Page 50 of Memory of Murder
“Hello,” the man behind the counter said, a faint smile on his lips. “May I help you?”
Anne worked up a smile in return. “I’m here to ask about my mother, Mary Morton. She died at Logan Correctional Center.”
The man slowly nodded. “Yes, I’m familiar. I was contacted by a friend who contracted our services. We picked up Ms. Morton and fulfilled the service requested.”
“Who contracted the service? I want to thank them for taking care of her arrangements since I was unreachable. I had no idea she’d died until days later.”
When the man hesitated, Jack withdrew a business card and placed it on the counter. “We want to keep this as discreet as possible. No need to involve the authorities or warrants.”
The man studied the card. “Judith Hudson. She took care of everything.”
“Thank you,” Jack said.
Anne managed a nod of thanks before Jack ushered her outside. Why would Judith not have mentioned having taken care of the arrangements? Why be so secretive?
Frustration rolled through Anne. If she’d only been trying to help, why act as if she’d committed some crime?
Maybe the need to do this final act for Mary had been about guilt instead of friendship.
Chapter Eighteen
Judith’s Cocktail Lounge
Williams Street, 7:15 p.m.
“You should eat.” Jack nodded toward the plate the waiter had placed in front of Anne a good fifteen minutes ago.
She stared at the delicious-smelling orange-marinated chicken in the bed of fluffy rice. She just didn’t feel the urge to eat no matter that it looked and smelled so good. “You’re right.” She picked up her fork and poked at the rice.
He’d started devouring the ramen he’d ordered the moment it arrived. Like her entrée, it looked great. And smelled just as good—garlicky and gingery.
But her taste buds just wouldn’t rise to the occasion. She kept thinking of how her parents were finally together again after all these years. And how she had lost so much—they had lost so much—because someone decided that what they wanted was more important. It just wasn’t fair.
They had asked to see Judith as soon as they arrived. She was here but busy. The waitress promised the owner would pop over to their table as soon as she could. That had been half an hour ago.
Anne poked a forkful of rice flavored with orange sauce into her mouth and forced herself to chew. There was a lot in this life—in this world—that wasn’t fair. People went to prison every day for crimes they didn’t commit. Were harmed in some way when they had done nothing to deserve such treatment. Sheunderstood this, but somehow seeing an up-close look at the life her parents had lived and all the potential they had lost made her want to cry.
She squeezed her eyes shut.Not going to cry. Not now.
“Hey.” Jack’s hand rested atop hers.
She opened her eyes and met his gaze. The concern and kindness there caused hope to bloom deep inside her.
“Sometimes these things get really tough before they get better,” he assured her, “but we’re on the downhill side of this. We know what and who we’re looking at. It’s going to get better from here.”
Although they were in a public place, the tables were spaced far enough apart and the music playing in the background allowed a sense of privacy. She appreciated that and his words more than she could say.
She poked at a piece of chicken. “Thanks. I really would not have gotten through this without you.” When she popped it into her mouth and chewed she almost moaned. The chicken was amazing. So tender, and the spice level was the perfect balance of sweet and zesty.
He grinned. “If yours is half as good as mine…” He made a satisfied sound.
“It’s great.” Her appetite was at full attention now. “You were right.”
“Good.” He ate for a moment more. “You mentioned that you wouldn’t have gotten through this without me.” He shrugged. “If you recall, you wouldn’t be in the middle of this if I hadn’t knocked on your door.”
This was true.
“You recognized something I didn’t want to see,” she countered. “I wanted to go on with my life without looking back.” She shrugged. “Without believing that the past mattered. I was wrong, and you helped me see that. In my case anyway,I had to come back and see this through. Otherwise, sometime down the line I would have regretted not finishing this.” She looked out the window for a moment. Watched the Saturday-evening traffic roll past. “Maybe when I had children of my own it would have hit me particularly hard. But the past—the story I didn’t want to hear—would still have been haunting me. This was the right thing to do, and I’m so glad you helped me see that.”
