The Secrets She Kept

“I don’t doubt that. There’s just no need for me to go to Smuggler’s Cove. I’m comfortable here.” Although he had his fair share of unpleasant memories, he chose to focus on the times he’d visited Grandpa Coldiron and felt accepted and loved without any criticism.

“I’m not convinced it’s good for you to be at Coldiron House, especially right now—and alone.”

She was worried about him backsliding. But when he thought of his grandfather, and not his mother, he felt he was exactly where he belonged. “It’ll be okay.”

“You’re sure?”

“Maisey, stop it! Thinking that I’m going to go off on a drug binge at any moment is only making this worse.”

“I’m sorry. It’s not as if... Well, I don’t mean—”

He cut her off as he pulled his car keys from his pocket in preparation for his dash through the rain. “Has Roxanne decided when she’s coming?”

Thankfully, she allowed him to change the subject. “Not quite yet. She probably told you she’s planning to be here for the funeral, though.”

“Yes, although she can’t stay long.”

“Their tour business falls off during the winter months, but they still have the DVD store.”

Which they’d recently turned into more of a new and used video game store that wasn’t performing very well. “Makes sense, especially since they have the kids to worry about, too.”

“What about your business?” she asked. “How long can you be away?”

“I’ve got plenty of people to fill in for me. I’ll have no problem staying for a week or two.”

“You’re confident we’ll learn what happened that soon?”

“Someone has to know.” Was that person banking on the fact that the cops would see the pills, label Josephine’s death a suicide and leave it at that? That Maisey would be too involved with her own family to do much more than put on the funeral? That the lazy, good-for-nothing Lazarow son wouldn’t care enough or be capable enough to challenge those findings?

If so, whoever killed his mother would have a rude awakening.

“So you’re really going to dig into this?” Maisey asked. “Even though the coroner and the police—everyone—are coming to the same conclusion?”

“They’re wrong. And I’ll prove it. Mom didn’t kill herself. You have to admit she’d hate being remembered that way.”

“She’d be embarrassed.”

“Mortified,” he corrected.

She made a sound of frustration. “God, Keith. Can’t anything ever be easy?”

“You did your part when you found Rocki. I’ll take care of this.”

“I’ll do everything I can to help. So will Rafe. But...are you sure it won’t...you know, be too unsettling for you? There’re a lot of memories in that house...”

They were back to her concern for him. He wished she’d give it a rest. But she had good reason to be worried, good reason to grill him.

“The only thing I’m sure about is that Mom’s death isn’t going down as a suicide,” he said. Maybe he’d never be classified as a model son, but he would do that much for his mother.

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

“ARE YOU OKAY?”

Maisey looked up to find her husband standing in the doorway of their bedroom. “I’m fine.”

He came into the room. “You seemed so worried there for a second.”

“I just hung up with Keith.”

“And? How’s he taking the news about your mother?”

She chewed on her bottom lip. “He’s insisting we get our own pathologist to perform the autopsy.”

He rested his hands on his lean hips. “Why?”

“He says that Mom would never kill herself, and he doesn’t want someone who might be influenced by what the coroner and the police have said about her death.”

His dark eyebrows drew together as he sat down next to her on the bed. “Do you agree?”

“Don’t you?” she asked.

He studied her for several seconds. “Your mother was a difficult person. Maybe something happened that was just...too much for her.”

“I’ve never known her to come up against a challenge she couldn’t handle,” she said wryly.

“Doesn’t mean there wasn’t one. She was a proud and private person. We don’t have any idea what was going on in her life—beyond the few details she was willing to divulge.”

Laney’s voice interrupted from the living room, where she was playing with Bryson, their two-year-old son. “Daddy, I think Bry needs to go potty!”

“What makes you say that?” Rafe called back to his daughter.

“He keeps saying, ‘Poop.’”

“That would be a good indication,” Maisey said with a chuckle.

Rafe got up. “I’m coming!”

“Why can’t I help him?” Laney asked. “He’ll go for me.”

Eleven-year-old Laney was blind and had been since birth, but she navigated their house well. And she loved nothing as much as her little brother. “Sure,” Maisey called. “But only give him two M&M’s as a reward.” Maisey suspected Laney was more generous with the treats they kept on hand for potty training purposes than they were.

“Can I have some, too?” she asked.

“Of course. Just let us know if you need help, okay?”

“I’ll let you wipe him,” she told them, and Maisey grinned as Rafe sat down again.

“That’s probably best,” he conceded. “Otherwise, that trip to the bathroom might not end the way we’d like it to.”