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“Yes.” Daniel’s lower lip began to buckle. “He was scared, alone, and desperate.”
“Come here, pal,” I said, giving him a hug.
•••
I drove home with one eye on the rearview mirror, but now I didn’t know what kind of car I was looking for. It scared me to think that I’d become a loose end, but Daniel was right. I didn’t know if I agreed that Lemaire had died by suicide, but my theory he’d been murdered was shaken. Still, Lemaire could have died by suicide, and I could still be in danger. So could John.
I gripped the wheel tighter, my thoughts churning. It occurred to me that whoever worked with Rigel would want revenge for his death. The media wasn’t revealing my involvement, but plenty of people at the apartment complex saw what had happened. Stan and anybody who worked for him could start asking questions and find out about me.
When I reached my street, I turned the corner, scanning for cars that didn’t belong to my neighbors. My heart stopped when I spotted one parked in front of my house. But this car, I recognized.
A black Range Rover, the official car of Devlin & Devlin & Devlin & Devlin.
I had no idea which Devlin was inside.
Chapter Thirty-Four
My mother had no makeup on, and her eyes were puffy. Her mouth drooped, and deep lines bracketed her lips. She wasn’t as put together as usual, wearing a beige quilted jacket over a black sweater, sweatpants, and her gardening clogs. She carried her big black Birkin, the Range Rover of handbags.
I let her in. “How long have you been sitting out there?”
“Not long.”
I shuddered to think the house was being watched. “You should’ve called.”
“I wanted to ambush you.”
I closed the door behind us. “You’re sneaky.”
“No, I’m sly. Sneaky people are dumb. Sly people are smart.” My mother entered the living room, set down her handbag, and turned to me. “Have you been drinking?”
“Absolutely not.” I remembered that the microphone was under the table, if anybody was still listening. “Let’s go sit outside. It’s a nice day.”
“I’m fine inside. Let me smell your breath.”
“No.”
“Yes.” My mother took a step toward me. “I’ll go outside if you let me smell your breath.”
I gave her a whiff. “See?”
“You drink too much coffee.”
“Come on.” I led her through the apartment to the back door, and we went into the backyard, where I had a round white table with matching white-wire chairs.
“What a nice set,” she said, surprised. “Where’d you get it?”
“A thrift shop in Frazer.”
My mother ran a manicured finger over the table. “Fermob.”
“What’s that?”
“A nice French make.”
“I was raised right.” I pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down, linking her hands on the table.
“Where were you, TJ? I’ve been looking for you in every bar in a five-mile radius.”
