Chapter 22

22

Metairie, New Orleans, Louisiana

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 16, 9:15 A.M.

"YOU'RE LATE," ALAN SNAPPED WHEN Sage waltzed in.

"I stayed with some friends last night."

Staying with friends meant that Sage was at the clubs again. Fornicating and doing God only knew what else. At least Sage disguised his face, but all it would take would be one floozy he'd taken back to his hotel room to rip off his wig and he'd be recognized.

Sage's golden hair was his most recognizable feature.

Alan stopped himself before he said something that would make Sage too angry to follow his commands. "I have something for you to do."

This is it. The moment he'd been bracing himself for since Cora Winslow had tracked down that VanPatten woman. Because Cora knew. Or at least she thought she did.

If she learned the whole truth, all would be lost.

Sage studied him. "What is the job?"

"There's a family that's causing trouble for our ministry."

Sage slowly straightened in the chair. "What kind of trouble?"

"I don't think you need to know that."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to…" Alan closed his eyes. Made himself say the words. "I want you to search their house for any files, take their laptops, tie them up, then…block the exits and set the house on fire."

He opened his eyes to see Sage staring at him, in obvious shock.

"You want me to kill them?" Sage hissed. "You're talking about burning them alive?"

"They'll likely die of smoke inhalation first." He hoped.

Sage shook his head. "No. I won't kill someone. Not even for you, Grandfather."

Alan gave him a bland look, hoping the boy couldn't hear his heart beating in his chest. "You killed for yourself. Little-old-lady librarian. Rental car clerk."

Sage's eyes flashed fury. "You had me followed."

"Of course I did. You've been a loose cannon for the past year, Sage. You need to straighten up and fly right. Which starts with proving you can follow orders, unlike the past few days when you practically stalked Cora Winslow."

"And if I don't agree?"

"Then the police will get an anonymous tip with footage of you entering the old librarian's house. You wore a ski mask, but you drove that rental Camry, which you later drove to meet the rental car clerk, where you did not wear a mask. They'll get photos of you shooting Sanjay, and the location where they'll find his car—with his body in the trunk. That will be enough to get them a warrant for your penthouse condo where they will find sufficient proof that you killed two people."

His grandson had gone pale. "I left no evidence in my condo."

"Doesn't matter. The police will find that you did." Alan would make sure of it.

Sage's mouth twisted. "You sonofabitch."

"You watch your mouth."

His grandson laughed bitterly. "You are asking me to murder someone, and you're more concerned that I swear ? You are a piece of work." He shook his head, suddenly sober. "And if I do it? What then?"

"You get to keep your job, your fancy apartment, and that sports car you love so much."

Sage's eyes narrowed, contempt mixing with his horror. "What if I tell the police that you killed Medford Hughes?"

Alan couldn't help it. He flinched.

Sage smiled coldly.

Alan shrugged, his nonchalance back in place. "They'll think you're making things up because you were arrested for killing that sweet old librarian and an innocent rental car clerk."

"So we're killers now," Sage said quietly. "Is that accurate?"

" You are. I've never done anything like that."

Sage's laugh was mirthless. "You really are a sonofabitch. A lying sonofabitch."

Alan gritted his teeth. "Will you do as I ask?"

"How long do I have to decide?"

"Thirty seconds."

"Right." The muscle in Sage's jaw bulged. "Give me the address."

Alan had known the boy would fold. Still, he had to control his shaking hands. "Memorize it. I'm going to keep it and burn it afterward."

He handed the paper to Sage and watched as the boy dropped his gaze to the address, staring at it for a long, long moment. Finally, he looked up, his expression completely blank as he tossed the paper to Alan's desk.

"I hate you," Sage said quietly. "So damn much."

I know. Alan wanted to tell him that the job wasn't real, that it was just a test, that he didn't expect Sage to actually kill for him.

But it wasn't a test. It was reality. He needed the Caulfield family gone. He needed the truth buried so deep that no one would ever find it.

