CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

The snowstorm arrives suddenly and violently. I wake the next morning and look out my window to see a wall of white. The house must be supremely insulated to muffle the sound of the blizzard.

Of more pressing concern is the pending arrival of my friend, the private investigator. With the weather like this, he is either already in Geneva or he won't be here for days.

I still have internet service, but the cell phones are disrupted, so I email him instead of calling him and then head downstairs for breakfast.

The table is full this morning. With Frederick's memorial past and his annoying lover in custody, the family seems ready to heal. So, Catherine, the children, Thomas, and Hugo all sit at the table when I arrive. I must have slept later than I thought. I checked my phone and see that it is indeed later than I normally rise, eight a.m. to be exact.

Hugo smiles at me. "Good morning, Mary. I'm glad you could join us."

I manage to return his smile and a cordial greeting. "Thank you, Mr. Van Doren."

He laughs. "Oh please, call me Hugo. I've never been Mr. Van Doren. I don't think even my father would have appreciated the moniker."

He laughs at his joke, and to my utter amazement, Catherine does too. Even the children smile. Catherine looks at her son and daughter, and a wave of love that I haven't seen since meeting her crosses her face.

I feel sorry for her. I've judged her too harshly, it seems. She does love her children. I don't think she loved her husband at all, but now that I know about Hugo's gambling debts, I am convinced that he acted alone in Frederick's murder. I am about to take away the man she truly loves, and whatever fantasy she has of a future with him will be dashed. I can only hope that her relationship with her children continues to strengthen and that she finds happiness with them.

Thomas cheers when the door opens, and Sophie brings out the first breakfast plates.

"These are for the children," she scolds. "Keep your paws off."

"I'm glad you said something," he teases, "because I was just about to scoop a fistful of scrambled eggs up with my bare hands off of a teenager's plate."

She slaps him playfully on the shoulder, much to Olivia's and Ethan's delight. Hugo and Catherine share a smile, and I feel a rush of conflicting emotions. Disgust for Hugo—and a little for Catherine. Sorrow for the pain the children will feel when they learn that their mother's lover is responsible for their father's death.

Mostly, though, I feel a righteous anger on Frederick's behalf. The children haven't done anything wrong, but it's still the morning after their father's memorial, and they're laughing and joking as though they've already moved on. His wife is beaming at his killer, and his best friend is ready to throw up his hands and abandon the family to their fate because he can't handle the drama.

This is why I fight for the victims. This is why I don't let these cases go. This is why I meddle. Someone has to care about the victims. It has to matter to someone that they are denied justice and that someone is me.

But I must be shrewd. I can't accuse him now. I can't count on anyone's support. Perhaps Thomas, but he would want proof before he restrained Hugo.

That's what I'll have Sean do. Even if he's stuck in Boston, he can look into Hugo's financial records. If he finds proof that Frederick has been supporting him, then that is evidence I can bring to Dubois. It's not everything I need, but I am nearly resigned to the fact that I will probably not have an ironclad case this time around. It's time to—as Sean would put it—let the professionals handle this.

I check my emails surreptitiously and find a response from Sean. Stuck at airport. No cars or trains until the storm passes. Might be able to call later, though.

I close my phone and enjoy my breakfast. I keep a cordial attitude with Hugo, but inwardly, I await the moment when I can finally expose him and bring him to justice.

"Mary?"

Hugo's voice startles me, and I spill my coffee. Everyone laughs, and I redden a little, far angrier that my discomfiture comes at a murderer's expense and not someone else's. I hide it well, though.

"Sorry about that," he says with an easy grin that I want to tear off of his face. "I was only going to say that Catherine, the children and I are going to watch movies in the theater until the storm passes. I've secured Catherine's permission to allow R-rated movies in spite of Ethan's tender age, so if you'd like to join us, I can promise more fulfilling entertainment than superhero movies."

"Superhero movies are very entertaining," Ethan challenges.

"Hugo's just upset that he doesn't look like Thor," Olivia adds with a grin.

