Chapter Thirty

Annie was a little surprised by the excitement she felt looking at the kittens with their eyes open. She took a few pictures, sent them to Ben and her parents. Using the markings, she was able to identify each of them. Sherlock had one completely brown ear while the other was a blend of brown and orange. The bridge of Watson’s nose had a tiny white mark that resembled a star. Blanche’s tail had flecks of white, and Dorothy was solid orange.

“They’re growing up,” Annie said to Shelby, who stopped bathing them to look at her like she was Captain Obvious.

“I need to get Mira over here. Do you remember her? Do cats remember like dogs do? Do dogs remember?” Annie shook her head, got up off the garage floor. “What do I know? Anyway, I need to bring her over here, but how would you feel about me keeping one?”

Shelby locked her feline gaze with Annie’s. There was judgment in it. Annie slipped her phone in her pocket. “I’d be a perfectly good kitty parent.”

Shelby meowed loudly, making Annie point out the obvious. “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

Turning her attention back to the kittens, Shelby dismissed the conversation.

“You’ll see,” muttered Annie on the way out the garage door. Going up the stairs, she was thinking about whether to wear her jeans or a pair of capris to the games night. Ben was picking her up in a few hours. He’d been as surprised as she was about the conversation she overheard between Margie and Joseph.

She stubbed her toe, hard, at the exact moment she’d mentally chosen jeans. Cursing, Annie looked around before looking down at what she’d run into. A decent size rock, sort of the size of the one Tate had left for her last week, sat on her porch mat. She picked it up, her gaze wandering over the complex. It was mid-afternoon, no one was around. People had all gone their separate ways from the funeral home. She hadn’t seen Raj there, but his car wasn’t in his driveway. Margie’s and Joseph’s were in their respective spots, but no one was outside. She looked over at Bob and Tate’s house. The curtains were all drawn.

Looking down at the rock, she saw the message written: Keep digging before the wrong person is arrested.

Annie’s pulse skipped rapidly. She gripped the rock tightly. It barely fit in her hand. Walking down the stairs, she went to Tate’s house, hesitated a moment but knocked on the door.

It took a few minutes before the door was pulled open. Tate’s granddad looked worn out. His breathing was choppy and somewhat raspy.

“Oh. Hello, dear. Can I help you?”

Crap. Cover story. She assumed Tate would answer. “Hi. I had a couple heavy boxes in the garage I need in the house, and I wondered if Tate could help me move them.”

Bob looked out the doorway like the boxes would be right there, then back at Annie. “Would help you myself, but those days have passed,” Bob said with a smile.

Annie smiled back but didn’t know what to say. “Is Tate around?”

“You just missed him. He went out with friends. I’ll tell him when he gets back.”

“Okay. Thank you. Do you need anything?”

“No, dear. Thank you for asking. How was Gill’s funeral?”

The rock felt heavier than it had a moment before. “It was respectful and well attended.”

Bob shook his head, coughed, taking a minute to clear his throat, which made Annie wince. Did she ask if he needed a drink? Some oxygen?

“I’ll tell you,” Bob said around his cough. “That man was unhappy. I hated seeing him throw everything away. We were friends once.”

“Oh?” What had ended the friendship?

Bob nodded, looking past Annie like he could see what used to be. “He was a good man a long time ago. Made a series of choices that flipped his life upside down.” Bob’s gaze came back to Annie’s. “That happens to everyone. The problem for Gill was he didn’t accept responsibility for any of it. Had he done that, faced his part in the ways his life went wrong, he could have turned things around. Saved his marriage, his relationship with Mira. He could have repaired so much. Imagine letting twenty years of friendship go over a few thousand dollars. Makes me sad when I think of it.”

Had he owed Gill money, or the other way around? Was Tate trying to protect his pops? Was that what the note was about? If it’s even from him. She really needed to find out more about Mira. What had caused the woman’s heartbreak? Conway or her father? Both? This was becoming so convoluted, especially since she now strongly suspected Margie and Joseph of covering something up.

Heaviness clogged Annie’s lungs. Gill had been an awful person. It made it easier to accept his death. But the truth was he’d also been someone’s friend once. Someone’s husband and father. Whoever killed him needed to be found. Annie shifted the rock into her other hand. She didn’t know if it was Tate who sent the rock, but one thing was for sure: The message was right. She needed to keep digging.

But not tonight. Tonight, she was going to pretend she was just a girl with a simple life, no deadlines, and all sorts of possibilities ahead.