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"I need to speak to my mother."
"Maybe you should call her now."
He pulled out his phone, punched in a number, and then left the room.
I wanted to follow him. But it wasn't my business.Or was it?If my mother was sending his mother money, then I needed to know why.
I got up from the floor and walked to the door. I could hear Kade talking in the family room. I moved closer to the stairs so I could hear better.
"I don't understand," he said. "How long have you gotten the money? Do you know the person who sent it to you—Laura Hawthorne?" He paused. "You're seriously telling me you don't know her? No, we can't talk later. I need to know why a woman who has been supporting my art was also sending you money." He paused for several minutes. "You never heard the name Laura Hawthorne except from me? I don't understand." Silence followed his words, then he said, "It matters because Laura was shot yesterday, and someone broke into her house today. They're looking for something. And I don't like that suddenly you're in the middle of this. The police are trying to unravel Laura's life. I don't want you mixed up in whatever she's involved in." He paused. "I'm not going to calm down. This is serious, Mom." He let out a breath. "All right. Call me back."
As he finished his call, I made my way down the stairs. "Well?" I asked.
He looked at me with irritation in his gaze. "My mom said the first letter she received wasn't signed. Nor was there a return address. It just said the group had heard she was struggling. Their nonprofit was made up of single moms who knew what it meant to be alone, trying to support a child. They would help by sending cash that wouldn't be taxed. They wanted her to think of it as a gift in her time of need but not to tell anyone about it, as they couldn't support everyone as much as they wished they could."
"That sounds too good to be true. She didn't question how they heard about her?"
"She'd been applying to loans and grants for months. She assumed that's where they got her name. The money came once a quarter, and it was always five one-hundred-dollar bills."
"That's two thousand dollars a year," I murmured. "How long has it been coming?"
"She said it started when I was about eleven, and it didn't end until three years ago when she found the will to send the money back with a note expressing gratitude but letting them know that her child was grown, and she didn't need it anymore."
"The money started going to your mom twenty years ago. That's right around the time my mom disappeared. That can't be a coincidence."
"It seems unlikely," he admitted, a scowl on his face.
"And if they stopped sending your mother money three years ago, why is this envelope filled with cash still here?"
"I don't know."
"You said there was no return address on the envelope, but there is a tag on the envelopes upstairs."
"My mom said she didn't start seeing a return address until the last few years before she asked them to stop."
"How did she do that exactly?"
"She sent the money back with a note—to this address, I presume."
I thought about that. "We need to find out more about this group, but that might not be easy. It doesn't sound like they operate publicly."
"No, but the money has to come from somewhere," Kade said. "Your mother is a teacher. I don't think she's rich enough to be sending cash to people all over the country."
"And why would she be so committed to helping out single moms? She wasn't a single mom. She had a husband and kids she left behind. If anything, she should have been sending my father money."
"Maybe she did."
I frowned at that suggestion. "I don't think so. I never saw any of these envelopes before. And they were only addressed to your mom. Where were the other recipients?"
"I don't know."
"You said my mom ran into you at a gallery in Seattle two years ago and became a fan. Wouldn't she have known that you were the same kid she was helping to support? You and your mom have the same last name." I shook my head as I tried to piece it together. "There has to be a connection we're missing."
Kade gave me a grim look. "I agree. It doesn't add up. I need to talk to my mother more about it, but she had a dinner to go to with her cancer support group. They're celebrating her friend's remission. She said she'd call me later."
"Maybe she'll be able to tell you more then."
"I hope so." He ran a hand through his hair. "I have to get out of here. I need to paint. I need to work on the pieces for my show. What is your plan? Are you leaving now? Are you going to find a hotel?"
