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ChapterTwenty-One
Asher practically drags me from the house, stopping only long enough to grab something from the office.
“Where are we going, Ash?” I ask as we leave town and head toward Virginia Beach.
“Somewhere I should have thought about earlier.”
“I’m going to need more than that, Ash.” He glances at me, a look of sympathy crossing his face, before looking back to the road.
“When your mom was ready to clear out your dad’s things, Jackson and I helped her. She didn’t want us touching his personal stuff and did the bedroom on her own, although I think Stu helped a little. But the office, she left to me and Jackson. Unsure about what to keep, we boxed it all up, along with some bits your mom wasn’t ready to let go of and put it all in storage.”
Now I understand the sympathetic look. The sharp-edged blade of guilt prods at my heart as I picture my mom packing up my dad’s stuff.
“I should have been there.” I turn to look out the window, hiding the tears that have gathered in my eyes.
“Hey, don’t punish yourself, Kenz.” His hand lands on my thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “She understands you know.”
I twist in my seat. “Does she? How? How can she understand that her only daughter left her alone to deal with losing not only her husband but her son as well. And as if that’s not bad enough, Asher, I humiliated her and ruined my dad’s reputation by making noise about murder and corruption only to run away from the aftermath of that too.” My guilt brings back anger at the fact my own mother chose not to believe me when I claimed dad was murdered. I thought I’d let go of it, but it seems not as my insides twist with conflict; anger, guilt and shame all collide together to make an explosive cocktail of emotions ready to detonate.
Asher pulls over, turning in his seat. “She’s not you, Kenz. And don’t get all defensive about that comment. What I mean is, don’t project your inability to forgive yourself onto your mom.”
I screw my face up at his words, but I don’t comment. What can I say when he’s speaking the truth.
“But you weren’t wrong, were you? Your dad was murdered. And they tried to silence you too.”
“Maybe, but how the hell do we prove it? How do we fight an enemy we can’t identify, huh?” Something niggles at the back of my mind as I say it. Moving my feet, they snag on my purse, and a flash of white catches my eye.
Leaning forward, I tug on the corner of the envelope sticking out of my purse, and I’m suddenly reminded of the letter that Doc Edwards gave me.
“Shit,” I whisper, tearing it open and pulling the folded paper inside free.
“What is that, Kenzie?” Asher asks, turning the engine off completely and giving me his full attention.
“This is from Doc Edwards. He claims it proves my dad didn’t die of smoke inhalation.” I slowly unfold it, like it’s going attack me, and as I open it fully, something drops into my lap, making me jump. “Jeez!” It’s a small flash drive. Tucking it inside the palm of my hand, I focus on the letter, which isn’t a letter at all but an incomplete examination of my dad’s body. “Oh my god…” Bile rises in my throat, and I shove the paper at Ash as I quickly open the car door, jumping from inside and dropping to my knees as vomit spills forth.
“Kenz?”
“I’m okay. Just…er, give me a minute.”
I hear rustling, then Asher cursing as he no doubts reads what I’ve just read. My dad definitely didn’t die of smoke inhalation. The bullet hole in his forehead demystifies that argument, not to mention the other dozen or so injuries that Doctor Edwards mentions. There’s no autopsy, just as he said, but this is more than enough to prove the fire didn’t kill him. It also means the fire wasn’t an accident either.
I climb to my feet, brushing off dirt from my knees, and drop back into the car. I find a napkin inside my purse and wipe my mouth, but it does nothing to rid the foul and bitter taste inside my mouth. Ash hands me a bottle of water from the side of the door.
A phone rings, startling us both, and I see the hesitation from Ash when he sees who’s calling.
“Take it, Ash. I’m fine.” He does, keeping his eyes on me the whole time, while I stare out at the road ahead. A voice fills the car, and I whip my head to look at Ash, who just raises a finger to his lips.
“Hey, Tripp. You got something for me?”
“I sure do. Still ain’t got nothin’ on that Titan Industries, but you ever heard of a guy named Calvin Carmichael?” I slap a hand over my mouth, stopping the gasp from breaking free.
“The interior designer?” Ash asks, and before Tripp can answer, I’m nodding my head.
“That’s the one. I don’t know if it’s important or not, but the guy has been the main designer on all of Titan’s developments since the company started ten years ago. He’s a slimy fucker too. I managed to dig out a couple of police reports for sexual harassment, and even one for grooming of a minor. Someone buried them for him, but not very well or if you know where to look.”
“Sounds like a real nice fucking guy.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t mind putting a bullet in his brain. Dirty fucking perv.” Asher reaches out and grips my hand at Tripp’s words. They are a little too close to home after what I just learned about my dad. “Anyway, I’ve a few pictures and some other info I’ll ping across to you. And I’ll keep digging on that company.”
