Jessica hoped the answer to both of those questions would be no. The idea of the woman’s rotting bones lying just yards from Eleanor for the rest of eternity just seemed wrong. The thought of anyone giving a damn about her was even harder to stomach.

A bullet in the head had been the least Catherine Tavernier had deserved.

Jessica strolled past other headstones on her way back to the gravel path. Some belonged to men, some belonged to women, and the saddest ones belonged to babies and children. Some of the dead were long gone and others more recently so. She wondered about their stories. Were they still mourned? Still loved? Did they have family who missed them every single day? Or did they have family out there who never even knew they’d existed? Jessica followed the path downhill a hundred yards until she reached the gates where her truck was parked.

Leaning against his own pickup truck was Matt Connor.

He straightened up when he saw her. Pushed himself off the truck and took off his shades. Those pretty green eyes were full of questions, and his smile was uncertain.

Jessica smiled. “Please tell me you’re not still following me?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Connor said. “I called the hospital earlier—they told me you’d discharged yourself. Figured I’d find you here, what with the date and all. I tried your cell phone, too, but it went straight to voice mail.”

“Too many calls from journalists. You know, real ones. Thought it’d be best to disconnect for a while, just until the heat dies down and they move on to their next big story.”

“They figured out who you are yet?”

“Nope. They still think I’m just some dumb PI who got too close to a killer. Looks like Darla Kennedy and Mack McCool aren’t talking to anyone.”

“What about the money, though?” he asked. “Tavernier’s divorce wasn’t finalized. You know her estranged husband could try to claim everything? If you need to go to court to fight him for it, the media will find out about you.”

“I don’t want the money.”

Connor’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? We’re not talking a few bucks, Jessica—there’s millions of dollars at stake here. It’s your inheritance. You’re entitled to every cent of it.”

“I’m not interested,” she said firmly. As soon as she said the words out loud, Jessica realized just how much she meant them. “As far as I’m concerned, Tony was my dad. Lincoln Tavernier means nothing to me, and neither does his money.”

“What about the fifty grand?”

“I’ll take care of it. Before I leave.”

“So you are leaving?”

“Nothing keeping me here.”

Connor stared at the blacktop, thrust his hands into his jeans pockets, and nodded. “I guess.”