The Secrets She Kept

Keith caught a hint of sarcasm in her response—as if he was being too high-handed—but he ignored it. He wouldn’t let anyone stand in the way of the answers he sought. Including her. “I’d also be grateful if you’d call over to the morgue and make arrangements for us to see her today.”

Underwood’s mouth tightened, suggesting this put her off even more. “The morgue isn’t designed for public viewings. You’ll be able to see her after they release her body. Once she’s at a funeral home, you can go ahead and have a viewing or bury her or whatever you’d like.”

“That’ll be after the autopsy, which will take another day or two. Maybe more. Chances are she’ll no longer resemble the woman I remember, and you know it.”

“That’s not necessarily true. People have open caskets after autopsies all the time—”

“I haven’t seen her in five years, Chief Underwood. Could you show me a little compassion and make it possible to spend ten minutes with my dead mother today?”

“I’d like to see her, too,” Maisey piped up. “I don’t think any of this will feel real until I do.”

Chief Underwood closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, as if she was digging deep for patience. Keith could tell she thought she was already bending over backward by agreeing to give him a copy of the file. Ultimately, however, she gave in. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said with a sigh. “I shouldn’t. Just keep in mind that they’re busy over there and probably won’t welcome you. This will force someone to take time out of his or her schedule, so I’d appreciate it if you’d be as brief as possible.”

“You have my word,” Keith said and waited while she made the call.

“You can head there now if you like,” Underwood told him when she hung up and wrote down the address. “The supervising technician, a man by the name of Dean Gillespie, will meet you when you arrive and take you back.”

“Thank you.” Keith shook her hand before leading Maisey out into the cool, damp weather of another rainy day.

“The morgue?” Maisey said as they climbed into his rental car. The keys of his mother’s Mercedes were where she’d always kept them, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to drive her car quite yet. “We’re going to the morgue?”

“Would you rather not?” he asked.

She seemed a little shell-shocked. “I’d like to see Mom, as I said. I’m just not sure what else you’re hoping to accomplish.”

“I want to see the condition of her body.”

“You’re afraid there might be injuries they’re not telling us about?”

“I’d rather not take someone else’s word for it. Doesn’t hurt to stay involved, right?” He started the car but didn’t shift into Drive. “So...are you in? Or should I drop you off at home?”

Although she frowned, she didn’t take long to decide. “I’m in. But then what?”

“Then we choose a pathologist we feel we can trust from the list they gave you. Whoever it is will probably need to have her transferred to the hospital where he or she works.”

“And after that?”

“I’d like to talk to Hugh.”

She buckled her seat belt. “Why? So you can ask him if Mom knew he was married? You’ll have no way of knowing whether he’s telling the truth.”

“I can ask him that and other things. Compare what he tells me with what he told the police. Look for inconsistencies. I can also research his background, find out what’s going on in his life and what he might’ve been after by dating Mom in the first place. That might be more useful.”

Maisey rolled her eyes. “Why? Isn’t it obvious? Men adored Mom. I’ve never seen a woman attract so much attention—except maybe Marilyn Monroe.”

That the starlet had also died naked with an empty bottle of pills nearby made the comparison a bit chilling. Was that where their mother’s killer had gotten the idea? “So why wasn’t he willing to leave his wife for her?”

“Maybe he loves his wife. Or he wasn’t willing to break up his family. Chief Underwood mentioned two sons and a youngish daughter.”

“His wife has to be easier to live with than Mom would’ve been.”

“He wouldn’t have realized that yet. No one can resist Mom when she’s pouring on the charm.”

“Still, I can’t buy that she’d ever take her own life.”

“Even after what we just heard?”

“Did it change your mind?” he asked.

She looked dejected as she stared at the wet, shiny pavement ahead of them. “Honestly?”

“Of course.”

“No,” she said.

“There you go.”

He’d finally shifted and pulled away from the curb when he saw a woman carrying a fluffy Chow Chow—a dog too big for that sort of thing—down the sidewalk ahead of them. “That’s Nancy, isn’t it? And her dog, Simba?”

Maisey took so long to answer he thought she was going to ignore the question.

“Isn’t it?” he prompted, throwing her a sharp glance.

She squinted through the windshield as if she wasn’t quite sure. “Maybe,” she said.

He knew it was Nancy. He’d recognize her anywhere.

Pulling alongside her, he lowered the passenger window. “Hey, climb in,” he called out. “We’ll give you a ride.”

She started at the sound of his voice. She’d obviously been so intent on not dropping her heavy bundle that she hadn’t been paying attention to what was going on around her. She was probably also a little surprised to see him. The only interaction they’d had in the five years he’d been gone was a handful of calls, all instigated by him and all of which she’d ignored, and the car he’d tried to give her a few years ago, which she’d forced the driver to return.

“That’s okay,” she said. “It’s not much farther.”

If she was still in the same house, and he guessed she was, she lived just down the street in a small cottage she’d inherited from her late aunt. She was right—it wasn’t far. But she was already struggling to hang on to her dog. “Simba’s got to be getting heavy,” he said. “And he doesn’t look comfortable. Let us give you a ride,” he said again.

“We’re wet,” she responded.

“Avis will clean the car when I return it,” he told her.

“Come on!” Maisey chimed in and, rather than say no to both of them, Nancy slowed to a stop.

7 (#u8ed10f00-acea-5fdf-aa03-d128a18c557a)

NANCY COULDN’T BELIEVE IT. Maisey had stopped by just this morning to warn her that she might run into Keith and here he was—at the worst possible moment. Her hair was plastered to her head. She wasn’t wearing any makeup. She had on a jogging outfit that probably showed every extra pound. And she was breathing heavily from exertion.

She told herself not to even think like that. She didn’t care if he admired her. She’d been crazy to believe he could ever give her what she needed. Maybe she wasn’t a svelte 120 pounds, like his mother, but she was done hanging on to his every word and feeling grateful for any scrap of attention. She was done starving herself in order to be something she wasn’t. She’d find the right companion eventually—or she’d continue to build a fulfilling life alone.

“What happened?” Maisey asked as Nancy situated her dog beside her. “Why were you carrying Simba?”