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“It must’ve hit Caroline and her mother particularly hard,” said Jamison as Southern nodded.
Kelly shrugged. “It did. I think it would’ve driven a lasting wedge between her and her father, but then Maddie died and those two were the only ones left. I’m not saying she didn’t still care for her father, but . . . it was complicated.”
“She told us sort of the same thing,” noted Jamison.
Decker’s phone buzzed. He took it out and looked at a series of photos and reports that had just been delivered in an email. As his gaze ran over them, Decker tensed, and then realization spread over his features.
Jamison noticed this and whispered, “What is it?”
Decker’s gaze drifted up the stairs, where Dawson had gone. He rose.
Jamison said, “Where are you going?”
“We’regoing to see Caroline.”
Southern said, “Let me go with you. I think I might be of some help. She is still very vulnerable.”
Decker looked at Jamison, who nodded.
“Okay, but whatever you hear up there you don’t share with anyone.”
“Understood.”
Kelly said, “I hope that doesn’t include me! Iaminvestigating this case.”
“We’ll fill you in,” Jamison assured him.
They rose and headed up the stairs, leaving a troubled-looking Kelly and Shane staring after them.
THE SPACE ABOVE THE BARwas a series of rooms. One was a large open area that probably served as an event space. Chairs were stacked against the wall along with folding tables. Piles of linen napkins and tablecloths were on a long buffet set against one wall. Decker, Jamison, and Southern walked through this space to a bar area that was a replica of the one below, only much smaller. Decker spotted a spool of twine sitting on one table. He scooped it up and put it in his jacket pocket.
“What’s that for?” asked Jamison.
“You’ll see.”
Next they passed through an open doorway, turned left, and ran into the only other door there.
Decker stepped up to it and knocked.
“Caroline, it’s Decker and Jamison, we’d like to talk to you.”
“Please go away. I don’t feel well.”
“Caroline,” said Southern. “I’m here too. I really think you should talk to them.”
“I’m too tired. I’m going to bed.”
Southern looked helplessly at Decker.
“Your father didn’t kill himself,” Decker called out through the door, drawing a surprised look from Jamison. “He was murdered.”
Now they could hear footsteps. The door opened and there was Dawson, barefoot and her eyes welling with tears. But the look on her face was one of anger. “What the hell are you talking about? He killed himself. We all saw it.”
“Can we come in?” asked Decker.
For a split second she looked like she might slam the door in their faces. But then her expression softened and she stepped back.
Jamison sat in a chair and Decker stood while Dawson curled up on the bed. Southern hovered near her, looking anxiously at her friend.
