Page 30 of Not a Word

I took my eyes off the road long enough to shoot her an Are you kidding me? look.

“You knew?”

“I’m not saying that. People are people. Nobody’s perfect.”

“But if Dad—”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Reece.”

“The police will want to talk about it.”

“I’m sure they will.”

Then, for the first time, concern crossed her face and she looked my way. “What about Holden?”

“I went to see him, but I didn’t have a chance to tell him what happened to Dad,” I said. “The police tracked me down there—I’d left the scene, when you called me, without their permission—and I had to go. But unless someone else goes by Holden’s in the meantime, I don’t think he’s going to be finding out any other way.”

“How was he?” she asked hesitantly.

I knew what she was really asking. “He was . . . you know.”

“High as a kite?”

“Maybe not that high. But kinda.”

“And you’re sure he doesn’t know?”

I nodded.

She nodded resignedly. “I’ll have to send him away again.”

“I know you keep trying that, Mom, but it never takes. Like you said, people are people. Nobody’s perfect.”

“What, I should give up on him?”

“People have to want to change. You can’t force them. Maybe it’s time for a different approach.”

“And what would that be?”

She had me there.

We turned onto my parents’ street. There were still a couple of cruisers out front, the yellow tape still strung up around the perimeter of the yard. The street crime tape was down now, though, and now there were two TV news vans there. One from CP24, the all-news cable station, and, ironically, WorldWide. This definitely wasn’t a news story I’d be writing up for them. A couple of female reporters with cameramen were being held back behind the yellow tape. I knew the one from WorldWide and kept my head down in the hopes she wouldn’t recognize me.

“I’ll go see Holden after I’ve talked to the detective,” Mom said.

“I’ll wait, take you over.”

“I don’t know how long they’re going to want to talk to me.”

“I’m okay waiting. I can—”

“I’ll get an Uber. Or maybe the police will drive me.”

“What else can I do? Do you want me to get in touch with Heffernan & Sons?”

The town’s best-known funeral directors.

“I know my responsibilities and obligations,” she said curtly, still staring straight ahead. Her voice sounded almost robotic, like she’d gone into some kind of self-induced trance as a way to get through this. “If there’s anything I need I will let you know.”