Page 77 of Cruel Love
“Mr. Carter?”a soft voice called from behind me.
Willow’s head snapped up to me, her eyes wide with fear. I peeredover my shoulder, finding Isabella, my mom’s main carer standing by the door, squirming awkwardly.
“Wait in the car,”I ordered Willow before taking several strides towhere Isabella stood.“What do you need?”
Isabella withered under my menacing glare, her hands fidgeting.“I…I’m sorry to bother you, but…but I was…I need-”
“Spit it out, Isabella,”I snapped, losing my patience. The longer shetook to say whatever it was she was trying to say, the more chance there was of my father catching us sneaking out.
Isabella swallowed before looking around, almost as if she waschecking the coast was clear.“Before your mom…died, she wanted me to give you this.”
She held out her hand for me to shake. My brows furrowed inconfusion, but I took her hand. As she shook it, she discreetly palmed me somethingthatfelt like a bit of paper.
“Don’t open it here,”she whispered before stepping back.“I’m sorryfor your loss, Mr. Carter. I’ll miss your mom,”she added, this time a little louder like she was letting anyone who was watching knowthatshe was simply passing on her condolences.
She spun and rushed back inside. Pocketing whatever she had givenme, I headed to the car, ignoring the burning curiosity streaking through me to see what the paper was.
Neither Willow nor I spoke for the entire journey, the two of us lost inour own thoughts. When we arrived home, Edith was waiting for us as usual with the door open. I instructed her to prepare breakfast for Willow before I headed to my office, and only once I was alone did I pull the piece of paper out.
It had been folded over and over, making it into a small square. Iopened it up and stared down at the words written on the paper. I recognized the shaky handwriting immediately. It was the words my mom had written on the night I’d found her and Willow in the hallway, only now, more letters had been added.
She hadn’t been trying to write,‘Hello Son,’at all. She’d been tryingto write a name.
Helen Somersby.
And underneath that was another name.
Milligan.
Chapter 27
James
Ann Milligan scurried into the care home, looking more exhaustedthan the day before, and completely oblivious to her surroundings.
If she’d been less worried about her mom, and more worried for herown life, she would have noticed me lurking in the shadows for the last two days, watching her every move.
The best part was, her mom wasn’tevenill. A few calls to the rightpeople and her dear old mom was being slipped sleeping pills three times a day, making it look like she was on her last legs.
At leastthatwas what Milligan was told, which is why she left hersanctuary of Peartree House to spend some final time with her mom, oblivious to the factthataftershe was dead and buried, her mom would bejustfine.
Was it callous to use her mom in such a cruel way? Abso-fucking-lutely.
But I needed a way to draw her out of Peartree House, otherwise Inever would have been able to interrogate her. Before the night was over, I was determined to have all my answers as to who the fuck Helen Somersby was, and why my mom had written her name on the piece of paper but didn’t want my dad to know.
And if Milligan didn’t give me the answers easily,thenI had noissues with doling out my own form of torture to get my answers. It would have been the least she deserved for what she’d done to Willow over the years.
Once the front door to the care home closed, I settled back in theseat of my car. For the past two days, Milligan had been inside with her mom for hours, and I doubted today would be any different with the exception of one fact.
She wouldn’t be coming back tomorrow.
After an hour of watching people coming and going from the carehome while my thoughts were firmly back home with my mouse, my phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and found Jackson’s name flashing on the screen.
“Anything?”I said as a way of greeting.
“I think so.”
I sat up straighter, my attention piqued. Since Isabella handed methe piece of paper with the nameHelen Somersbyscrawled on it, my mind had been consumed with finding out who the hell she was.
