Page 115 of Trust No One

Meg appeared at the doorway and approached. “Takes guts to take a five-year-old on a secret date with the girlfriend,” she said. “Five-year-olds don’t keep many secrets.”

“You think Molly told her mother?” I asked.

Meg glanced at her viewfinder. “If I had to put money on it, the kid let something slip.”

“Maria was pulling twelve-hour shifts. Would’ve been easy for Gabe and Amy to take Molly for a day trip.”

“You’ve seen Amy Stocker’s body. Any theories on the cause of death?” Meg asked.

“No outward trauma other than the bottom of her feet. She ran some distance in her bare feet,” I said.

“Where do you think she was coming from?” Meg asked.

“If I had to guess—Hale House.”

“What was she doing there?”

“She used to work there,” I said. “She knows the house, the grounds. She had a fondness for anything Hale.”

“Her car wasn’t left on-site, was it?”

“No.”

“Kind of far to walk in,” Meg said. “Someone gave her a ride?”

“Or whoever killed her moved it.” I sighed.

“Gabe would’ve been her ticket to Hale House. He’s not an heir, but his daughter is.”

“That’s long-term planning, Meg.”

“It’s all theory at this point.”

“The medical examiner will tell us more about her, Gabe, and Maria.”

“A messed-up love triangle. And all the main suspects are dead.”

I’d already alerted the medical examiner’s office about the cyanide in Maria’s body. “If the motivation wasn’t jealousy, then what?”

“Money is the next big one,” Meg said. “How’s the kid?”

“Still in the hospital. Raine Hale’s taking custody of her.”

“It’ll be a one-two punch when the girl finds out.”

“I know.” I wasn’t sure how Raine would handle a troubled child.

“Raine and Molly are the last of the Hales, right?”

“Yeah.”

For a moment, memory crowded in—whispers Raine and I had once shared about having a child of our own. A fantasy quickly buried under obligations, her mother’s decline, and my ambition. Stolen moments had been all we’d allowed ourselves.

And then Raine’s mother died. Freedom dangled, brief and dazzling, before Raine retreated.

Her nonreaction to her mother’s death had been troubling. After the police interviews, I’d taken a step back. And she hadn’t moved toward me. The distance between us grew wider. And then we were on separate journeys.

When Raine had married Ken three years ago, I’d sat on my front porch, my only company the dark sky and the stars. I’d finished off a bottle of whiskey. Holding my phone for hours, I’d been tempted to call her and ask, Why him?