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"Did you find anything at her house?"
"Nothing of note. Who else is in your family?"
"My father remarried after my mother died—or disappeared. Her name is Vicky Landry. She was also a friend of my mother's. My sister, Dani, and her husband Steve. That's it. My grandparents on both sides were dead before I was born and neither of my parents had siblings." I took a much-needed breath. "Unless that's not true, either." I pressed my hands to my temples. "I'm so confused."
"We'll help you figure it out. What was the relationship like between your father and your mother?"
"I think it was good, but I was seven, so I don't know. He seemed heartbroken by her death. He grieved for years. He eventually got together with Vicky, but several years passed in between. I always thought he really loved my mom. He doesn’t speak of her often, but when he does, I hear the love in his voice."
The detective made a few more notes.
"I don't believe my father knew she was alive all this time," I added.
"Okay," he said, but he didn't sound convinced.
I could hardly blame him. I didn't know what was true anymore.
"Where do you live?" he continued.
"In Carmel. My sister and brother-in-law live there as well. My father and Vicky live in Los Angeles. My father travels a fair amount for his job."
"And what does he do?"
"He's in sales for a technology company."
"I'll need his information and your sister's."
"I want to tell them first. This news should come from me."
He gave me another speculative look, then set down his pen. "If your mother isn't dead and your father told you she was, there's a good chance he lied to you, that he knows she was alive all these years."
It wasn't like that thought hadn't occurred to me but having him spell it out so succinctly sent a chill down my spine. I didn't want to believe my father could tell such a lie. I didn't want to believe my mom could, either. But someone had lied. That put a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
"It's also possible your father is the reason she disappeared," the detective added.
"I don't believe that's true. My father is a good man. He's not dangerous in any way. I'll talk to my family, but I think the past is less important than the present. You need to find out who shot my mother."
"I intend to do that, but it's possible that the past is intertwined with the present. This attack appears to be personal and premeditated. The shooter waited for your mother to leave the house. He was able to vanish without being caught by any cameras in the neighborhood, which suggests he knew the area well."
"My father doesn't know this city. I don't think he's been here in years."
"Are you sure? You just said he travels a lot. Do you always know where he's going?"
I wished I could answer his question with a confident yes, but I couldn't. "No," I admitted. "But I don't want you to focus on my dad when he's unlikely to be involved."
"I follow the facts where they lead. Are you staying in the city tonight?"
"Yes. I'll get a room somewhere."
"Let's talk tomorrow. Once the shock has worn off, you may see things more clearly or remember information that might be helpful."
"I can't imagine what that would be, but all right." As he rose, I got to my feet. "Can I have my mother's bag?"
He hesitated. "I'm going to hang on to her phone, but we've already been through the bag and taken photos of its contents, so you can take that with you."
"I'd like the keys to her house, too. I want to see where she lives."
"They're in the bag."