And then he'd deal with Cora Winslow. She was surrounded by bodyguards all the time, but that couldn't last forever. He'd kill her outside the library once she went back to work, and then he'd burn her whole house down.

No one would find anything in the rubble. No records, nothing incriminating.

Then it would be over. Finally, over.

Maybe then I'll be able to sleep.

The Garden District, New Orleans, Louisiana

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 16, 10:40 A.M.

Harry Fulton was in his early sixties, dressed in a suit and tie. He was about five-six and balding, a pair of skinny glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

Phin still didn't like him.

Cora opened her arms to Harry as soon as he walked into the foyer. She had to bend down to hug him. "Thank you for coming."

"Sorry I'm late," Harry said. "I texted you that I was delayed, but I don't suppose you saw my message."

"I've been a little busy this morning," Cora said after letting the man go. "Harry, these are my bodyguards, Val and Phin. Val and Phin, my attorney, Harry Fulton."

Harry nodded to Val, then narrowed his eyes at Phin. "He's looking at you like he's more than your bodyguard," the smaller man said suspiciously.

Cora laughed. "Because he is. And, no, I'm not interested in your opinion on the matter." She tucked her arm into Harry's. "Come, let's have some tea."

The table was neat and tidy, all the photos gone. As was Antoine.

Cora looked to Molly for an explanation. "He took all of our things and went up to your office," Molly said. "He's going to figure stuff out while we chat with Harry."

"Harry, this is Molly. She also works for the PI firm. The others are Stone and Delores. They're friends of Phin's from out of state."

"Nice to meet you all." Harry gave Molly a once-over. "I've seen you before. I'm trying to remember where."

"Le Petit Choux," Molly said with a nod. "You eat there three times a week."

"That's it," Harry confirmed. "I've seen you there often as well." He pulled out a chair for Cora, in which she sat with a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Harry," Cora said.

Phin glared, taking the chair next to her before Harry could.

Val rolled her eyes.

Molly patted the chair next to her for Harry. "My fiancé owns the restaurant. I eat there a lot."

Harry smiled at Molly. "You, my dear, are a very lucky woman. That man is a culinary artist." He waited until everyone was seated before turning to Cora. "So what's this about? And why are all these people here? I wasn't expecting a kind of Spanish Inquisition."

Both Stone and Val snorted a laugh.

Phin had to admit that he might like the man a little bit. Anyone who quoted Monty Python couldn't be all bad. Still, he had his eye on the attorney.

Cora sighed. "I've had an eventful few days, Harry. Also, their boss is on the speaker. Hi, Burke."

"Hi, Cora," Burke said dryly. "And hello, Harry."

"I've heard of your firm," Harry said. "I'm glad you're helping Cora. But, Cora, this has got to be expensive. I'll move money from the trust into your bank account."

"No, you won't," Burke said. "We're doing this for free because whoever's after Cora shot one of ours. Joy will be okay, but it was close."

Harry looked relieved. "I'm so glad that she'll recover."

"We are, too," Cora agreed. "Harry, we need to ask some questions about my father."

"I figured you would. He's kind of been front and center in all this, ever since they identified his body. Where would you like to start?"

Cora blew out a breath that sent her curls bouncing. "I guess I'll jump into it. Did you manage any of my father's financial affairs?"

Harry didn't answer right away, sending Phin's suspicion spiking. "I didn't," he finally said. "But he did ask me some questions that made me wonder what he was up to."

"Questions about a Swiss bank account?" Cora asked.

Harry nodded. "You found it, then. I never knew for sure if he'd set one up."

"Did my mother know?"

"She knew that he'd asked me," Harry said. "After he disappeared, I told Priscilla about our conversation. She figured it was money he'd used for the other family he'd left her for." The older man swallowed. "And all this time he was dead."

Cora's shoulders slumped, so Phin took her hand and squeezed it lightly. She leaned into him before returning her attention to Harry. "She didn't try to find the account?"

"No. She was so devastated when he left, she said he was welcome to it. She didn't want anything of his. Did you find the account?"

