I shook my head. "I don't think that's a good idea. I've already lost a day of talking to my mom because I got her agitated. If you try to talk to her in this mood, she'll probably freak out again."

He frowned. "Well, call me before you go. We'll figure it out."

I turned the dead bolt after he left, feeling more alone than I had since I'd arrived. Whatever had been brewing between us had been instantly snuffed out by the knowledge that my mother was probably involved in his father's death. He would never be able to look at me without being reminded of the tragic loss of his dad.

The sound of an engine revving took me to the window. Kade sped out of the driveway on his motorcycle. Apparently, he'd decided not to work but to take his anger for a ride.

Letting the curtain drop, I walked slowly down the hall, debating my next move. The open door to the guest room and the messy bed reminded me of the passion we'd shared, which now felt like a million years ago. I moved inside, stripped the sheets off the bed and then took them into the laundry room. I started the wash and then returned to the family room.

Kade had left his computer on the coffee table. It was still open, and as I hit the space bar, it lit up with the pages from the police report. I sat down and started reading, eager to see again exactly what the police had found on the scene and where their investigation had led. I was particularly interested in what had been stolen, and I zeroed in on that section.

James Holden had reported the loss of stones that included diamonds, sapphires, and opals as well as several pieces of jewelry, with a combined value of ten million dollars, and that had been more than twenty-seven years ago. It would all be worth a lot more today. The two stolen paintings had been valued at another two million dollars, Holden had reported missing a half-million dollars in cash.

Who kept that much cash in their house? I couldn't even imagine.

If my mom had been involved in the robbery and gotten some or all of what had been taken, she would have never had to work again. Maybe my mother was a criminal and not an innocent victim. Perhaps her shooting had been retribution for betrayal among thieves.

As I thought about that, I had to wonder about Rachel, too. She'd been in New York with my mother. Had she been part of the crew, too? Had they been in on it together? Was that why they'd gone on the run and why they couldn't go to the police now?