Page 36 of 4th Silence
Of course she did. “To the basement?”
A single nod. Tight. As if he’s embarrassed to talk about his uncle’s addiction.
“How long were they down there?”
“Fifteen, twenty minutes maybe?”
My mind spins with fresh ideas. Meg and Matt watch me carefully. “Did Tiffany see her father escorted out by your mom?”
“I don’t know where she was when it happened.”
“So, she might have been in the basement already.”
He doesn’t agree, but he’s following my train of thought.
“Let’s assume Gerry was high or asking for money to pay his bookie,” I theorize. “He and Phillip were arguing, and things were tense. Mary escorted them downstairs, where Tiffany was already hanging out. Mary was especially outraged that Gerry was ruining her Christmas party, and perhaps things got out of hand. She picked up the nearest heavy object and threw it at him.” It’s a tough thing to force Alex to imagine, but I want to push him enough to see his reaction. I mimic throwing something. “Tiffany got in the way and ended up dead.”
He gapes. A long, horrible pause ensues. Neither Matt nor Meg moves a muscle. “You think my mom killed Tiffany?” He blows a raspberry and rears back in the chair. “That’s ridiculous.”
His reaction is genuine—absolute shock at the idea. “I’m simply exploring all the ways the scenario could have played out. You took your father off the table. I’m following your reasoning.”
His eyes harden. “The Hartmans aren’t perfect, my mother included, but we’re not monsters.”
Someone is.
I start to say exactly that, but JJ’s face flashes in my mind—his eyes narrowed in frustration, his frame tense and simmering with anger beneath the surface. You’re obsessed, Charlie. This case is thirty years cold for a reason. Let it go before it costs you everything.
JJ has never accepted that, for me, some ghosts refuse to rest until justice is served. Maybe that’s why we’re falling apart—his world is black and white, neat and classified with cases that are either worth pursuing or not. Orders come from the top, and he follows them. My world exists in the gray spaces. In the files that gather dust. In the voices that have been silenced.
I don’t take orders from anyone but my conscience.
I force those thoughts away. His theory conveniently shifts blame to either a dead man or the family black sheep. Gerry makes an easy scapegoat. Still, he’s alive. Might be worth tracking him down. “An accident explains a lot, but regardless of who did it, why wouldn’t they admit to it, if it was an accident?”
“Um, because they killed a child?” Alex’s gaze darts to his watch. “Look, I need to get to work. I have a ten o’clock meeting.” He shifts in his chair, already mentally out the door. “I hope I was able to shed some light on things.”
“One more question.” I rise with him. “Any idea what happened to that designer purse I mentioned that Phillip gave Mary that night?”
“Purse?”
“The Sherman. It’s not listed in the items recovered from the party.”
“I don’t remember it. A lot of that night is a blur, to be honest. Mom took all that stuff to the cottage after the police returned it. She said she didn’t want to look at it after what had happened to Tiffany.”
“Why didn’t she donate it to charity?” Meg asks.
A noncommittal shrug. “She said it was all cursed.”
At the door, I extend my hand. “If you think of anything else, even something that seems insignificant, please call.”
He cups my hand with his. The warmth of his touch surprises me. “Sure, of course. Oh, and I’m sorry about what happened with JJ.”
So, he does know. His earlier comment made me think he was in the dark about it.
The way his eyes soften surprises me. The gentleness of his hand. I actually want to like this guy.
I ease out of his grip. “I put him in a bad position. It was to be expected.”
Lies, lies, lies. I hate myself for them. I didn’t expect it. Not at all. I would have sworn on every tenant I hold sacred that JJ Carrington would never break my heart.
