“You won’t know until you ask.” Sharp pinned Lance with a look. “She might appreciate being useful. It could be good for her.”

Lance looked doubtful.

“Do you want me to ask her?” Sharp offered.

“No. I have to check on her today anyway.” But Lance didn’t look happy about the idea. “No promises.”

“Understood.” Sharp nodded.

“We need to interview Robby Barone, Felicity Weber, and Jacob Emerson. I have no doubt Mr. Emerson will be in on Jacob’s interview.” Morgan abandoned her file, went to the board, and started a list of Questions.

Who was the father of Tessa’s baby?

Who doesn’t have an alibi for Thursday after the party?

“I’d like to visit the crime scene as well. Daylight might give us a whole different feel for the area.” Morgan shivered as she remembered being in the woods in the dark, seeing Tessa’s body in the harsh beam of the flashlight, the girl covered in blood.

And the word written across her forehead:

SORRY.

Chapter Nineteen

The afternoon sun warmed Lance’s back as he and Morgan walked toward his Jeep.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Lance asked. “I could drop this list off to my mom, and then meet you later.”

He’d given Sharp a hard time, but his boss was right. His mother might be thrilled to be able to help. She had long days and nothing to fill them. But could she handle the facts of the murder case? All Lance had brought was a list of names and addresses—no photos or details of the crime. Still, his mom was fragile. Who knew what would upset her?

Lance couldn’t deny that he was embarrassed for Morgan to meet her. He could sense a no-turning-back sharing moment on the horizon. But Morgan was a friend, not a date, and she was the most understanding, giving woman he’d ever known. She didn’t judge people. She’d taken a former drug addict into her home and made her part of her family. She took care of her cantankerous grandfather. She understood what it meant to care for the people she loved without qualifications. Lance had learned the hard way that not everyone was willing to make sacrifices.

“That’s silly. After all the things you do to help my grandfather? Of course I don’t mind,” Morgan said as she got into the passenger seat. “I’m happy to meet your mom.”

Lance slid behind the wheel. “I’d better give you some background first. Remember when I told you about my dad disappearing?”

“Yes.” Her seatbelt clicked into place.

He pulled away from the curb. It was easier to talk about his mom if his eyes were on the road. He didn’t want to see the shock and pity on Morgan’s face as she pictured his childhood.

Before he could change his mind, Lance dove into his story headfirst. “About a year after he was gone, my mom started showing signs of anxiety and depression. It probably began earlier, but I was just a kid. I didn’t notice until it started to affect my life. At first, the symptoms were more quirky than alarming. Mild OCD, depression, that sort of thing. I figured she was just sad. Hell, I was sad too. I missed my dad, and with the way she was retreating from life, it felt as if I was losing her too.”

Morgan didn’t comment, but he could sense her scrutiny.

He continued, “Within the next couple of years, Mom went out less and less. By the time I was thirteen or fourteen, she was leaving the house maybe once a week. If she hadn’t had to feed me, she probably would have willingly crawled in a hole and starved. She couldn’t work. Those trips to the grocery store got farther and farther apart.”

Memories flooded him. He’d worried about her committing suicide and leaving him alone.

“Didn’t she have friends?” Morgan asked, her voice heavy with empathy, not pity.

Lance stopped at the corner, then turned left onto Main Street. “Her symptoms took years to fully develop. It was a gradual progression, starting with slowly cutting herself off from her friends. By the time she was sick enough for other people to notice, she’d already alienated everyone in her social circle. She didn’t have any real family except me. The only person who persisted was Sharp.”

“He seems like he really cares about you.”

Lance took Main to the edge of town and turned onto a rural highway. The miles rolled by. Houses gave way to fields and forests. “He was still a detective then, and even though my dad’s case had long since been set aside, he kept tabs on us. As you can see, we didn’t live in town. It was a damned long bike ride to get anywhere.

“Sharp was the guy who drove me to hockey practice. He taught me how to drive. He forced my mom to see a psychiatrist. There were plenty of nights I stayed at Sharp’s place because I needed a break from my mom’s anxiety.”

Once open wounds, Lance’s memories were now needle pricks of humiliation. Sharp checking their fridge and finding it empty. Lance’s mother, dirty and wild-eyed, counting and arranging empty bottles, boxes of unworn shoes, and stacks of magazines. Sharp taking Lance out for a burger and letting him use his guest room to give him a respite from the stress of his mother’s mental illness. The day he’d gotten his driver’s license at the age of sixteen, Lance had become his mother’s caretaker.

Lance pulled onto the shoulder in front of a roadside farm stand. “I’ll be right back. Do you want anything?”

“No, thank you.”

Lance grabbed a fresh apple pie, his mom’s favorite treat, and returned to the Jeep. Morgan took the white box and held it on her lap.

“I had no idea,” Morgan said after he pulled back out onto the road. “I often wondered why you stayed in Scarlet Falls when there weren’t any openings for a detective. You could have applied to another police force years ago and gotten your promotion.”

“My mother requires a lot of maintenance. I need to stay close.” Lance turned at a mailbox. A narrow drive led to the small house he’d grown up in. After his dad disappeared, Mom refused to consider moving. It was as if she held onto the three-bedroom house and five acres as her last connection to her husband.

As if she still expected him to come home.

He parked in front of the house and looked over at Morgan. She didn’t seem disturbed by his story.

“Is there anything I might do or say that could upset her?” Morgan asked, always thinking of others, never herself.

“Not really.” Lance said. “But don’t be offended if she’s standoffish or nervous. She doesn’t like visits from strangers. The only people she’s comfortable with are me and Sharp.”

“All right.”

Lance got out of the Jeep. For a few seconds, he considered asking Morgan to wait outside, but that was cheating. Mom’s therapist wanted him to treat her as normally as possible. Bringing a coworker to the house was perfectly ordinary.

Morgan carried the pie as they walked to the front porch.

“Did I mention she’s also a hoarder?” he warned as he knocked on the door. No one answered, so he used his key and let them in.

“Mom?” he called out as they stepped into the living room.

He assessed a stack of shipping boxes by the door. Not too bad. Seven pairs of shoes. He’d last visited yesterday morning. These must have been delivered in the afternoon. Other than the new boxes, the living room was tidy.

A former computer science professor, his mom had turned to online teaching years before. She also did freelance website design, security, and maintenance. With her mortgage paid off, her expenses were minimal, and her salary enabled her to indulge in far too much online shopping. Lance kept close tabs on her credit cards, but it was still impossible to keep her completely in check. If he cancelled one credit card, she applied for ten more.

He pictured the clutter that had once filled the house. They’d barely been able to walk from room to room. Antidepressants, weekly group therapy, and Lance’s determination were the three keys to keeping Jennifer Kruger’s living conditions sanitary, safe, and relatively sane.

Morgan wandered into the living room and inspected the hanging glass cases full of thimbles and spoons. Several chests of drawers held more of the same. “Spoons and thimbles?”