Page 7 of I’ll Be Watching You

When he kissed me now, it felt different. It was light yet purposeful and said a lot more than just goodbye.

I left and tried not to overthink everything.

I hadn’t told anyone other than Cal about the call from Liz. When I joined my family’s PI firm in May, after we had two cases collide and were forced to work together, my mom and I came to a truce. She didn’t want me to investigate Dad’s case, but she finally agreed that she couldn’t stop me. Three years ago, she’d literally forbade me to do anything, and of course I refused to live under that rule—which is why I’d remained on my own. But those three years were hell for all of us. The Angelharts and my mom’s family—the Moraleses—were close; we had at least one family get-together a month, if not every week. Avoiding my mother was impossible, and it put a strain on everyone. But I wasn’t backing down, and my mom wasn’t backing down. Our truce was that I wouldn’t expect Mom to use her resources or contacts to investigate Devin Klein’s murder. That anything I did, I would do alone.

Except . . . if Liz Swanson had actionable information, I would drop everything to investigate. If I found anything to exonerate my father, I would pull in my brothers and sisters. I prayed they would join me. They hadn’t three years ago, but now? If I had something tangible and fresh? I was almost positive they would be on my side. I didn’t know how my mother would feel about that, and I didn’t care.

Okay, I cared a little bit. We’d finally gotten to a good place, professionally and personally, and I really loved working with my family. If I purposely defied her again, I didn’t know if we could recover.

I love my mom dearly, but she drives me crazy. My older brother Jack says it’s because we’re so much alike. Maybe. In some things. Like, we’re both stubborn. I, at least, admit it.

I wasn’t going to back down. I just needed a lead, a person with information, a direction. Liz might have another way of reaching Georgia Rollins. Even if what she knew didn’t help prove my dad innocent, she could connect me with the woman who had sent me down a dead end, then disappeared.

I left early enough that traffic wasn’t an issue. The sun was rising, always a gorgeous sight in the desert, but especially when we got a real fall, like now. Crisp mornings and warm afternoons. I would have enjoyed an early-morning hike with Cal. Not running—I didn’t understand how Cal actually liked to run. But a hike? I’d be down for that. I filed that idea away for later this week.

I arrived at the Wild Pine at quarter to seven. It was a comfortable place with lots of seating and several private groupings of comfortable chairs and couches. There was a steady stream of people coming in and out with their coffee and food. I ordered iced coffee and dumped it into my YETI, plus grabbed a scone since the cold spaghetti wasn’t enough to fuel me. I sipped. Not bad.

I sat at a table that had two comfy chairs at the front of the store by the large windows, where I could also watch the door. I easily found Liz Swanson’s social media page. She was in her midforties, a petite slender blonde with flawless skin and a nice smile, much like how I remembered her. Her husband was pleasant looking, maybe fifty. She had two teenage boys who were both into sports.

I heard sirens pass the coffee shop and when I looked up, I caught a glimpse of a police car. Then another. Probably an accident, since North Peoria was a low crime community. The epitome of suburbia—a mix of small starter homes and larger, upscale gated developments. Lots of shopping, activities for kids, new schools, clean neighborhoods. I had some friends from high school who had gotten married and moved to the suburbs—it wasn’t for me. Either I was going to live in the eclectic community of Sunnyslope until I died, or I’d move to the middle of nowhere, like a cabin up in Flagstaff where my neighbors were deer, elk, and the occasional mountain lion. Cookie-cutter houses in neat little rows with tiny yards wasn’t my idea of living.

I finished my scone and used Angelhart resources to look up Swanson’s publicly available information. She didn’t live far from here, only a mile up the road.

Jack called. I considered sending him to voice mail but decided I should talk to him.

“Yep,” I answered.

“I’m heading to the office. Are you bringing in breakfast burritos?”

I lived near Orozco’s, a Mexican diner owned by our cousins where I often stopped on my way to work because they had the single best breakfast burritos in Phoenix. Probably in the entire state.

“I’m going to be late.”

“Late night with Cal?”

“Do I detect a hint of brotherly disapproval?”

“Not at all. I mostly like him.”

“Mostly?”

He didn’t answer my question. I knew why Jack had issues with Cal, and they weren’t actual issues with Cal. My longtime on-again, off-again boyfriend Rick Devlin was Jack’s best friend. Jack had it in his head that Rick and I would get married, because even though Jack had been through a nasty divorce, he was a romantic at heart.

“When are you going to be in? We have a subpoena to serve in Buckeye and it might get dicey. I was going to ask if you wanted to join me for backup.”

Our mom worked with several law offices, and we seemed to have taken on an unusual number of servings of late. Yes, it was steady income, but both Jack and I found it tedious and boring, and it certainly didn’t use our skill sets to their fullest. But this one sounded like it could be fun.

“I should be there between ten and eleven,” I said, not wanting to commit to any specific time.

“That’ll work. I’d like to get him leaving for work, which is around noon.”

“What’s it for?”

“Divorce papers. His wife needs it done today because she’s not coming home after work—she’s taking their kids and going to her parents’. He’s abusive and volatile. We’ll also need to escort her at some point to retrieve her personal items.”

“We don’t usually take these cases.”

“You used to.”