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"Hold on a second." He walked out of the den and into the hall, where he stopped at the foot of a set of finely polished wooden stairs. He called up, and his voice boomed in a bit of an echo that thundered through the house.
“Belle! Sweetie, I need you to come down here for a second, please.”
There was a faint and muffle reply of “One second!” There was no annoyance or irritation to it. If anything, both father and daughter just sounded exhausted.
Declan gestures for Rachel and Sullivan to follow him, so they did. He led them into a large, slightly cluttered kitchen. There were casserole dishes emp,ty soda cans, and wine glasses all over the counter.
“Delores—that’s Emma’s mom—has been helping quite a bit but we’ve also just has so many people coming to help and give their condolences. When she heard me say I thought it was the detective at the door again, she escaped back to the sunroom. She hates to hear any active discussions about the case. It makes her very anxious and uneasy.”
As Rachel took a seat in a stool at the bar, she felt a sudden wave of exhaustion. This didn’t alarm her because it had, after all, been a very long day. She’d woke up at 4:35 in the morning in order to catch her flight to Seattle. Then, after the flight and her appointment with the specialists, she’d only given herself a few hours of reprieve before jumping into this case. This is what she told herself, anyway; she was trying very hard not to wonder if it might have something to do with the treatments.
While Declan poured himself a cup of coffee, Rachel heard the sound of soft footsteps coming down the stairs. Seconds later, a teenage girl appeared in the entryway to the kitchen. She was the spitting image of her father, right down to the redness of the eyes from recent bouts of weeping. And if she was indeed like her father, Rachel assumed she'd done it in secret. Her brown hair was pulled up in a tight ponytail and her posture was rather slumped, her hands stuffed into the pouch pocket of the Seahawks pullover she was wearing.
“Belle,” Declan said, “do you remember Detective Sullivan?”
“Yeah.” And then, with a tired look of acknowledgement, she provided a small: “Hey again.”
"Well, this time," Declan said, "he's brought along Agent Gift. She's an FBI agent, and she wanted to ask you some questions about your mom."
“Me?”
Declan looked to Rachel, giving her a nod to take the floor. “Would that be okay?” Rachel asked.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Well, first of all, your dad says that you’d sometimes hang out with your mom when she stayed in her apartment near the center of town. I’d just like to know if you ever saw or heard anything out of the ordinary while you were there?”
Belle thought about for a moment. She took the time to go to the fridge and take out a can of ginger ale. As she popped the op, she said, "Not really. The only thing weird I ever heard was some of that really deep, really nerdy talk she had with other doctors over her Zoom calls. But there was never anything bad. No arguments or anything like that. She always seemed really happy to be on those calls.”
“How about when it was just the two of you? Did she ever mention how something was stressing her out, or that she had to work hard to make sure she pleased certain people?" Rachel quickly looked to Declan as she asked this question, letting him know she’d like him to consider the question as well.
“I really don’t remember anything like that. As far as I know, everyone that worked with mom liked her. If you’re trying to find who killed her, I don’t think it was anyone she worked with.”
Rachel saw a quick look of shock cross Declan’s face at the bluntness of her comment. If you’re trying to find who killed her…
“So you never saw her stressed out over work at all?”
“Oh…well, sometimes. I mean, she was always worried about getting reports and papers to people all over the world, and she always wanted to make sure it was on time.”
“If I can interject,” Declan said, “Emma was notorious for setting unrealistic deadlines for herself. But she did always hit them. And it did sometimes wear her down.”
"Yeah," Belle agreed. "She would look tired and sort of…I don't know, sort of just yuck every now and then. But even if she was stressed out, I never heard her complain about her work.”
“Same here,” Declan said.
It was all enough for Rachel to feel like Declan and Belle Willis wouldn’t be able to offer anything of use. Still, there was one thing that nagged at Rachel, a detail that she wasn’t sure would result in any answers, but one that made her feel uneasy: with another residence that was usually only occupied by Dr. Willis. It simply left too many unmarked moments they’d never have access to, and no answers available.
“Detective Sullivan, is there anything you’d like to add?” Rachel asked.
He shook his head, offering Belle a sad little smile. “No, I think we’re good here. Declan…Belle…thanks again for taking the time to speak with us.”
Declan hugged Belle to him and kissed her on top of her head. "Of course. Anything we can do to help…you call any time of the day or night."
“Thanks,” Sullivan said. “We can see ourselves out. You two take care.”
Rachel followed Sullivan out of the kitchen and down the hallway to the front door. As Sullivan opened the door for her and she stepped out into the damp, chilly night, she felt that exhaustion clinging to her. She also thought of Paige, Jack, and Grandma Tate…of the promises she’d made to them. Whether she liked it or not, she was going to have to call it a night. She’d go to her appointment tomorrow morning and pick up where she’d left off.
She knew this was what needed to be done, but it was easier to plan in her head than to actually follow through with it. She’d just seen a father and daughter trying to remain as strong as possible after losing a wife and mother. While Belle Willis was four years older than Paige, it was still far too easy to imagine Paige living her life without a mother.
