Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(61)

“We were. Growing up, it was just the two of us. She was my best friend. We had our struggles when I was a teenager, normal mom-daughter fights. But she was always there for me. She always put me first.”

“Sounds like a great mom.”

Her eyes welled with tears. “Why would he do this to her?”

He meaning Draven. Genevieve thought Draven had killed her mother. Dash had planted enough doubts in my mind that I’d been operating under the possibility he was innocent.

But as far as the world was concerned, as far as Genevieve knew, Draven Slater was Amina’s murderer.

“I don’t know. I wish things were different.”

“Me too.” She pushed away from the table in a flurry, going to the kitchen and getting two glasses from a hickory cupboard. Then she filled them both with milk from the fridge and brought them to the table. Next came a heaping plate of freshly baked cookies. “I’m grief eating. If you leave here and this plate has any cookies left, I’ll be disappointed in both of us.”

I laughed, taking a cookie. “We can’t have that.”

The first cookie was inhaled, followed quickly by a second. After the third, we each gulped some milk, then looked at one another and smiled.

Maybe she seemed familiar because she was so welcoming. So friendly. She’d brought me into her home, shared a piece of her mother and trusted me to take care of it. Na?ve? Yes, slightly. Or she wasn’t jaded to the world. She didn’t expect people to lie, cheat and steal.

I envied her.

“God, these are good.” I took a fourth cookie.

“Right? I don’t know where she got this recipe but it’s the only one I’ll ever use.”

“I might have to steal it from you.”

“If I give it to you, will you put it in your story? I think Mom would have liked sharing that one with the world.”

My hand went to my heart. “It would be my pleasure.”

Genevieve’s eyes drifted past my shoulder, staring blankly into her living room behind us. “Mom and I didn’t get to see each other much. Not after she took that job in Bozeman and moved to Montana.”

“Did you grow up in Denver?”

“I did. We lived about five miles from here. I went to the high school you probably passed on your way in.”

A sprawling red brick building five times the size of my high school. “Is that why she moved to Bozeman? Her job?”

“Yeah. Mom worked for a plumbing supply company. They were expanding and started an office in Bozeman. She volunteered to go. But you probably already knew all of that.”

“Only the name.” The internet could tell me all about the company, its branch offices and its products. But it didn’t tell me about Amina. The internet couldn’t tell me about the person she’d been. “Was she good at her job?”

“She was,” Genevieve said with pride. “She worked for that company from the beginning and they really loved her. It was like a family. I knew all her coworkers growing up. A few of them would hire me in the summers to mow their lawns. They all came to my college graduation.” Her voice hitched. “Her boss helped me plan her funeral.”

My heart squeezed. I couldn’t imagine having to plan my mother’s funeral. “Sounds like she was the type of person who made close, lifetime friendships.”

“She loved. People were drawn to her for it. It was hard being a single mom. My grandparents passed before I was born so she did it all by herself. She never complained. She never treated me like a burden. She just built this life for us. A happy one.”

Genevieve dropped her chin, sniffling. I stayed quiet, the emotion clogging my throat, as she wiped her eyes dry. When she looked up, she forced a smile.

“I should have called,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’m here, surprising you. I should have called first.” Goddamn it. Draven had been right about that, hadn’t he?

I’d let the weeks of silence from Dash irritate me. And now I was here bothering a young woman who’d lost the most important person in her life.

“No, I’m glad you’re here.” Genevieve took another cookie. “I haven’t talked about Mom in a couple of weeks. It was a flurry after she was . . . you know. Everyone was so shocked and I was so busy getting her memorial arranged. People talked about her then. But after it was over, it got quiet. People went back to their lives.”

“And you’re here.”

“I’m here. Heartbroken.” She took a bite and chewed it with a quivering chin. “But it’s nice to talk about how wonderful she was. And not about how she died. The only person who’s talked to me about her this week is the prosecutor in Clifton Forge and that’s only because I want to keep tabs on the trial.”

“It’s not scheduled yet.”

“I know. I want him locked up. I want him off the streets and away from the world. Maybe then I can forget. I get so angry and . . .” As she trailed off, her free hand fisted on the table, her knuckles white. “I want to see her grave. Did you know we buried Mom in Montana?”

“Um, no. I didn’t.” I hadn’t kept up on Amina’s funeral arrangements. The obituary I’d included in the paper had been vague on the topic, stating the family was having private services in Denver. I’d assumed those services had included the burial.