“Did he pass a couple of years ago?”

“Yes,” Jessica said, surprised. “How did you know?”

“A bunch of white roses were sent to Eleanor’s graveside every year on the anniversary of her passing. No card from the sender. They were her favorite flowers. I always leave white roses too. A couple of years ago, the mystery flowers stopped. I always thought they were from him.”

“White roses, huh?” Jessica laughed softly. “My favorite flower too.” She closed the wallet and dropped it in her bag, then looked Darla straight in the eye. “Do you have any idea who my real father is?”

Darla shook her head and shifted uncomfortably in the cramped booth.

Jessica said, “Please, Darla, if you know anything at all, you need to tell me. I have a right to know.”

The woman sighed. “I’ve said as much as I’m willing to say. But ask yourself one question, Jessica. How was Eleanor able to pay for the house on Morrison with no job and a kid to raise on her own?”

Five minutes later, Jessica was back in the truck, cell phone in hand, Connor’s number on the screen. Her finger hovered over the green phone icon to make the call. She hated herself for needing his help. She hit the button.

It rang once before he answered. “Jessica. Are you okay? I was going to call but didn’t know if—”

“I need the name of the company who owns the murder house.”

“Does this mean you’re talking to me again? You know, we could still work this case together.”

“Just give me the damn name.”

Silence. Then he said, “Hold on.”

Jessica heard a dull thunk as the cell phone was dumped on a hard surface, followed by the faint rustle of papers in the background. Connor came back on the line. “I need to find the paperwork. I’ll call you back.”

“Don’t bother. Just send a text.”

Jessica killed the call before he could answer. Ten minutes passed, and she was starting to think she wasn’t going to hear from him when her cell phone beeped.

The text read, They’re called Sager Properties. Owner is a Don Sager.

Jessica tapped out a response: Where are their offices?

Connor replied with an address on Colorado Boulevard.

Jessica: Are they open on a Sunday?

Connor: No idea, I don’t work there!

He ended the message with a smiley face emoji. Jessica wondered what she’d ever seen in a forty-year-old man who used emojis.