He spoke lightly, and while that should have made her feel better, it only drove home how much stronger a person he was than her. The last year had been hell for both of them in different ways, yet he had survived with his kindness, charm, and humor intact. He planned to move to the West Coast and revive his medical practice away from the media circus of Southwestern Florida, and didn’t seem to harbor any residual bitterness that he had spent six months sitting in prison while his character was dragged through the mud.

She had collapsed under the weight of her mother’s death, gotten hooked on tranquilizers, and now was sitting in New Orleans trying to feel some elusive connection to her mother’s youth. That familiar guilt, self-doubt, pressed down on her, but she fought it. This was a fresh start.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” she said. “I really am.”

“I understand.”

And she knew he did. “I left town.”

“You left Naples? Why? Where are you?”

“I just needed to get away. I’ll be back soon. You can reach me on my cell if you need to talk.” She didn’t want to admit to anyone what she was doing. Going to the city her mother had grown up in smacked of the need for counseling. And if she told him about the book, he’d think she had totally lost it, grasping at forensic straws to solve a murder the police considered unsolvable at this point.

“Sara . . . where are you?” He sounded worried.

Maybe he should be.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. I’ll be back soon.” Maybe. But they’d cross that bridge when she got to it. “Take care of yourself, and be sure to let me know when you’re leaving Naples. I want to see you before you head west.”

“Okay.” He paused, then just sighed. “Be well, Sara.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“I’m going to take Jessie some flowers. Can I take something for you?”

That gesture hit her like a smack. Tears popped into her eyes and Sara fought for control, to not lose it in the coffee shop. “Sure. Take my mom some carnations, will you? In a crazy, wild color.” It had been a source of contention between them. Sara had always told her mother carnations weren’t classy, they were a cheap filler flower, but her mother had liked them. Maybe for that very reason. And she had always wanted them in bright blues, greens, and hot pinks, hues achieved through dye, not nature.

“Okay, I can do that. Promise me you’ll stay in touch.”

“Yep. I’ll talk to you soon. Bye.” Sara hung up the phone before Rafe could hear the waver in her voice.

And found herself digging in her bag and pulling out her manila folder. She flipped through the papers inside rapidly, stopping when she got to a copied newspaper article.