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My brother held a hand up. “No worries. Take your time.”
I’d made it halfway to the closet in my bedroom when I froze mid-step.
The case file was all over the floor. My eyes flickered to the bed. The only time it was ever made was the day the cleaning people came or when Bella stayed over. Oh fuck.
Lara said Bella had gotten sick, so I walked to the bathroom.
Whatever small hope I’d had that maybe my brother or his fiancée had made my bed and accidentally knocked over the papers flew out the window when I saw the picture of the tire mark on Bella’s mother’s body sitting on the floor beside the toilet.
I shut my eyes.
This wasn’t good.
I needed to get to her. Now.
***
I breathed a sigh of relief when Bella opened the door, and I wrapped her in my arms before saying a word. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
She pulled back. “I’m not okay, Christian. What the hell is going on?”
“Can I come inside?”
She nodded.
I wasn’t sure how or where to begin, and she wasn’t going to give me any time to find a delicate way to explain things.
She shut the door and folded her arms across her chest. “Why do you have my mother’s police file?”
I motioned to the couch. “Can we sit?”
“You’re freaking me out, Christian. What’s going on?”
“Please?” I walked over to the couch and extended a hand to her. “You’re pale, and I’d feel better if you sat.”
She huffed, but sat down. “I’m sitting. Talk.”
I took the seat next to her and rubbed the back of my neck. “I asked my brother to get a copy of the file.”
“Okay…but why? If you wanted to know more about it, I could’ve told you. It feels…” She shook her head. “I don’t know. It feels like you invaded my privacy or something.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“So why did you?”
I blew out two cheeks full of air. “It’s a long story. But it started when you mentioned that the driver who left the scene was driving a collectible car. You said two witnesses gave different descriptions of the car, but one said it was an old blue Ford Thunderbird.”
“So?”
“I knew someone who collected old cars and had a nineteen fifty-four blue Ford Thunderbird. He also worked at the arena.”
Bella’s eyes bulged. “Are you kidding? Why didn’t you tell me?”
I held her gaze. “Because the person was John Barrett.”
Bella’s forehead wrinkled. “What?”
“I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure.”
“Sure about what?”
“That it was his car that killed your mother.”
Bella clutched her heart. “You think John Barrett killed my mother?”
I took her other hand and squeezed. “I can’t prove he was the driver, but it was his car that hit her, Bella. Coach inherited John’s car collection when he died. He still has them, so I had someone compare the tire marks. It’s a match.”
Bella abruptly stood. “I’m gonna be sick again.” She ran for the bathroom and knelt in front of the toilet bowl. I gathered her hair and held it from her face as she heaved.
Nothing came up, but her body tried anyway. After a few minutes, she lifted her head. “Are you sure?” Her face was pleading, and I wished with everything in me that I wasn’t.
But I nodded. “I am.”
“How could the police not have known? They went through all the local owners of both cars that the witnesses described. I remember the detective telling me that.”
“Classic cars don’t have titles, so they probably checked registrations. John owned a lot of collectible cars and bought and sold them under a corporate name. The corp was a dealership, so he had dealer plates he used to drive them—meaning he didn’t have to register the individual cars.”
She leaned an elbow on the toilet bowl and held her head. “The arena had cameras all around the exits, but the one that might’ve caught the accident was broken that night. At least according to the arena…which John owned.” Bella shook her head. “How long were you going to keep this from me? Until your contract was renewed?”
“What?” I jolted back. “Of course not. My contract renewal has nothing to do with this. I didn’t tell you because I hoped I was wrong and wanted to avoid having to dredge up a lot of stuff from your past. You said yourself you didn’t want to look back anymore.”
“How long have you known about it?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Maybe a month?”
“A month?”
“To be honest, I forgot about it for a few weeks. A while back you mentioned the type of cars involved in your mom’s accident. John had once shown me his classic car collection, and I could’ve sworn he had a blue Thunderbird, but I figured I was crazy for even thinking he might be involved and no one knew. But then a few weeks later, the old cars came up again when I was talking to Coach, and I asked about them. One thing led to another after that.”
