AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Beverly blinked, taken aback by the query. She looked down, wringing her hands together in her lap before answering. "No, not that I've seen. But...there was an incident at Matilda's funeral. He threatened the funeral director, said he'd kill him if he didn't admit that Matilda had been murdered."
Fiona's breath caught in her throat as the implications of Beverly's words settled in. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure. "That's very important information, thank you for sharing it with me," she said, her voice tight.
While Fiona couldn't ignore the mounting evidence against Mason, she felt an unwelcome twinge of empathy for him. Grief could make people do things they never thought possible, and Fiona knew that all too well. Her own grief over losing her husband had led her to take risks she might never have considered otherwise.
"Please, if you hear from Mason or remember anything else that might be helpful, don't hesitate to call me," Fiona said, handing Beverly her business card. The older woman took it, her gaze heavy with worry.
"Please find him," Beverly whispered, looking into Fiona's eyes. "I don't want to lose another grandchild."
Fiona nodded solemnly. "I'll do everything I can." With that, she turned away from the house and marched back toward her car, determination surging through her veins.
As she slid into the driver's seat, her phone buzzed again in her pocket, and this time, she refused to ignore it. Whatever secrets Jake held, they would have to be confronted head-on if they were going to solve this case together.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Fiona's fingers trembled as she gripped the steering wheel, her gaze lingering on Beverly's retreating figure. The weight of the implications settled heavy on her chest, and the crisp autumn air did little to alleviate it. She pulled out her phone and dialed Jake's number, the screen glowing like a beacon in the dimming light.
"Jake," she said the moment he answered, her voice urgent. "You won't believe what I just found out."
"Same here," he replied quickly, his own tone mirroring hers. "I did some digging, and it turns out Mark Jenson, Clyde's lawyer brother, had some kind of relationship with Matilda. He could be killing people now for revenge."
Fiona's heart skipped a beat. "You're kidding. That... that changes everything."
"Tell me about it. What did you find?"
"Matilda's brother, Mason. He threatened to kill the funeral director at Matilda's funeral. Beverly said he's been unstable ever since."
"Damn." There was a pause, during which Fiona could practically hear Jake's thoughts racing. "We can't ignore either of these leads. But we need to tread carefully. You should head back, and we'll regroup."
Fiona hesitated, her grip tightening on the phone. She wanted nothing more than to follow Jake's advice, to retreat to safety and process everything they'd learned. But something compelled her to press on, to see this lead through to its end.
"Actually, I think I want to keep following Mason's trail," she admitted. "I know it's risky, but if there's even a chance he's involved, I have to know."
Fiona's eyes were drawn back to the rearview mirror, where a red car had caught her attention. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd seen it before, but her thoughts were interrupted by Jake's continued concern.
"Look, Fiona, I don't like the thought of you going off alone," he said, his voice laced with worry. "You're not an agent yet, and you don't have a weapon."
"I know, Jake, but I just want to talk to people, gather more information," she insisted, her gaze flickering between the road ahead and the red car in the mirror. "I just want to talk to the funeral director, the man who Mason threatened.”
"Fine," he relented, though the tension in his voice was palpable. "But as soon as you feel threatened or anything seems off, call for backup. Promise me."
"Promise," she murmured, her fingers tightening around the steering wheel. She couldn't ignore the gnawing unease in her gut, but she needed to see this through. If Mason was involved, she had to know.
"Alright, stay safe," Jake said, and they hung up. The silence in the car felt heavy, punctuated only by the hum of the engine and the soft sound of her own breathing. With each passing moment, her resolve grew stronger, fueled by a fierce determination to uncover the truth.
As Fiona pulled up to the funeral home, she mentally ran through her plan. She would speak to the funeral director from Matilda's funeral, ask about Mason's outburst, and try to piece together any more information that might lead to answers.
The funeral home loomed before her, its somber facade bathed in the glow of streetlights. Fiona took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation ahead. All the while, she couldn't help but think of the red car, wondering if it held any significance, or if it was merely a figment of her overactive imagination.
She stepped out of the car and closed the door with a soft click. She knew the danger that awaited her, but she also knew that she couldn't let fear hold her back. Not now, when they were so close to finding justice for Matilda and all those who may have suffered at the hands of her killer.
"Alright," she muttered under her breath as she approached the funeral home's entrance. "Let's do this."
Fiona stepped into the funeral home, her footsteps echoing on the polished marble floor. The air inside was heavy with the scent of lilies and a faint undertone of formaldehyde. She hesitated for a moment, listening to the melancholy swell of an organ playing behind a closed door. A sense of unease crept up her spine—she didn't want to intrude or disrupt a grieving family—but she couldn't turn back now.
"Hello?" Fiona called softly, hoping to catch the attention of a staff member without disturbing the ongoing funeral. Her voice seemed to vanish into the high ceiling, swallowed up by the somber atmosphere.
She ventured deeper into the building, following the dimly lit hallway that led to several private viewing rooms. Each door was closed, leaving her feeling even more isolated in the solemn silence. Fiona's fingers twitched at her side, itching for the reassuring weight of a gun she didn't have.
