Chapters (95)
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Eighty-One
- Eighty-Two
- Eighty-Three
- Eighty-Four
- Eighty-Five
- Eighty-Six
- Eighty-Seven
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- Also by David Swinson
- Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Hachette Digital.
“Yes. Last time you were here I was still renovating. It’s more like a home now.” For some reason I regret saying that.
“I’m sorry for what I said on the phone,” she tells me.
How do I respond?
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I don’t want to stand here. I know it’s awfully humid, but can we take a short walk?”
“Of course,” I say.
I follow her as she steps off the porch and turns right, toward W. It’s a narrow sidewalk, so I move to her side, closer to the curb. Her pace is slow. My mind is fast, so I have to make an effort to walk at her side, not ahead of her.
“Did you drive from Ohio?”
“Yes. It wasn’t bad.”
“Do you need help with anything? I can drive you back home when you’re ready.”
She stops to face me. “No. No, but thanks for the offer.” She looks down. Seems like she’s hesitating. “Why was Jeffrey in your house, Frank?”
First thing that comes to mind is She’s got a wire. I quickly realize how ridiculous that is.
“I don’t know, Linda. I don’t. I sincerely wish there was something I could tell you. A reason. But we never had contact. You never told him where I lived, right?”
“No, but he knew you lived around here. He was too young the last time he was at your house, so he wouldn’t have remembered.”
“The police will figure it out. Detective Millhoff is very good at what he does.”
“Just tell me, Frankie, and I’ll believe you.”
Tell her I’m an idiot and I somehow fucked up? That it’s all my fault? ’Cause that’s what I believe. Maybe I am guilty. But I sure as hell don’t know what I did to get him murdered.
“I had nothing to do with Jeffrey’s death. I don’t know what brought him to my house.”
Tears stream from her eyes again. I take her hand.
She nods. Believes me.
I continue to hold her hand as we walk.
“This is my car,” she says, pointing to a Lexus SUV.
“Where are you staying?”
“At the Hilton.”
I look away for a moment. Honestly don’t know what to say. I’m at a loss.
“You’re nothing like your father. I should never have said that.”
“I don’t know what you mean—”
“Your real father. You’re nothing like him. Your mother married young. He wasn’t a good man.”
“I never knew my real father,” I say awkwardly.
“I know. But no child should have had to go through what you went through.”
Does she mean my mom’s suicide?
“This isn’t about me, Aunt Linda.”