Cora shrugged. "I found the number. Went to the bank yesterday and filled out a metric ton of paperwork to get access to it."

Harry hesitated. "Do you know how he got that money?"

"Yeah, we do. I don't know how much to tell you, only because the less you know at this point, the safer you might be."

Harry paled a fraction. "It was illegal, then."

Cora tilted her head. "You suspected?"

"I hoped, actually. He'd tell your mother he was going to Mobile or Tupelo for business. She worried that he wasn't where he was supposed to be, that he was cheating on her. She asked if I'd follow him and see where he was really going. She couldn't, not with you and John Robert being so small. And John Robert always being so sick. I followed Jack once. He said he was going to meet a client in Mobile, but he went to Baton Rouge instead."

"You knew he wasn't where he was supposed to be, then," Cora said sadly. "And so did Mama."

"Yes, dear. I hated telling her that. I really did."

"Did you?" Phin asked. "You didn't want her for yourself?"

"Phin," Cora snapped.

Phin wasn't sorry. This was Cora's safety, her life on the line. He held Harry's gaze. Watched the man's face turn a deep red.

"It's all right, Cora," Harry finally said. "His point is fair. I loved your mother. I think my feelings started when she was in college, before she met Jack Elliot, but she was too young and I was too old. And then she was married and so happy. And I was still too old for her, anyway. I was content just to be her friend."

Letting go of Phin, Cora leaned across the table to cover Harry's hand with hers. "And after my father disappeared?"

"I loved her still, but she never got over Jack. She knew how I felt. Or she thought she did. I think she thought I had a crush, but it wasn't just a crush. She was everything to me. It killed me to watch her suffer when your father disappeared. And then, when she died…God. I wanted to die, too, but there was you and John Robert to take care of. I knew she'd want me to make sure you all were provided for."

Cora squeezed Harry's hand. "You did that. Thank you."

Harry swallowed. "I did it for her, but also for you two. You and John Robert were like the kids I'd never have." One side of his mouth lifted in an attempt at a smile. "Miss Barbara is well past child-bearing age."

Cora's laugh was watery, her eyes shiny as she released Harry's hand and leaned back in her chair. "You really are a sly dog, Harry."

The man had tried to make her feel better when it was clear that he was hurting as well. Phin felt a little more grudging acceptance.

"Thank you for being honest," Phin said. "We had to ask."

Harry gave him a single nod. "I know. Cora is my heart."

"Then why did you leave her alone on the street on Tuesday when a shooter had chased her through the Quarter?" Phin demanded.

Harry rubbed his temples. "I was so angry with myself for doing that. I was flustered by that detective. I don't like police stations. They give me anxiety. I'm an estate attorney. I do wills and trusts. I don't deal with criminals. I just wanted to get away from the police station, and Cora was insisting she was going to the hospital to see her friend. I was flustered," he said again. "I'm sorry."

That made sense. Kind of. Phin hated to admit it, but he could understand. Kind of.

"I got halfway to my office, then had the cab turn around and go back, but Cora was already gone. Then I got the call from my sister and everything kind of crumbled."

"They're twins, too, Phin," Cora murmured. "Best friends."

Shit. Now he really had to be nice to the guy. "I hope your sister is better soon."

Cora laughed. "See, was that so hard?"

Phin scowled. "Yes. Yes, it was."

She kissed Phin's cheek. "Thank you." She turned back to Harry, her expression sober once more. "Was my father happy here? In this house?"

Harry hesitated once again. "He loved your mother and you kids. At least I thought he did before I thought he was cheating. But he and your grandmother were never going to be best friends. I think he wanted to move you all out of this house. I know he'd been looking for one. Why?"

"I was wondering if that might have led to him doing whatever it was he was doing to get the money he socked away in that Swiss bank account."

"Could have been," Harry allowed. "Your mother would have gone with him anywhere, I do know that. She was hurt that Jack and your grandmother didn't get along. Told me once that it might be better if no more Winslows lived in Winslow House."

Cora sighed. "My grandmother was a stubborn woman."

