Page 151 of Trust No One

“While I still have you, I’m also searching for pictures of Maria Hale Cooper, Gabe Durant, Ken Watson, and Raine Hale.”

“I’ll pull them.”

“Great.”

After the call, my next task was to find Ken. Time for a threat assessment.

He wasn’t hard to find. We’re all creatures of habit, and Ken was no exception. He’d always liked a retro diner in Waynesboro. I found him there alone in the corner booth.

In front of him were coffee and a bagel. I came up behind him, and I slid into the seat across from him. “Ken.”

A flash of shock melted into a wide grin. “Judson. I was wondering when we’d catch up. I hear you’re busy with work these days. A triple-header.”

Thoughtless, but Ken had always laughed off tragedy. “People we both knew. Are you staying for the funeral?”

Ken sat back, turning his coffee mug a fraction. “I owe last respects to Maria and Gabe.”

“Not Amy Stocker?”

“No. I only knew of her in passing.”

I caught the waitress’s gaze and ordered a coffee. “Any thoughts or theories on who killed them?”

“Judson Blackwood is asking me for advice?”

“Why not?”

Ken sipped his coffee. “Love triangle. It’s very classic.”

“But all three are dead.”

He sat back. “One of the three killed the other two, and then killed him or herself. Last man out is generally the killer.”

“Gabe. Why would he kill his wife and lover and then himself? He loved Molly. He wouldn’t orphan her.”

Ken shrugged, almost amused by the comment. “Gabe didn’t always think long term. How many times did the guy shoot himself in the foot?”

The waitress brought me coffee. I thanked her, took a sip. “There must be a why?”

“Motivations are rarely complicated, Judson. Greed, lust, revenge. All basic.”

He wasn’t wrong. “Why did you come to town when you did?”

Ken held my gaze. “Can’t I come home?”

“Your parents are gone. You haven’t been back in years. And now you’re here.”

“I was worried about Raine. She’s had a rough couple of weeks.”

“When exactly did you arrive?”

His smile faded. “A few days ago. Like I said, worried about Raine.”

I’d seen the faint bruises shadowing her ribs last night. The idea that a former client would beat her so badly pissed me off. “She’s divorcing you.”

“I still care.” He sipped his coffee. “Pete Miller messed her up good. She should be back in Alexandria recovering, but she picked up and came here. Add in our divorce and selling our house . . . that’s a lot of trauma. And we both know her past. How fragile she could be.”

“She told you about the lost year?”