Keep Her Safe(15)

But what if those questions had to do with Abe? Something that would implicate her in his death?

“What I let happen . . . I may as well have pulled the trigger.”

What did my mother do?

Silence falls over us.

Silas’s voice softens when he offers, “Sorry I couldn’t make it to Fulcher’s. Court took longer than expected. How’d it go?”

“Alright. I’ll go to the bank tomorrow to settle her bills.”

“There’s enough money?”

“Sounds like it.”

“Good. If not, let me know and I’ll cover it until the estate pays out. Everything is as we expected? No surprise liens or anything?”

Here’s my second chance to come clean about the suicide note.

I grit my teeth and shake my head.

He nods to himself. “Still couch-surfing at Jenson’s place?”

Mention of the couch reminds me of the kink in my neck, and I reach up to rub against it. “Yeah. Not sure how much longer I’m gonna do that.”

“You know, Judy’s itching to empty out Becca’s room for you.”

“Thanks. I might take you up on that.” Between my cousins and their kids flying in, and Silas hosting the luncheon after the funeral, his house was bursting with people in the days after Mom’s death. It was too much for me to handle.

“Talked to your dad lately?”

“A couple nights ago.”

“And?”

“And he wants me to move back to Seattle to live with them. They finished that apartment in their walkout, and he said he’d rent it to me for a few months.”

“He’d rent it to you?” Silas rolls his eyes. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Blair always did have short arms and deep pockets.”

It’s no secret he thinks my dad is a cheap son of a bitch, and I can’t argue with him on that one. My mom paid for all my flights home to Austin to visit her. And it’s thanks to her that I’m not saddled with a crippling student loan. The guy has never owned a new car, not because he can’t afford one but because he doesn’t want to pay the premium that comes with driving it off the lot. He hasn’t taken an out-of-state vacation since moving to Seattle, convincing his urban wife that she should love camping because the price is right.

Then again, I have to remember that he also has my stepsisters—twelve-and ten-year-old girls—to raise on a single income.

“He said he’d give me a bargain price.”

Silas seems to ponder that. “I wouldn’t be able to hold your job for you. We’re stretched beyond capacity as it is.”

“I’d never ask you to do that.” Being an investigative analyst at the District Attorney’s office when your uncle is the district attorney has its advantages. I haven’t stepped foot inside the office since Mom died and haven’t received so much as a text from my manager about when I need to come back.

I can almost see the wheels churning inside Silas’s head. “I have connections at the Seattle DA’s office.”

“Is there a state where you don’t have connections?”

He chuckles. “I could make a few calls . . . see what’s open up there. These jobs are tough to come by, though. I don’t even know if Washington employs IAs. A lot of states don’t. You sure you’d want to start over somewhere else though?”

“I don’t know.” Do I even want to work in another DA’s office? I took this job because Silas offered it to me, and Silas can sell a wild Vegas weekend to a devout nun. I’d just finished five years of college—a bachelor’s degree followed by my MBA—and had no clue what I wanted to do with my life. That was two years ago, and not much has changed.

My job isn’t exactly thrilling. It’s digging through phone records and social media accounts, and hunting down and organizing case data for court. It’s tedious, mind-numbing work with brief moments of heart-pounding excitement when you discover a detail that’s relevant to a case. I do whatever the ADAs ask me to. I’m basically their slave.

“You’re making a real name for yourself here, son. Maxwell and Rolans are losing their minds without you. And Cory mentioned a raise and a promotion. I’d hate to see you throw that all away before you give yourself time to come to terms with everything.”

Maxwell and Rolans are two of the ADAs I support. A bunch of jokers, but they’re good at their jobs. And I can’t complain about Cory, though I think she wants to promote me to another group so she doesn’t have the top boss’s nephew reporting in to her.

Silas rests his elbows against the counter. “You could apply to law school. I told you, I can make a few calls and put in a good word.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But you’d make one helluva lawyer if that’s the way you wanted to go. I’d hate to see it wasted.” Silas has been pushing me toward law school for years.

I sigh. Too many decisions to make. “How long before I need to be back?”

“Take as long as you need. The work will get done. Your mental health is more important. I mean . . .” He gestures to the wooden chair—painted a buttery yellow—that they hauled my mother from. “Case in point.”