Chapter 28

28

"It's like I told your work partner, Simone—my wife doesn't want to see anyone," Mack said.

Samantha's husband was a tall fellow. His skin had a leathery, sun kissed look to it, and he had a thick accent I couldn't place, perhaps German.

"I understand Samantha hasn't wanted to leave home ever since the night Cordelia died," I said. "I stopped by to see if she's all right."

"She isn't. She feels responsible for what happened to Cordelia."

"Why? It's not her fault."

"I know, I've told her as much. I'm sure you know Samantha was supposed to close the library that night. Because she allowed Cordelia to do it, she feels a sense of responsibility for her death."

"I don't think it would have made a difference," I said. "I believe it was a targeted hit."

Mack shook his head, exhaling a sigh. "Why target a librarian?"

"I hope to have answers about why she was murdered soon. Listen, I know your wife hasn't wanted to leave the house since Cordelia died, but we've talked before, and I was hoping?—"

"I'm aware of the conversation between you, Detective Whitlock, and my wife on that dreadful night."

"When she showed up as we were gathering evidence, she was in shock over what had happened. We chatted with her inside Whitlock's vehicle hoping to calm her emotions, in that moment, at least. I thought if I stopped by tonight, I could let her know about the leads I have in the case. Maybe it will help her feel better."

He stared at me for a time, as if trying to decide what to do with me. "I appreciate your consideration of her. Still, I don't think she'll see you."

"It's worth a try."

"Might I ask how strong your leads are? Do you have a prime suspect?"

More than one.

"Cordelia's sister hired me to investigate a couple of days ago, and yes, I do feel I'm heading in the right direction," I said.

"I don't suppose you'd like to share any information you've discovered with me?"

"Not until I'm confident I have the right person."

He raised a brow. "So you have a suspect, but you have doubts whether said person committed the murder."

Yes, that's why they're called suspects.

"I'm working on proving my theories," I said. "It shouldn't be long before I do."

Part of me wanted to give him a small detail, nothing too deep, just enough to provide me with an opportunity to get past him and speak to Samantha. As I contemplated the best path forward, I saw a shadow flicker behind him. I tipped my head to the side, peering down the hallway at a despondent, disheveled Samantha. She looked surprised to see me as she walked toward us, her eyes red and puffy. She was dressed in a plain, white, V-neck tee and baggy, gray sweatpants, and her hair was tangled and messy, like it hadn't been brushed today.

"Hey, Samantha," I said. "I stopped by to see how you were doing."

She nodded but said nothing.

Mack wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "It's okay, honey."

"No, Mack. It isn't."

I felt guilty for being there, like I'd done something wrong. She was worse off than I'd imagined. And while I believed her guilt for not closing up the library herself had something to do with it, it seemed to me like she was taking it too hard—like there was a secondary explanation for her behavior.

Stemming from those thoughts, I considered a way to evoke a deeper conversation from her, but then I decided for tonight, I'd keep it simple for now. What would happen if I retreated instead of pushed?

"I'm sorry to have bothered you both this evening," I said. "I think I should go. Samantha, we can talk another time when you're feeling more up to having visitors, okay?"

I reached into my pocket, grabbing my car keys.

Mack's expression softened, and I could see relief in his eyes.

I started for my car, and Samantha stepped outside, saying, "Georgiana, wait."

It seemed my casual attitude may have paid off, and I faced her.

"There's a reason why I'm struggling so much right now," she said.

"I wish you weren't. There's nothing for you to feel guilty about. What happened to Cordelia isn't your fault."

"You're wrong. It is my fault. You don't understand."

"I'd like to understand, if you're up to talking to me."

Mack placed a hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to do this right now, all right?"

"Yes, I do," she said. "I should have done it in the beginning, the night Cordelia was murdered. I was a coward then. I won't be a coward now."

"Whatever it is, you can tell me," I said.

"If I do, you'll never see me the same way again, and I wouldn't blame you."

"I'm a lot more understanding than most people think," I said. "And I'm a good listener."

A tear trailed down her cheek, and she flicked it away.

"It's obvious you've been keeping something in," I said. "I've done it myself, on more than one occasion. I can tell you from personal experience, it won't get any better until you get it out."

"You're right. I've been keeping something from everyone because of the shame I feel about it. I saw someone in the library on the day Cordelia died, someone who didn't fit in."

"In what way didn't the person fit in?"

She looked me in the eye, frowning as she said, "In every possible way."