“What about a will?” Hicks asked.

“I asked her about that. She said it was taken care of. I didn’t draw it up for her.”

“Did she tell you if she had made provisions for the care of her daughter in the event something happened to her?”

“No. Not beyond the trust. But I can’t imagine she hadn’t. Sara and I took care of that for Wendy before she was even born.”

“You’re an attorney,” Hicks pointed out.

“Yes, but I’m a father first,” Morgan said. “Marissa was a mother first—and a single mom at that. I’m sure when you go through her personal documents you’ll find everything you’re looking for.”

“Did she ever mention the little girl’s father to you?” Mendez asked.

“Not by name. And only to tell me he wasn’t a factor in Haley’s life.”

Morgan glanced at his watch and frowned. “I don’t know what else I can tell you. Does Jane Thomas know about Marissa?”

“Yes. We were there earlier,” Hicks said.

“I’d like to get going then—if there’s nothing else.”

“Not for the moment.”

“You know where to find me,” Morgan said.

Yeah, Mendez thought as he backed the sedan up to let Steve Morgan out of his parking place, just this side of a murder victim.

Chapter 15

15

“Anne Marie! You look like something the cat dragged in!”

“There’s nothing like a good friend to brighten a dark day,” Anne said, sliding into the booth.

Fran Goodsell had been her best friend from her first day teaching at Oak Knoll Elementary six years ago. Completely irreverent in all the most inappropriate moments, he always found a way to distract her from whatever troubled her.

Sharp-witted and loyal to a fault, he was the fourteenth of fifteen children born to an Irish Catholic family in Boston and had just turned forty in the spring, celebrating with an outrageous costumed fete he called “Franival!”

His phenomenal teaching skills had helped him create an impressive résumé at top private and public schools on the East Coast before he had migrated to California.

Despite the fact that he actually loved his work and was brilliant with children and parents alike, he liked to profess that teaching kindergarten had driven him to drink and to contemplate the mandatory sterilization of most of the population.

“Honestly, darling,” he said, casting a disapproving eye at Anne’s present state. He was, of course, as always, perfectly preppy with a twist, dressed in khaki pants and not one but two Ralph Lauren Polo shirts—a vibrant blue one over a vibrant orange one—with the collars turned up.