. And that feels off because she was living out in the open, real name. The only lie was Bradley Morrison and we don’t know if he’s her father or not.”
Andy glanced at his watch. “I need to get out on patrol before my boss has my hide.”
Frank chuckled. “I better head to the office.”
Moose drained the rest of his coffee. “If Rufus turns up anything useful, I’ll loop you both in.”
Frank tapped a knuckle against the table. “And if you get the urge to go knocking on Bradley Morrison’s door before the PI does, remember you’re not wearing a badge.”
Moose gave a tight nod. “I’m just a guy trying to make sense of things.”
Andy clapped him on the shoulder as they stood. “You’re also a guy whose girlfriend might end up on a trial that’s about to blow this town wide open. So don’t forget to breathe once in a while.”
Moose chuckled under his breath as they walked out into the crisp morning air. “I’ll work on that.”
Shay – Lake George, New York
The courtroom was colder than Shay expected.
Not physically—though the heat barely filtered through the air—but in tone, in atmosphere. Wood-paneled walls and polished pew benches should’ve made it feel like an extension of the old church she’d once attended with her mother. But this room didn’t offer peace.
Only judgment.
Shay sat with two dozen others in the jury box, hands folded tightly in her lap, trying to regulate her breathing while pretending she hadn’t caught the DA glancing her way more than once.
Jacob Donovan.
He’d always been a handsome older man, with a little gray dotting the temples. His father had been a defense attorney, and everyone thought it was odd that Jacob had taken a seat across the aisle.
But both men were kind, fair, and respected.
Jacob sat behind his table in a perfectly pressed gray suit, reading from a yellow legal pad. He scribbled a few notes, glancing up occasionally, then going back to his legal pad.
Patrick Dunn, the defense attorney, wore a dark-blue suit and a crisp white shirt. He leaned toward the defendant and whispered a few words. She’d known Patrick for years. He’d graduated two years before her, but they’d been friendly. He’d gone to SUNY Albany, where she’d attended. They’d gone out on a date. He was a decent man. Kind. But boring and a little too focused. All he ever talked about was his career, which she honestly respected but didn’t understand. Defending criminals had been his life’s dream, and working for a firm like Donovan, Hillard, and Tate, which happened to be Jacob’s father’s old firm, had always been the end game.
And now he’d been handed his first big case. The case that was probably going to make or break his career.
Blake Edmonds, the defendant, leaned forward, hands folded on the table, eyes focused—on her—as if to taunt her.
And there was something oddly familiar about the man, but she figured that’s because his face had been plastered on the news morning and night.
