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As if I even have any walls left standing.
I tried to focus on the case. It felt like we were getting close to cracking it. Pieces were beginning to fall into place, but the image was still blurry. We were still missing one huge piece of the puzzle: the will.
Without knowing what was on the will, we weren’t sure who stood to gain the most from my mother’s death.
Then there was the matter of trying to figure out the timeline of my mom’s relationship with Jax. I didn’t trust the guy as far as I could throw him, but that didn’t mean I suspected him of murder… unless he gave me reason to suspect him. If he was still dating my mom around the time of her death, then he would certainly be close enough to kill her without suspicion.
It was a lot to think about.
“Hey, Dad.”
I greeted my father as I entered the kitchen. He was washing some dishes, looking relaxed and already in his pajama pants and T-shirt. I’d always been a momma’s boy growing up, but that’s not to say that the relationship between my dad and me wasn’t ever special. There were a couple of years—especially during my early teenage years—when we butted heads more often than not, but it never turned aggressive or out of control. And when he and my mom split, as much of a shock as it was to all of us, it appeared to be an even bigger shock to him. We grew closer after the divorce, which felt slightly ironic to me.
“How ya doing, Colt?” he asked me, setting a mug down on the counter. The window above the sink looked out to the mountains, traced by the light of a slowly setting sun.
“Tired, stressed, slightly hungry. What else is new?”
My dad gave me an emphatic look. He reached out a hand and squeezed my shoulder. He had kind eyes—always did, even when he was angry. I loved my dad, and that made it almost impossible to fathom him being responsible for my mother’s death.
“You’ve got to take it easy. Before you get my crow’s feet. I don’t think that gene skips a generation.”
I huffed out a breath and waved a hand. “Please, I’ll be getting Botox way before that happens. Preventative measure.”
My dad chuckled. He turned and went back to putting away the dishes. I leaned on the counter, looking out the window. I could see Jen riding her bike through the field of lavender stalks, her bright blue helmet looked like a streaking comet shooting across the ground.
“Mom would have approved of him,” my dad said. “Eric,” he clarified off my confused expression. “I had a talk with him this morning. He’s a good guy.”
I already knew Eric and my dad had spoken after breakfast. Eric gave me a rundown on everything they’d talked about. Eric tried to pry as hard as he could, digging for information without pushing too hard. He didn’t get anything, or so we thought.
It looked like he did get something: my dad’s admiration.
“Yeah,” I said, “he is.”
“You know, it makes me really proud to see you this happy. Really proud.”
“Dad, you don’t have to get all sentimental.”
“I know, I know. I just—life’s been, well, it’s been insane, to put it lightly. I sometimes wake up and expect everything to snap back to the way it was. Back to when you were ten years old, riding a bike with your sisters, getting teased by your brothers, bringing home straight As, and asking for ice cream for dinner. Everything was so simple, and then all of a sudden, it wasn’t.”
I gave a slow nod, sucked in a breath. “That’s just the way life goes, Dad. Things are simple one minute and completely fucked-up the next. That’s why I try to just soak in all the good times, all the quiet times. You taught me that.”
My father was always one for taking a moment to reflect. He would make us all gather around for a couple of minutes before the start of every vacation, and we would just hug each other and be happy for the times ahead. It was a good way of kicking things off and always set the tone. It didn’t stop my family from falling apart, but it gave me moments encased in amber I could always look back fondly on.
“Colt, now that I’ve got you here, I think I should tell you…” My dad trailed off. He looked down at his feet, his hands clenched in tight fists. What the hell had him so anxious?
“What is it?” I asked, cocking my head.
“I don’t even know how—it’s complicated. I just don’t want you to think any different of me. I don’t want you to hate me.”
I reeled back with surprise. “Hate you? For what, Dad? I can’t ever hate you.”