Harry's smile was slight. "And your father was a stubborn man. Your mother was always playing peacemaker. Anything else?"

Cora nodded. "Yes. Did anyone break into the house after my father disappeared?"

Harry started to shake his head, then he blinked, his mouth forming an O. "Oh my gracious goodness. Yes, there were a few odd occurrences, but we didn't consider them ‘break-ins' at the time. Your father's clothing disappeared. His toiletries. Normal stuff. Priscilla thought he'd come back for them while you all were out."

"When was that?" Cora asked. "I don't remember going anywhere special and Mama didn't work outside the home back then."

"It was on Sunday while we were all at church. The first time was the Sunday right after he disappeared. That was also the day after the first letter arrived, the one to your mother saying he had another family. The rest of the ‘break-ins' also happened on Sundays. Your mother assumed it was because Jack knew we'd all be in church."

Cora exhaled a quiet breath. "Harry, did you know Patrick Napier before he moved to New Orleans?"

Harry's eyes widened in shock. " Patrick? You think Patrick was involved?"

"I don't want to," Cora said. "Did you know him then?"

Harry stared a moment longer before nodding once.

The single movement seemed to shatter Cora, the color draining from her face. "You did?" she asked brokenly.

Oh, Cora. She'd still been hoping that Patrick had not been involved in her father's murder.

"I did. He'd inherited some money and wanted advice. I told him I wasn't taking any new clients and referred him to a few other attorneys in the city. I didn't hear from him again until he'd opened his gallery in the Quarter. I didn't even realize he'd done that until I met him again at a Christmas party your mother threw. You and Tandy were best friends from school and you dragged me over to meet her and her daddy."

"I don't remember that," Cora whispered.

"You were there and gone again with Tandy, off to do some mischief. I remember saying to Patrick that he must have gotten his inheritance settled and he said that he had."

Cora clenched her eyes closed for a few seconds. They were full of confusion when she opened them again. Confusion and hope. The hope was back again.

"Then the inheritance is real," she said to the table at large. "Burke, did you hear that?"

"I did, Cora," Burke confirmed. "But Antoine wasn't able to find any legal relatives of Patrick. He tried all night. Patrick's father was an only child and his mother had one brother. There's no mention of an aunt anywhere. Antoine went back a generation and there was no great-aunt, either."

"It could have been a family friend he called aunt," Cora said, her desperation clear. "Why would he mention it to Harry if there was no inheritance?"

"Maybe," Phin murmured, hating to hurt her even more, "to give his story credence should anyone ever ask."

"But if Harry had taken him on," Cora argued, "Patrick would have had to show him the will and he would have known he was a liar."

Harry shook his head sadly, as if he didn't want to hurt Cora, either. "It was a well-known fact around town that I wasn't taking new clients. My partner had just retired abruptly due to a health issue, and I was drowning in work. My receptionist told Patrick that I wasn't taking new clients. He insisted on speaking to me anyway. I gave him referrals to other attorneys."

"Maybe he went to one of them," Cora insisted. Then her eyes filled. "I'm grasping at straws, aren't I?"

"I think so," Phin said as gently as he could. "But maybe Harry can ask around. Find out if Patrick did end up talking to any of those other attorneys. Harry?"

"I will," Harry promised. "I promise."

"When did he contact you, Harry?" Stone asked.

"It was sometime after Mardi Gras, I remember that. I had to work the whole week and missed all the parades. I'd promised Priscilla that I'd take her and I was irritated that I'd broken that promise. I told my assistant to turn away all new clients. Patrick called a few months after that."

"So maybe five months after Jack disappeared," Burke clarified.

"Yes. But it took another two years for Patrick to move here," Harry said. "Why?"

Cora covered her mouth with her hand, a little whimper escaping her. Phin wrapped his arm around her. "What?" he asked urgently.

"Jillian, Tandy's mom. She told me once that Patrick had had his heart set on St. Charles School for Girls for Tandy and that they'd been on a waiting list for two and a half years before they moved to New Orleans. Two and a half years. I don't want this to be true, dammit."

