EPILOGUE

Sheila cleared her throat and shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she waited in the nursing home lobby.

Come on, she thought, tapping her fingers on the desk. There's got to be someone on duty.

While she waited, she pulled out her phone and examined the picture she'd taken of the list of names in the trailer of Eddie Mills, the man she suspected of killing her mother. She had already tracked down a number of the names, most of them estranged family members who hadn't heard from Eddie in years and had no idea where he might be. It appeared Eddie was something of a dope fiend who had ruined more than a few relationships by lying about his addiction and making no effort to return the tens of thousands of dollars he'd borrowed to fund his addiction, so it was little surprise that his family wanted little to do with him.

There was one person left on the list, however: Estella Wright, Eddie's godmother. According to Eddie's cousin, Jules, Estella was the only one who'd never turned Eddie away, never berated him for his choices. Apparently he visited her from time to time, trading flowers for the chance to pour out his sorrows.

She might even know where he was living.

As she waited for the receptionist to find a nurse who could take her to Estella's room, Sheila glanced around the aging facility. The russet-colored wallpaper was beginning to peel in places, the carpet was worn thin, and the once-bright plastic plants that dotted the area had faded with time.

She was just about to go over to the reception counter again when an elderly lady shuffled into the lobby from one of the hallways. The woman was short, with a hunched back and a pair of thick spectacles perched on her nose, magnifying her eyes. She leaned heavily on a walker, her gnarled hands shaking slightly as she moved toward Sheila.

"You looking for Estella?" she asked, her voice weak but clear.

Sheila nodded, putting her phone away. "Yes," she said. "I'm Deputy Stone. "

The woman's eyes widened behind her glasses. She moved closer to Sheila and extended a trembling hand.

"I'm Mary, Estella's roommate," she said, her frail hands gripping Sheila's firmly. "She's expecting you."

Sheila followed the elderly woman through a labyrinth of long, sterile-smelling hallways, each one seemingly identical to the last. As they moved deeper into the facility, Sheila couldn't shake off her anxiety. She had a lead on her mother's killer, and now it was essential to extract as much information from Estella as possible.

The door to Estella's room was ajar. Mary gently pushed it open and shuffled into the room, gesturing for Sheila to follow. The room was sparely furnished with two single beds separated by a small table with a lamp. On one side lay an old woman propped up by pillows. She had an oxygen mask resting on her forehead, and her frail hands were folded neatly on her stomach.

Sheila approached cautiously, unsure how to broach the topic at hand. "Mrs. Wright?" she asked softly.

Estella turned her head slowly toward Sheila, visibly straining to focus her rheumy eyes on the deputy. A faint smile cracked her pale, chapped lips. "Yes, dear?" she asked, her voice a raspy whisper.

Sheila took a deep breath. "I'm Deputy Stone, ma'am," she said, pulling out her badge. "I need to ask you some questions about Eddie Mills."

A range of emotions flickered across Estella's aged face—surprise, confusion, and finally a deep sadness. She nodded weakly and beckoned Sheila closer.

"He's not in trouble again, is he?" she asked.

"Eddie is...involved in something serious," Sheila replied carefully.

"I see." Estella sighed heavily, sinking further into bed. "I was afraid someone like you would come by sooner or later, given his history."

Sheila grabbed a nearby chair and sat across from Estella. The elderly woman gazed at Sheila with an intensity that belied her frailty.

"Now," Estella began, "what exactly do you want to know about Eddie?"

"I need to know where he is."

Estella's gaze fell, and she remained silent for a moment that felt like forever. Finally she looked up again, sorrow clear in her rheumy eyes.

"I can't tell you that," she whispered .

Sheila's heart sank. "It's very important that I speak with him. If he's innocent, it will help me clear him of any suspicion."

"What exactly do you suspect he's involved in?"

"Murder."

Estella looked at Sheila for a while, her gaze wavering between doubt and resignation. She sighed heavily, closing her eyes. "I'd like to say he'd never do such a thing, but when he's doped up—it's ruined his life, completely changed him. Sometimes I glimpse the innocent, hopeful boy he used to be, but most of the time he's lost in his own world, a slave to the drugs. Oh, Eddie..."

She took a shuddering breath, and a single tear trickled down her wrinkled cheek. Sheila felt a tug at her heartstrings, but knew she had to stay focused.

"Mrs. Wright," she urged softly, "if you know where he is, you need to tell me."

The old woman sighed heavily. "And if I do?" she asked, her voice trembling with emotion. "What will happen to him?"

"I just want to talk to him," Sheila said. "No one's going to hurt him. My main concern right now is to find him and get his side of the story." That wasn't really how Sheila felt, but regardless of how determined she was to find her mother's killer, she had no interest in arresting the wrong man. If Eddie was innocent, he had nothing to fear.

Estella hesitated. "Promise me. Promise me he won't get hurt."

"I promise, Mrs. Wright," Sheila said. "I just want to talk to him."

The old woman exhaled a shaky sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world. She picked at the blanket draped over her legs, avoiding Sheila's gaze.

"He spends a lot of time down by the old boathouse," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "The one out on Willow Point Road. He says it's peaceful there."

Sheila felt a surge of adrenaline. A location. A solid lead. She was one step closer. But as she looked at Estella, at the heartbreaking mix of fear and resignation on the old woman's face, she felt her excitement tempered by a wave of sympathy.

"Thank you, Mrs. Wright," she said gently as she stood up. "You've been incredibly helpful."

"He's not the demon others say he is," Estella said. "He's just…lost. Remember that when you see him."

Sheila nodded. "I will. "

With that, she hurried out of the room, moving down the hallway at a brisk pace. Willow Point Road—it was less than thirty miles away. Would he be there? Maybe he was at work. Then I'll wait for him, she thought. I'll wait for him all day if I have to. And when he finally shows up—

As she came around a corner, she bumped into a man carrying a bouquet of flowers. The flowers spilled to the ground, along with the card that had been tucked among them.

"I'm so sorry," Sheila said, immediately stooping to help the man, a middle-aged fellow with frizzy brown hair and deep-set, tired-looking eyes, corral the few flowers that had slipped from the bouquet.

"No problem," he mumbled. As he turned away to continue on down the hallway, Sheila noticed that he'd forgotten the card on the ground.

"You forgot something!" she called, picking up the card. She trotted forward. "Hey, you forgot—"

She stopped suddenly as she took in the contents of the note: Este, you're the mother I never had. love e.

At the same time, the man turned around and their eyes locked. Sheila tensed as she gazed at the man she believed had killed her mother.

"Eddie Mills," she whispered.

"I wondered when you'd find me," he said.