The Lost Child (Detective Lottie Parker #3)(67)

‘Are you sure you can’t tell me anything about Tessa and her family?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘She was a solicitor in the seventies and eighties. You or Dad have any dealings with her?’

Lottie studied her mother. Rose’s hand shook slightly, but her eyes were focused straight ahead, unwavering.

‘I can’t recall that we had anything to do with her.’

‘Dad’s will, maybe?’

‘No. You know he left everything to me. And once I’m gone, it’ll be yours.’

‘Mick O’Dowd. Do you know him?’

Rose shook her head. ‘Can’t say that I do. Why? What did he do?’

‘I don’t know yet. I think maybe he was an old boyfriend of Tessa’s.’

‘I doubt that very much. She had no time for anyone other than her daughter, Marian. Spoiled that girl rotten, she did. Compensating for the loss of her husband at such a young age.’

Lottie searched for the insinuation, but couldn’t find it. Rose was quiet. Too quiet. Lottie studied her mother. She seemed to be lost in her own world, a film of tears shrouding her eyes.

‘Mother, what’s wrong? Are you okay?’

Shrugging off Lottie’s hand, Rose stood. ‘I’d better get home. You’re in good hands here.’

‘Kettle’s almost boiled,’ Boyd said.

Rose smiled. Trust Boyd to get her mother on his side.

‘Next time.’

At the door, Rose turned. ‘Mick O’Dowd? A right ladies’ man in his day, if it’s the same fellow I’m thinking of.’

‘Lives out by Dolanstown,’ Lottie said.

‘That’s him.’

‘We think he might have killed Emma,’ Boyd said.

‘Emma? He wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head.’

‘Why not? Did he know her? She was killed at his farmhouse. He is one of our suspects.’

‘He wouldn’t hurt that girl. You’d better look elsewhere.’ Rose stepped out into the rain, opened up her umbrella then closed it again before the wind could take hold of it.

‘What do you mean?’ Lottie asked her mother’s departing figure.

‘Do you want a lift?’ Boyd offered.

‘I have my car.’ And Rose disappeared out onto the road.

Lottie stared at Boyd as the rain beat in on top of them.

‘Close the door,’ Boyd said.

In the kitchen, seated at the table, they sat in silence digesting what Rose Fitzpatrick had said.

‘First she knew nothing, then she knew an awful lot. I can’t figure her out at all.’

‘Could Mick O’Dowd have been the writer of Tessa’s love letters?’ Boyd said.

‘It’s all a bit mad. And I really think my mother isn’t well. Did you notice how pale she is?’

‘A bit thinner, maybe.’

‘I’m going to have a word with Annabelle about her. Book her in for a check-up.’

‘Did Annabelle leave you a message?’

‘I never checked my phone. She’ll ring back if it’s urgent, but knowing her…’

‘Lottie? You need a check-up, never mind your mother.’

‘Don’t start. Finish your drink, then I’m going to bed.’

Boyd drained his Coke, and Lottie took the glass and put it in the sink. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

He got up and headed for the door. ‘You know, if what your mother insinuated is correct, then Marian Russell could’ve been Tessa and O’Dowd’s daughter.’

‘There’s no point in speculating. Whether she was or not, what relevance can it have to anything we’re dealing with?’

‘Maybe nothing, or…’

‘Or maybe everything. At this stage, we don’t know. Goodnight, Boyd.’ She gave him a quick hug.

Chloe came down the stairs. ‘I’ve an appointment with my therapist in the morning. But don’t worry, I can go on my own.’

‘See you,’ Boyd said with a wink.

‘Bye,’ Chloe said.

Lottie locked the front door and switched off the sitting room light.

‘Hey, I’m going to watch some telly,’ Chloe said.

‘Don’t be up half the night,’ Lottie warned as her daughter passed her in the hall, rolling her eyes like only a teenager could.

Lottie’s heart stopped for a moment. There was one Ragmullin teenager who would never roll her eyes again.

She reached out and touched Chloe’s arm. The girl stopped. ‘Are you okay now, Mum?’

Lottie gripped her middle child in a hug, and received one back. Holding Chloe at arm’s length, she said, ‘Once I have my family, I’ll always be okay.’

‘Good. You scared us earlier. You are a good mum, if a little wacky at times.’

‘Thanks for that, Chloe.’

‘Any time. Now can I watch the telly?’

‘And you’re okay too, aren’t you?’

Chloe turned up her sleeves. Lottie gulped at the sight of the old scars ridged along her arms. But there were no fresh cuts. ‘I’m doing fine. And I know I’ve to talk to my therapist or to you if I ever feel that bad again.’