Hurting for her, Phin rested his cheek against her head, holding her closer. "I'm sorry."

She turned into his embrace, burying her face against his chest. That she'd had a moment of hope made the truth so much harder to accept.

He understood that, too.

Phin wrapped both arms around her and let her grieve that loss of hope. Delores had tears in her eyes. Stone, Val, and Molly wore matching looks of pity.

Phin felt helpless.

Harry sighed. "I…I don't know what to say. I don't know how to help."

"You've helped us a lot," Phin said. "Thank you."

Harry stood and rounded the table, going down on one knee next to Cora. "Do you need me to stay? I will if you need me."

Cora pulled out of Phin's embrace, shaking her head. "It's okay. You can go. I'll call you in a little bit. Thank you, Harry."

Harry rubbed her back, meeting Phin's eyes. "Call me if she needs me, okay?"

Phin nodded. "I will. I promise."

Molly rose. "I'll walk you out." She did so, then went to the bottom of the stairs. "You can come down now, Antoine," she called up. "He's been texting me," she explained when they all stared at her. "I wanted him to wait until Harry was gone."

"You need to go home and sleep, Molly," Burke ordered her from the phone.

"I will," Molly promised. "I want to hear what Antoine has to say first."

Antoine flew down the stairs, his eyes bright. "I have it. Jack left records on his hard drive." He stopped short and stared at Cora. "Dammit. I'm sorry."

"Let's take a little break," Val said. "I think we need some chocolate. I happened to bring some cupcakes with me and Delores brought beignets from Café du Monde."

Cora squared her shoulders. "Maybe later. I need some aspirin, and then I want to know what Antoine's found. It's time to end this."

The Garden District, New Orleans, Louisiana

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 16, 11:30 A.M.

Antoine set a single laptop on the table. It seemed strange for there to be only one, Cora thought. Usually he had three.

She gulped down some aspirin with the glass of water Delores offered her. Her head was killing her. "Thank you."

Delores ran a hand over Cora's hair, only possible because Cora was sitting down. If she'd been standing up, Delores wouldn't have been able to reach.

"They'll figure it out," Delores promised. "And you won't be alone."

"Thank you." She put the glass on the table and folded her hands, bracing herself. "What did the photos give you, Antoine?"

Antoine looked a bit manic. "Everything. Well, everything on that old computer of your father's. The photo of you as a newborn was number one. Once I had that, I could figure out the order of the other photos and got two separate passwords. The password to the hard drive was the two letter and number combos, like we thought. And the other eighteen characters were the encryption password which allowed me to read all the files."

Phin took Cora's hand. "Fine, Antoine. Now tell us what you found. You're giving Cora an even worse headache."

"I'm sorry, Cora. I got excited. So, there were three files on the partitioned drive." Antoine held out a sheet of paper. "The first was a letter addressed to your mother."

Cora took it, her hand trembling. The paper was shaking too hard for her to see the words. Her heart swelled when Phin took it from her hand, holding it so that she could read it. She truly wasn't alone in this. Drawing a breath, she began to read.

"?‘My dearest Priscilla. I knew you'd figure it out! You must have found the letter in my desk drawer and then the rest of the puzzle pieces. You've always been the smarter of the two of us. So…if you're reading this, I must not have come home.'?"

Cora pressed her hand to her chest. It hurt to even think of her father writing this. "?‘You'll be angry with me, and I guess you have that right. I hope someday you can forgive me. I've tried to help people, to make the world a better place. Hindsight being twenty-twenty, I probably should have left the work to someone else. In a nutshell, I've been helping people escape abusive situations, helping them start over. It started innocently enough. One of my frat brothers—PN—told me that a woman we were friends with back in college was being beaten by her husband. I dated her for a while, long before I met you. I couldn't let her be beaten up if I could help, so PN and I helped her. She became our first job.'?"

What little hope Cora had retained simply fizzled. "PN. Patrick Napier."

"So Patrick was his partner ?" Phin asked. "Not his killer?"

