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“Coming home to you in my bed is one thing, but having time with you is another. I want both.”
“I know, Luke. So do I.”
“Did you speak to your real estate agent about moving in?”
“I left a message for her this morning. I’m just waiting to hear back.”
“Good. I’ll set up an office for you here so you’ve got your own space for when you need to work.”
My guilt intensifies. Because if he knew the truth, he’d know this has nothing to do with needing space. I don’t need space to get my work done; I need it because I would struggle to look at him tonight and not be completely honest about what I’m doing.
Oh, the tangled web we weave.
“I love you,” I say softly.
“I love you, too, sweetheart.” I hear the words he doesn’t say. He loves me, but he needs me there. If only he knew how desperately I wish I was there, rather than where I am tonight.
I exit my car after we end the call and make my way into the pub Jolene told me to visit. It’s only early and a Monday night, so it’s not too busy. I head to the bar and when I’m served, I tell the woman I’m looking for Joe. She jerks her chin towards a big, round dude who’s clearing the glasses from a table.
“Thanks,” I say and walk to where he is.
He eyes me as I approach. “What can I do for you, beautiful?”
I give him my best smile. “Jolene Hardy sent me. I’m trying to find some information on her mother and she said you’d be able to help me.”
He narrows his eyes. “Jolene Hardy is in prison.”
I nod. “I know. I spent time with her there this morning.”
“And what exactly did she think I’d be able to help you with?”
“I’m working with her to clear her name. We’re trying to establish who her mother’s enemies were at the time of her death.”
“Fuck, that list would be a mile long.”
“That’s what she said. If you had to narrow it to a handful that you thought really had it in for her, who would you say?”
He thinks about that for a few minutes. “There’s only one and he’s dead. Killed himself a few months after the murder.”
My heart sinks. I was supposed to walk out of here tonight with a list of people to look into. “Really? The way Jolene was talking, it sounded like her mother had a lot more than one.”
“She did, sweetheart, but none that had it in for her enough to kill her. You don’t kill someone for being a bitch.” He eyes me. “Pull up a seat. I’ll get you a drink and we can go over it. What’s your poison?”
“Vodka, please.”
I take a seat and wait for him. My hope is restored that perhaps if we talk it out, he’ll think of someone.
He returns with two drinks—vodka for me, beer for him. “I always did think Jolene was innocent,” he says after he sits.
“Why?”
“Her mother was strong and had this mean streak towards her daughters. Glenda learnt how to stand up to her, but Jolene never did. I just don’t see her murdering someone she couldn’t even take on verbally.”
“People snap. Maybe she reached the end of her rope that night.” I’m not sure I believe it, but it’s worth throwing out there for his thoughts.
He shakes his head. “I still don’t buy it.”
“So, if not Jolene and not one of her mother’s enemies, who?”