" Thor , if you must know, was a fat, bearded man most famous for getting drunk and annoying all of the other Norse gods," Hugo retorts.

"Maybe we should let Mary pick the first movie," Catherine says.

"Perhaps I'll pick the second," I reply. "I have some personal errands to attend to. I'll join you after the first one."

Hugo shrugs. "As you wish. What about you, Thomas?"

"Errands too," Thomas says. "Business, not personal in my case. I'm afraid there's a lack of solid leadership in the front office right now." He smiles grimly. "I suppose that will fall to me until the board decides to name a new figurehead."

"Careful," Hugo warns. "They might name you."

"Now why would you wish that on me?" Thomas retorts.

The rest of breakfast continues in this playful vein. I do my part, but I am impatient for the meal to end and the others to disperse. When they finally do, I practically rush to my room. My phone says I have connection, so I dial Sean's number and pray that he answers.

"I meant that I would call you ," he says grouchily, "but I can't sleep on these damned benches anyway, so we might as well talk. I hope you're truly prepared to pay my expenses, because it's going to be at least three days before they can let anyone leave the airport. This isn't just a snowstorm, this is a blizzard of the century. I can't even get a car."

"If you help me solve this murder, I will pay you whatever you ask."

"Well, I can do just about half of what I could have done if I were still in Boston and about a tenth of what I could do if I were back home in Dublin."

"Can you look into Hugo Van Doren's financial history?"

He hesitates for a moment. "I suppose so. Do you think Catherine paid him to kill Frederick?"

"Actually, no." I briefly explain what Sophie tells me about Hugo's gambling debts and Frederick's help.

"So he closed the purse strings, and Hugo took it badly, eh?"

"That's what it looks like."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

I'm so shocked by the voice, that for a moment, I think Sean has somehow walked behind me. Then I turn and see Hugo's enraged face. We stare at each other for a moment, both in shock.

"Mary?" Sean says. "Mary, is he there?"

"You think I killed Frederick over some debts?"

My indignation overcomes my shock and fear. I lift my chin and say, "You've had no trouble sleeping with Frederick's wife, even when he was alive. What use would you have for him now after he refused to give you any more money?"

He blanches. "Where are you getting your information?"

I take a gamble of my own. "Your financial records."

"What?"

"I've been working with the police," I say. Not exactly a lie but not entirely true. "They've discovered your debts, and they've discovered that Frederick was paying them for you."

He begins to shake a little. "It's true that I've had debts, and it's true that Frederick helped me, but I didn't kill him."

"Really? Not even when he stopped? Not even after his wife finally agreed to be your lover?"

"Catherine has nothing to do with this!" he thunders.

"So you confess?"

"No! I…" he runs his hands through his hair. "Oh my God. How long have you suspected this? Is that why you refused to watch a movie with us?"

I can smell blood. I step closer, not heeding my own safety. "You killed Frederick Jensen. You asked him for money, and he refused, so you killed him."

He points a finger at me as though warding me off. "You're delusional."

"What happened, Hugo?" I challenge. "Did he find out about you and Catherine?"

Hugo scoffs. "He knew about us for years. Just as she knew about him and almost every woman he looked at. Frederick never cared for her. She was just another prize for him to use."

"And he was a pocketbook for you to use," I retort.

"I didn't…" He runs his hands through his hair again. "I didn't kill him." He looks at my phone, seeming to see it for the first time. His brow furrows. "Who are you talking to?"

"The police," I lie. "I told you, I've been working with them. They're on their way here now."

I'm not sure why I say that. I suppose it's my self-preservation instinct rearing its head finally. Either way, it causes a reaction in Hugo. He stumbles backward, trembling even harder. "Oh God. Oh God!"

He rushes from the room toward the front of the house. I'm stunned for a moment, but when I hear the front door open, I regain my senses. I rush from the room after him, calling "Stop! Murderer!"

I'm too late. When I reach the living room, the front door is open, and snow is billowing in. Outside, in the swirling white, Hugo is nowhere to be seen.