Antoine wobbled his hand. "Hard to say. Let her finish."

Cora drew another breath. "?‘PN and I started helping other people, mainly women like our friend who needed to escape abusive husbands. PN does the background research and he makes their new IDs. He has an eye for photography and can forge a signature.'?"

Cora swallowed. "Your dad, Jack Elliot," she whispered, thinking of the signature on each of the letters she'd received. Squaring her shoulders, she forced herself to read on. "?‘I manage the money, setting up new accounts for the people we relocate. I set up an account for myself, too. If you've gotten this far, you probably found the poem I left you. The first letters of each paragraph are the password to another document which has the account number. If you haven't discovered it, here it is again.'?" She read off the Swiss account number. "?‘At first everything was going well, but recently it's been falling apart. I've told PN that I want out. If you're reading this, either an abusive spouse has killed me, or PN has. I started suspecting him a few months ago. Two weeks ago, that came to a head when the husband of one of my clients shot at me.'?"

She looked up. "Jarred Bergeron."

"Keep going," Phin murmured, hugging her to him with his free arm.

Not alone , she thought again. "?‘We had a third partner, TR. He was a cop and the source of most of our clients. He found the people who needed help and passed their names to PN and me. TR did the heavy work, getting people out and transporting them. On a few cases, he needed another pair of hands and I helped him. I say ‘was' because TR is dead.'?"

"TR was a cop?" Burke asked through the speaker. "Do we know his name?"

"I haven't had a chance to search for him," Antoine said, "but I will. There's more. Cora?"

"?‘We worked together for three years, each of us living in a different city in Louisiana. We took care to never be seen together and were careful in how we communicated. Things started to go out of control when we took a job placing a young man who was supposedly running from his family because he'd inherited his grandfather's millions and the family was trying to kill him to get the money. This job didn't come from TR. It came from PN. He said he'd met the guy through a chat room. This guy on the run paid us a lot of money to get him out of the country.'?"

"I don't like where this is going," Val said grimly.

Cora didn't, either. "?‘It turned out he'd killed his grandfather himself and the family was trying to find him to turn him in. They'd reported his disappearance to the local police and there was a manhunt underway. TR found out and had a fit. He was angry that PN hadn't done due diligence. PN was very sorry, or so he said.'?"

"Until it happened again," Stone said quietly.

Antoine nodded. "Exactly."

"How could they have just accepted what this PN said?" Delores asked.

"It was the nineties," Phin said. "It was easier to fake a story back then. Identities got harder to fake after 9/11 and the growth of the internet."

"He's right," Antoine said. "Things are very different now. Finish it up, Cora."

She didn't want to, but she would. "?‘TR and I felt that PN should have been more careful. But then it happened again. PN was devastated once again, but TR didn't believe him. Neither did I. TR and I had planned to confront PN, but then TR was shot in his own home. He was working undercover vice in Houma, and that's a dangerous job. But he wasn't killed in his cover house, it was in his own house and there had been no evidence of breaking and entering. PN and I both knew his address, and I know that I did not kill him. So I straight-up told PN that I wanted out. We had two more jobs scheduled and I told PN that I'd finish those, because I'd personally vetted both clients. PN wasn't happy with me leaving, but even he agreed the job was becoming too dangerous. I did one of the jobs and, like I said earlier, an abusive husband shot at me. I would have quit right then, but this last job is delicate and everyone involved is trying to do the right thing.

"I don't believe it's dangerous, but I'm scared, Priss. Scared I'll die like TR did. If that happens, I don't want you trying to find PN. If I'm dead and he's responsible, he will kill you if you make trouble for him. I've included information on this drive that you can use to leverage your safety if PN ever threatens you. Please know that I love you and always have. I love our babies and always will. Your husband, Jack Elliot.'?"

Cora thought she'd be sick. Patrick and her father had been partners with one other man. Her father had been killed doing that final "delicate" job, and now Patrick was the only one left standing. How could you, Patrick?

That he'd done such an awful thing and then cozied up to her family? Rage battled with betrayal, making her swallow back bile.

