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Anne took a breath. “Um, Dad, I need to talk to you. About Matt.”
Her dad froze. His gaze was on the papers on this desk, then he looked up at her.
“Why would you bring him up?” he asked.
“Because I don’t believe the story that he was mugged. You know this.”
His lips thinned. “You can’t go dragging this up again, Anne. It was hard enough on your mother, and she’s just now starting to get back to her life.”
Anger erupted inside Anne. “What about Matt’s life? He deserves justice.”
“I’m not saying he doesn’t. And I call every week to check on the case.” He rubbed his eyes, suddenly looking every one of his sixty-seven years. Those blue eyes, so much like her own, met her gaze. “You aren’t the only one mourning him, Anne.”
Feeling chastised, Anne’s anger deflated. “I just…maybe someone out there knows the truth,” she hedged. “It’s worth it to me to keep digging.”
Her dad was shaking his head before she even finished. “Absolutely not,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. “It’s bad enough that your mother and I are constantly worrying about the safety of that apartment of yours. I won’t have you playing Nancy Drew. Let the police do their jobs. That’s what they’re there for.”
Anne swallowed her rebuttal. It was pointless to try and enlist her father’s help or tell him about the visitor she’d had. He still thought she was thirteen and probably always would.
She rose and kissed him on the cheek. “Yes, Daddy.”
He softened at the gesture. It had been a while since she’d called him Daddy.
“Go on back to your mother,” he said gruffly. “She’s probably missed you.” But before Anne could leave the room, he stopped her. “And take care of yourself,” he said. “If something happened to you, too, it would kill your mother.”
“Where have you been, darling?” Her mother quizzed her upon her return to the drawing room. She was in her early sixties but looked twenty years younger. The Downton theme suited her with a dropped waist gown and artful jewelry. Her hair was long but styled in a short way and curled around her face. She’d gone carefully gray-streaked a few years ago, the lighter strands blending in with the deep chestnut locks.
Anne got her eyes—and her temper—from her dad, but her thick, dark hair came from her mother’s side of the family.
“Just having a chat with Dad.”
Her mother gave a gentleharrumph. “I had his suit all picked out, cravat and all, but he refused to come to the tea. Said it was a womanish thing.” She gave a wave of her hand, indicating what she thought of that sentiment.
Anne, making note of the put-upon looks on the faces of the handful of male guests, privately agreed with her dad.
A woman came up then to bid her mother goodbye and to thank her. Anne drifted away. A few members of the staff they’d hired for the event were discreetly picking up discarded food and teacups. Absently, Anne began helping, too, carrying a load into the kitchen, which she immediately regretted as the people they’d hired quit talking with each other and looked at her funny.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, backing out of the room.
Her feet hurt, she’d barely gotten any sleep last night, and fending off questions about Kirk had left her smile decidedly plastic.
Suddenly dejected and exhausted, she found her mom.
“I’m heading home,” she said, giving her a hug.
“You’re not staying for dinner?” her mom protested.
“I have an early day tomorrow. Congratulations, though. The tea was a lovely success.” Her mother thrived on these sorts of things, and she beamed at Anne’s compliment.
“It was, wasn’t it? So much fun. And raised over thirty thousand for Sally’s House.” Sally’s House was a local shelter for women and abused children that her mother often favored as a charity for events such as these.
“That’s fantastic,” Anne enthused. “I’m sure they’ll be grateful.”
Her mom turned pink. “Oh, you know that’s not why I do it.”
“I know.” Her mother may not have ever worked a job, but she still did a lot for people who’d never know her name. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Anne drove home, warily easing into the apartment. She was still freaked out from last night. That gun of Blane’s sounded really good about now.
