Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10)(98)

“But you two fought.”

“We did not. We were two grown adults. We had appetites. We were greedy and then it was done. Well, except, of course, your mother found out. She was not happy with him. Though clearly it was not the first time she had learned such things. Your father worried for a bit. She was angrier than usual. What did he call it? ‘The straw that broke the donkey’s back.’”

“The straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“Yes, that. When I heard Earl had been shot, I assumed his wife had done it.”

“My mother was with me.”

For the first time, Dr. Ivanova smiles. It is a feline expression. “Please, your mother would never dirty her hands like that. And I’ve always thought she is much smarter than your father gave her credit for.” Ivanova waves a hand at me, gesturing that she is done with me. “You do not have anything. If the police come, I will tell them the truth. Your father and I were lovers, a very long time ago. Then we were not, also a very long time ago. I do not shoot my exes. Frankly, I couldn’t afford that many bullets.”

She gives me a blatant stare. And just like that, my crime solving is done. She’s won. I’ve lost. Game over.

I rise to standing, surprised to find that my legs are shaky. To be honest, I believe Katarina’s claim that she had no reason to kill my father. Now I have doubts about my mother instead, which is worse.

I want to get as far away from here as possible. This morning has been disorienting. Maybe children aren’t meant to know their parents this well. Maybe no one should look too hard at their childhood memories.

Mr. Delaney also rises to his feet. As I head for the door, he hesitates. I hear him murmur something to Dr. Ivanova. Maybe a final, parting barb. Whatever it is, she hisses in response, clearly unhappy with him.

I don’t care anymore. I just want to get back to the car. And then what? Return to my mother’s house? Watch her mix more martinis in the kitchen? Or ask her, finally, point-blank after all these years: Did you arrange for Dad to die?

I’m doubting things I don’t want to doubt. And seeing things I don’t want to see.

As we step outside the building, into the harsh chill of mid-December, Mr. Delaney’s cell phone rings. He answers it crisply. “Delaney. Yes. Excuse me? What did you say?”

His footsteps immediately pick up. I’m rushing to keep up with him when he ends the call, pockets his phone.

“There’s a fire,” he says, his voice hard.

“Where?” Then before I can help myself. “Mom?”

“She’s fine. It’s not your mother’s house, Evie. It’s mine.”





CHAPTER 32


    D.D.


D.D. WRAPPED UP HER MEETING with Neil and Carol. Based on everything they had learned, it seemed logical that Conrad Carter had continued investigating his father’s cases after his parents’ deaths. That meant he’d been covering everything from how to hide Monica LaPage from her incarcerated-and-yet-still-vengeful ex-husband to pursuing the disappearance of at least two missing girls in Florida. Also, based on Evie’s account of spotting a dot-onion site on her husband’s laptop, Conrad had been using the dark web to do it. Which was where he’d encountered Jacob Ness, and arranged a meeting in a bar? Or where he’d met all sorts of predators, one of whom had ultimately figured out Conrad’s true good intentions and felt compelled to kill the man? Or Conrad had simply learned something he shouldn’t have?

They knew more, but they still didn’t know enough. Neil and Carol were to contact retired Jacksonville detective Dan Cain, who presumably had kept in touch with Conrad. They were also to make discreet inquiries into Monica LaPage’s whereabouts. D.D. was already wondering—the monthly withdrawals from Conrad’s account. Had he been sending financial support to the beleaguered woman, again, taking up where his father had left off in trying to help her?

So many questions.

In the meantime, D.D. headed back up to her office, where she could call arson investigator Patti Di Lucca. She wanted more information on Rocket, who appeared to be their prime suspect for burning down the Carters’ home. Not to mention this whole firebug-for-hire gig. Had Di Lucca heard of such a thing before? Did it fit with her impressions of the scrawny kid? And how exactly would prospective clients learn of such services?

Clever in his own way, Flora had said about Rocket. In D.D.’s world, nothing good came from that.

She was just reaching for her cell phone when it rang. She took one look at the caller ID and smiled.

“Great minds think alike,” she said, as she took Patti Di Lucca’s call.

“Though fools seldom differ,” Di Lucca finished the proverb.

“Uh-oh. Does that mean I’m not going to like this call?”

“That depends. What are your feelings on a second fire?”

“Where?”

“Defense attorney Dick Delaney’s town house. Reeks of gasoline—and I’m told the first firefighters on the scene discovered a burnt-out pot on the stove and thick smoke from cooking oil.”

“Rocket Langley,” D.D. breathed.

“I’m already on scene,” Di Lucca reported.

“Any injuries?

“Nope. Residence was empty at the time the fire was started.”