Chapter 28

I was at my mother’s house, sitting on the back deck with Harvey and Whitlock, talking about my day.

“During your investigation, did any of the boys’ parents mention a gold chain their son had been given from their football coach?” I asked.

Harvey shrugged. “Shoot, I can’t remember. Was a gold chain mentioned in the case file?”

“No,” I said.

“Then why are you asking about it?”

“When I was at the office earlier, I was talking to Simone, and she said?—”

Harvey’s eyes lit up, and he held up a hand. “Sorry to interrupt. Now that I’m thinking about it, I seem to remember Owen’s mother mentioning a chain her son always wore. She thought he may have been wearing it the day he died, but she wasn’t sure. A small detail, of course. Still, I was sure I mentioned it somewhere in my notes.”

Except he hadn’t.

The sliding glass door slid open, and my mother stuck her head out, eyeing the three of us with curiosity. “You three had better not be talking about the investigation without me. You aren’t, are you?”

I wasn’t about to admit what we’d been discussing, so I kept quiet.

Whitlock, on the other hand, piped up with, “We’ve been waiting for Georgiana to tell us about her day. I thought we could all discuss it over dinner. The aroma coming from the kitchen is divine, I might add. Whatever feast you’ve prepared for us, I’m sure it will be wonderful.”

His clever, complimentary response skirted the issue at hand, flattering her in a way that seemed to satisfy her concerns.

“I’ve cooked a pot roast,” my mother said. “And I cooked up some roast potatoes, just the way you like them, Georgiana.”

“I appreciate it, Mom,” I said.

“And I’d appreciate seeing my daughter’s beautiful face more often.” She shot me a wink and added, “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”

She pulled the sliding glass door closed, humming, as she disappeared inside the house.

Whitlock crossed one leg over the other, offering a peek at the colorful bright blue socks he was wearing. He leaned closer to me and whispered, “All right, there’s no way you’d mention a gold chain without a good reason, so let’s hear it.”

“As I’d started to say before, I caught up with Simone earlier about her visits with the teens’ parents,” I said.

“Who has she talked to so far?”

“She’s visited with Owen and Jackson’s parents. Owen’s mother offered to show her his bedroom. It’s remained untouched since his death. There was a corkboard on the wall with photos. In one of them, the boys were standing next to each other, wearing the gold chains they’d been given by their coach.”

Harvey leaned back in his chair, staring through the kitchen window.

He looked nervous.

“Do you think we should wait to talk about this at dinner?” Harvey asked. “Happy wife, happy life, and all that.”

Whitlock elbowed Harvey. “Oh, don’t be such a ninny. I’m sure Georgiana has plenty more to say about her day, which we’ll discuss over dinner. Let’s finish the topic at hand and save the rest for the dinner table. Deal?”

Although hesitant, Harvey nodded, saying, “Keep going, Gigi. What are you thinking?”

“If the boys wore the gold chains all the time, it’s reasonable to assume they had them around their necks the night they died. And yet, they aren’t in any of the crime scene photos.”

“Maybe the killer took them as a memento,” Whitlock said. “A token of his crime to help him relive that night.”

I wasn’t so sure.

“I think we’re dealing with a different type of killer,” I said. “The man hasn’t murdered again in two decades.”

“That we know of,” Harvey said. “He could have moved, picked up where he left off in a new location.”

“I have a theory about the gold chains,” I said. “If he took them, I believe it was to prove a point. The chains gave the boys status. They were only given to the star football players. Strip them of the chains, you strip them of their status, making them appear no different than anyone else.”

My mother knocked on the glass door, waving us inside. As we stood up, I turned to Harvey and said, “Hey, have you had a chance to talk to her about how you’ve been feeling?”

“I … ahh … I, well?—”

“So no, then.”

“I decided to make it as easy as possible on both of us. I told her I didn’t want the investigation to cause me too much stress, so I’ve decided to let you and Whitlock do your thing. She knows you’ll check in by way of text message or maybe even a call here and there so I can stay up on things.”

“I bet she’s thrilled,” I said.

“Sure is … why else do you think she’s humming? Been humming to herself all day.”

We joined my mother at the table.

As we filled our plates with comfort food, she said, “How was your day, Georgiana? Have any suspects yet?”

“A few. How was your day?”

Harvey looked at my mother and then said, “We had a bit of a scare this morning.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing to fuss over,” my mother said. “A minor incident.”

“Will one of you please tell me what happened?” I asked.

My mother gave Harvey a frustrated look and then said, “Oh, all right. Our sweet, elderly neighbor, Robert Jenkins, was out riding his bike this morning. He rides up and down the street several times each day to get some exercise. I was on my way home from the grocery store. As I rounded the corner … well, I just, I didn’t see him there, and I nicked him with my car.”