"Wait." Delores held up one hand. "Cora's mom was a physical therapist, not a computer guru. How was she supposed to put all these pieces together? I knew that encryptions existed, but I'd have no idea how to actually use one. How did Jack expect her to get this letter?"

Antoine grinned at her. "That is an excellent question, Delores."

"It really is," Val said with a frown. "I wish I'd thought of it. Working with Antoine makes all this stuff seem like it's easy-peasy, but it's really not."

Delores looked pleased with herself.

"There's another letter somewhere that we haven't found," Antoine said. "At the beginning of this one, Jack tells her that he's glad she found the ‘first' letter and ‘the rest of the puzzle pieces.'?"

"Mama loved games and puzzles. We used to have races to see who could do the Sunday crossword fastest. Mama would come up with these amazing games, like a scavenger hunt crossed with a trivia game." The memory had once been a sweet one. Now all Cora would remember was this intricate puzzle that Jack had left for his wife. "But there was no such letter in his desk drawer. Mama would have said something. She would have done something."

Cora's mama wouldn't have cried for the husband who'd left her. She would have cried for the husband who'd been murdered. And then she'd have tried to get justice.

"Maybe it'll turn up," Antoine said but didn't sound like he meant it.

"Or maybe PN found it when he was searching our house while we were at church," Cora said bitterly.

"Maybe," Antoine acknowledged. "We might never know that. So there were three files on the partitioned drive, like I said. The first was this letter. The second was a ledger of the money he'd taken from the clients and how it was spent. He was very meticulous. Every penny was accounted for, with the initials of the client. Some of the cases they did for free. Some, like the killer who paid them to get him out of the country, paid a lot."

"Did Jack or the cop report this killer to the authorities and tell them where they'd stashed him?" Molly interrupted.

"Jack made a note in the third file that they did—anonymously—but the police never found him. He wasn't where TR had left him." Antoine shrugged. "The same thing happened with the second bad guy they helped, which was what triggered TR to blame PN. Jack just wanted to get out after TR was killed."

At least her father's goal had been to truly help people. Strangers, yes, but his heart had been in the right place.

Cora figured that would have to be enough.

"What is this third file?" she asked.

Antoine's eyes gleamed. "The client list. It's only initials, no names. But there are addresses. For example, Alice's says AB for Alice Bergeron and gives her address in Twin Falls, Idaho. Most of the homes at the addresses on this list have been sold over the years, but we can get some information from the property records in each of their locations. The few I looked at had one or both owners simply disappear, and the house went into foreclosure. But." He rubbed his hands together in excitement. "Jack's last job was in Merrydale, Louisiana. That's a suburb of Baton Rouge. The client was TC. Timothy Caulfield has owned that home for more than thirty years. He still lives there with his wife and daughter Ashley. She's twenty-three years old. Her birthday is the fifteenth of October."

Cora felt the room spin and clutched Phin's arm for support, grateful when he wrapped his arms around her. The girl had been born the day before her father died—or at least the day before the concrete had been poured. "Did Caulfield kill my father?"

Because Patrick had been his partner . Not necessarily his killer.

But Patrick had been the partner who'd had a personal agenda. The partner who might have killed the cop. TR.

She cursed the hope that rose every time she learned something that could exonerate Patrick. But she loved the man.

Like a father.

"We can find out," Molly said, steel in her voice. "But, Cora, Patrick is somehow involved. We can't gloss over that fact."

"The paint," Cora whispered.

"The paint," Molly repeated. "That this Timothy Caulfield was a painter who used Renaissance-era paint formulas is…Well, I suppose it's possible. At this point, anything is possible."

"But not likely," Antoine said gently.

Cora swallowed hard. "It's bad enough to think that Patrick may have written the letters. I don't want to believe Patrick killed him, too."

"I know," Phin murmured. "And you can keep hoping. But let us watch your back until we know for sure."

"Okay." She turned to face the table, still in Phin's arms. "So when do we leave for Merrydale?"