wondering if calling you was the right thing to do.”
“Jack, I’ve been surrounded by rapists, armed robbers and murderers for
the last four years.”
“I know that. But at least you knew who they were. This could be
anybody. People are getting killed left and right, Kate. This is about
as serious as it gets.”
“I’m not leaving unless you let me help you.”
Jack hesitated, his eyes turned away from hers.
“Jack, if you don’t, then I’m going to turn you in. Better you take your
chances with the cops.”
He looked at her. “You’d do that, wouldn’t you?”
“Damn straight. I would. I’m breaking all the rules by being here with
you now. If you let me in on it, then I forget all about seeing you
today. If you don’t. . .”
There was a look in her eyes that, despite all the horrific
possibilities he was contemplating, made him somehow feel fortunate to
be here at this exact moment.
“Okay. You need to be my contact with Seth. Outside of you he’s the only
one I can trust.”
“But you lost the package. How can he help?” Kate could not hide her
dislike of the homicide detective.
Jack stood up and paced. Finally he stopped and looked down at her. “You
know how your dad was a freak for control? Always have a backup plan?”
Kate said dryly, “I remember.”
“Well I’m counting on that quality.”
“What are you talking about?”
“that Luther had a backup plan on this one.”
She stared at him, open-mouthed.
“MRS. BROOME?” The door opened another notch as Edwina Broome peered
out.
“Yes?”
“My name is Kate Whitney. Luther Whitney was my father.”
Kate relaxed as the old woman greeted her with a smile.
“I knew I’d seen you before. Luther was always showing pictures of you.
You’re even prettier than your photos.”
“Thank you.”
Edwina jerked the door open. “What am I thinking about.
You must be freezing. Please come in.”
Edwina led her into the small living room where a trio of felines were
cloistered on various pieces of furniture.
“I just made some fresh tea, would you like some?”
Kate hesitated. Time was short. Then she looked around the narrow
confines of the home. In the corner sat a battered upright piano, thick
dust on the wood. Kate looked at the woman’s weakened eyes; the
pleasures of a musical pastime had also been taken from her. Husband
passed on, her only daughter dead. How many visitors could she possibly
have?
“Thank you, I would.”
Both women settled into the old but comfortable furniture.
Kate sipped the strong tea and she began to thaw out. She brushed the
hair out of her face and looked across at the elderly woman to find a
pair of sad eyes upon her.
“I’m sorry about your daddy, Kate. I really am. I know you two had your
differences. But Luther was as good a man as I’ve come across in my
life.”
Kate felt herself growing warmer. “Thank you. We both have had a lot to
deal with in that regard.”
Edwina’s eyes drifted over to a small table next to the window. Kate
followed the gaze. On the table numerous photographs displayed a small
shrine to Wanda Broome; capturing her in happy times. She strongly
resembled her mother.
A shrine. With ajolt Kate recalled her father’s own collection of her
personal triumphs.
“Yes indeed.” Edwina was looking at her again.
Kate put down her tea. “Mrs. Broome, I hate to jump right into this, but
the fact is I don’t have much time.”
The old woman leaned forward expectantly. “This is about Luther’s death,
and my daughter’s too, isn’t it?”
Kate looked surprised. “Why do you think that?”
Edwina leaned forward even more, her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Because I know Luther didn’t kill Mrs. Sullivan. I know it as if I’d
seen it with my own eyes.”
Kate looked puzzled. “Do you have any idea who —2′ Edwina was already
shaking her head sadly. “No. No, I don’t.”
“Well how do you know my father didn’t do it?”
Now there was definite hesitation. Edwina leaned back in her chair and