“When you say you ‘nicked him,’ was he injured?” I asked.

“The bike got the worst of it. Robert has a few broken bones. He’ll live.”

Over the past year, I’d started to notice my mother’s eyesight wasn’t what it used to be. We’d all been pushing her to get her eyes checked. As much as I didn’t like hearing about the accident she’d had earlier in the day, maybe it was the wakeup call she needed.

“Are you going to make an appointment for an eye exam?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes as if she’d expected the question and said, “Yes, dear. I already have. Now, can we please talk about something other than me?”

“We can,” I said. “I had a couple of interesting visits today. The first was with Xander Thornton. He lost his wife not too long ago, and his brother is living with him, helping Xander with his daughter.”

“Xander … I believe he’s the poor fellow Harvey told me had been tied to a tree in the park when he was younger, right?” my mother asked.

I nodded. “When I visited with him today he also admitted to prank-calling some of his female classmates when they were back in high school. When they answered, he’d breathe into the phone, say their names, that kind of thing.”

Harvey set his fork down, running a hand along his jaw. “You think the kid did it? You think he killed his classmates to get revenge for what they did to him?”

“I don’t know. I’ll admit, he acted strange toward the end of the visit. We all know his father gave him an alibi all those years ago, but the man could have lied.”

“Would have been good to question his pop a second time,” Harvey said. “Too bad he’s dead.”

“Xander has the strongest motive of anyone I’ve questioned. If he’s guilty, though, I haven’t found the evidence I need to prove it yet.”

“You said you had a couple of visits today,” Whitlock said. “Who was the second?”

“Ty Conroy. He’s a teacher now, like his dad had been. I got the impression he’s dealing with some demons of his own. I’m just not sure if they’re demons from the past or the present. When I walked into his classroom after school was over for the day, I caught him drinking out of a flask he keeps in his desk drawer.”

“Maybe he was winding down after a long day,” Whitlock said.

“I questioned him about the day he assaulted Jackson at school after the principal found out he’d given his father’s biology exam to Jackson so he could pass the class.”

“Seems like small potatoes to me,” Whitlock said. “I never got the impression Ty had anything to do with what happened to those kids at the cabin.”

“I agree with you. It was a petty high school squabble, the kind teenagers have all the time. I’d never assume someone would resort to murder over it, except for one thing.”

“What’s that?” Harvey asked.

“He made a comment while I was there, and it’s been bugging me.”

“Well … go on,” my mother said. “What did he say?”

“Ty’s father took his own life a week after the incident.”

“Drug overdose, as I recall,” Harvey said.

“You’re right. Ty told me his father stopped speaking to him after he learned about what Ty had done with his test questions. Did either of you know?”

Whitlock looked at Harvey. “I didn’t. Did you?”

“Sure didn’t,” Harvey said. “Puts a new perspective on things, doesn’t it?”

It did.

“Ty gave the test to Jackson, trusting him not to show it to anyone else. Not only did Jackson show it to the same group of friends who were murdered at the cabin, Ty’s father died before Ty had a chance to smooth things over with him.”

“Must have done a number on the kid,” Whitlock said.

My mother aimed her fork in my direction, saying, “I don’t know about you three, but I don’t see it. Sure, the kid’s father was angry. He didn’t speak to his son, and then he took his own life, leaving his kid reeling about the choices he’d made. This is life. Family stops speaking to each other sometimes. It doesn’t mean they go out and commit a bunch of murders.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Darlene,” Whitlock said. “He may have wanted revenge, and revenge is just as good of a motive as any.”

“Seems like a lot of phooey to me,” my mother said. “The tree you’re barking up, Georgiana. I’m sorry to say, I’m not so sure it’s the right one.”

Whitlock and Harvey went quiet, eyeing me as if waiting to see how I’d respond to the unsolicited advice I’d been given.

But I was fine with it.

She was just trying to help.

She also didn’t know the first thing about criminals and how they operated.

Perhaps it was better to take the high road, to make her feel like she was part of the investigation, to make her feel seen, heard, and validated. She may have said she wanted to be involved with the case to keep an eye on Harvey, but I didn’t believe it was the only reason. I’m sure it made her feel closer to me and the air in which I lived and breathed. It was a world she’d never been part of—a world I was sure she wanted to understand.

“I’m not sure who’s to blame for the murders yet, but I’m working hard at it,” I said.

And I was getting closer.

I could feel it.

I could also feel something else. No matter who I talked to, almost all roads seemed to lead back to the same person—Jackson.