Page 105 of Dying to Meet You
“Peebles,” I repeat, as my stomach bottoms out. “So it was misspelled. Holy shit.”
“Holy shit,” Natalie repeats, and then laughs.
It’s taking me a second to get my head around it. “So she knew Tim. Or at least knewofhim.”
“Yeah, but remember—she ran out without talking to anyone? Maybe nobody else in his family was in on the secret.”
My head spins. “What am I supposed to do with this information?”
“We have to talk to her,” Natalie says immediately. “If Tim got himself unalived by digging up dirt about the Home for Wayward Girls, then this woman probably knows something about that. She wasthere, Mom. She’s at the center of it all.”
“She is,” I agree slowly. “But we should stay out of it. I should probably just tell the police. Or Tim’s wife.”
“Tim’s...what?”
“His ex, I think. He lied to me about ever having a wife.”
“Ick, Mom,” Natalie says, her expression appalled. “Why would she want to talk to you?”
“Because she wants information. She wants to know why he died.”
“So do we,” Natalie argues. “You could visit Laura Peebles and give her that watch you’re carrying around in your purse.”
“Okay, what were you doing in my purse?”
“Getting your wallet, like you asked me to the other day.” She rolls her eyes.
Hell.
“I could go with you,” Natalie says. “I found her address in Westbrook.”
“Nobody is going anywhere.”
Natalie gives me a frown. “There’s one more thing. I was telling Dad about Tim and the Home for Wayward Girls. And Dad knew about it already. He said his mother worked there when he was little.”
My fork stops halfway to my mouth. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Doing what?”
She shakes her head. “He has no idea.”
***
Harrison’s restaurant shift will probably last until midnight, even on a weeknight, but I make sure to take myself up to my room earlier than that. Just in case.
I settle in with a book, but within moments my phone buzzes with a text.
It’s from Jules Kovak.
Jules: Any luck with the name?
I exhale sharply and then craft a reply.
Rowan: You want a name from me but you won’t even tell me yours? Out of business cards, my ass.
She doesn’t respond for a minute, and I have the small satisfaction of having stunned her.
