Chapter Forty-Nine Her

Chapter Forty-Nine Her

Present Day

“Peter Cullen is on his way over.” Another day, another visitor. Being the most hated woman in town didn’t stop the parade

of people at my front door.

Peter had texted and turning him down seemed like a crappy move. The guy deserved some relief. With August in jail and talking,

Peter might finally get answers about what happened to his son. He’d likely never find peace but maybe, at some distant point,

grief wouldn’t be his entire existence.

Dishes clanked as Mom dumped the remainder of her lunch in the sink. “I thought you weren’t supposed to have guests. This

is the second group in two days.”

Mom’s words to Kathryn continued to spin in my head. Mom refused to share details. She became hostile when questioned, so

I tried to ferret out her secrets without her help. “You seemed to enjoy seeing Kathryn.”

“Does anyone really enjoy spending time with that woman?”

A clear dead end. At least for now. “Peter said he appreciates that I listened to his accusations about Richmond.”

The accepting gratitude thing made me twitchy. I didn’t come to town to solve other people’s problems. I came for one reason and that reason died before I could make Mom happy.

She turned to face me with her hands balanced on the sink edge behind her. “Honestly, Addison, I don’t understand where your

head is.”

I didn’t have the energy for this. Never did. “You’ve made that clear.”

She treated me to her famous tsk-tsk sound. An oldie and not a goodie. The grating noise scraped across my last nerve. My control, already frayed, pulled to the

point of snapping.

“I raised you to stand up for yourself. To put emotions aside and take what’s yours.”

Sound motherly advice. It spoke to independence and strength. A healthy battle cry passed from generation to generation. All

fierce and worthy but so unrelated to my mother on every level. She knew the right words. She’d spout catchphrases and mantras

then abandon them as soon as the audience cleared.

She didn’t combat trauma. She created it, lashed it to my back, and forced me to carry it.

“When did this conversation become an indictment of my character?” Not that the sharp turn shocked me. Mom could upend almost

any conversation to highlight her disappointment in who I was and how I’d failed her.

“You’re so sensitive. I’m trying to help you.”

There was not a sigh loud enough to wipe out the sound of her voice. “Mom, he’s coming here to be nice.”

“Oh, please. Peter Cullen expects something in return. Trust me. All men do.” She pointed and nodded as she warmed to the

topic. “You give something to get something.”

“Your life motto.” Except the “giving” part. She avoided that half.

My phone buzzed. A welcome break from Mom’s unwanted lessons. A quick check showed a follow-up text from Peter announcing

his arrival, just as I’d asked. Using the security app, I could see his car and confirm the license plate.

Elias had given me intel on everyone who might want to hurt me or Richmond or both, including photos and vehicle information.

Very protective and fatherly of him. At the time it seemed like overkill. Now? Thank you, Elias.

Enough mom bonding time. I tucked my cell into my back jeans pocket. “I’m going to say hello, talk for a few minutes, then

he’ll go.”

“Keep him out there. I’m tired of guests.”

“Are you in charge of the house now?” Trying to sell this place was going to be a nightmare. Mom had become entrenched. Comfortable.

Immovable. A bloodsucking leech.

Once outside, I shaded my eyes to get a better look at the car. The sun streamed through the trees, casting shadows on the

windows as it approached. Instead of parking in the circular driveway, Peter continued down the extended lane that led to

the separate three-car garage. The one next to the side porch I never used.

The garage was set back and tucked away in an attempt not to ruin the framing of the front of the grand house or take away

from its mansion-like look. I couldn’t blame Peter for his preference for privacy. He’d lost any ability to blend in once

the Richmond surgery story hit the news. Everyone wanted to talk with Peter. People who treated his son’s death as a terrible

accident previously rushed to get the exclusive now.

Equally demanding, Richmond’s fanboys squawked. They blamed Peter for the destruction of Richmond’s sterling reputation. Peter and me. Basically, anyone except Richmond. People gave him the benefit of the doubt even as the evidence against him mounted.

As the car came to a stop it hit me: How did Peter know about the extended driveway? He’d never been to the house... or

had he?

A feeling of not right settled in my bones. A familiar and unwanted churning revved up inside me. My labored breathing pounded in my ears. My control,

so clear and firm before I walked outside, faltered.

Inside. Go inside.

I shifted and my heel slammed into the bottom step to the porch. Pain ricocheted through my body as I bit back a squeal. My

only thought was to bolt into the house and lock the doors. Call the police. Elias. Hell, I’d try everyone in my contacts

list.

Thomas stepped out of the car. Not Peter. Thomas in Peter’s car. Thomas who should be at the police station. Should be anywhere

but here.

This was a very different version of Dr. Thomas Linfield than I’d seen before. The dapper, always-politicking professional

in the expensive suit had been replaced by this guy. Harried and in a hurry. Fidgety and glaring as he dodged around the front

of the car.

His uncombed gray hair stuck out from beneath a baseball cap he probably grabbed to disguise his appearance. He wore wrinkled

chinos and a sweater. The whole look clashed with what I knew about him and his pampered existence.

And the gun. That was new.

“Thomas, I don’t know—”

His wild eyes didn’t blink. “We have unfinished business.”