Blood Vines

CHAPTER FORTY

Thursday, March 11

4:25 P.M.

Alex pulled up in front of the modest home. She shifted into park and shut off the car. She let out a pent-up breath and flexed her fingers on the steering wheel. Her newly painted nails caught her eyes, and she smiled, thinking of the afternoon’s antics. Rachel was crazy; she made her laugh. A lot. And she’d drawn Alex out of herself. They’d been silly, acting more like teenagers than grown women.

Case in point, the color of her fingers and toes: Shocking Pink. Rachel had chosen Darling Clementine-an orange bright enough to make Florida proud. As for their lipstick choice, in true BFF form, they’d picked the same impractical but surprisingly flattering red. The way they’d carried on, Alex was surprised the salesperson hadn’t called security.

Alex swung open her car door, stepped out, then retrieved the basket of flowers she had stowed on the back floorboard. Oddly, her time with her stepsister had given her the courage to do what she had been considering ever since finding Max Cragan dead. Pay her respects to his daughter.

And maybe unearth answers as well.

She took the walkway to the front door and rang the bell. A dark-haired, dimple-cheeked little girl opened the door. Alex recognized her from the picture Max had proudly shown her-the youngest of his three granddaughters.

“Hello,” Alex said. “Is your mommy home?”

The child nodded, stuck her thumb in her mouth and ran off, leaving Alex standing there and the front door wide open.

Uncertain what to do, she poked her head in. “Hello,” she called “Mrs. Wilson, are you home?”

A moment later a woman appeared, daughter in tow. Or rather, it appeared the child had her mother in tow.

Angie Wilson looked like a woman in pain. Grief harshly etched her features, creating a sad clone of the woman Alex had seen in Max’s photograph.

“Can I help you?” she said.

“I’m Alex Clarkson.” She held out the flowers. “I’m so sorry about your dad.”

Angie looked at the basket, then back up at Alex, eyes wet with tears. “Thank you. Come in.”

She took the basket and led Alex inside. The house looked as if a bomb had gone off in it. She supposed in a way, one had.

Angie cleared a space on the couch. Alex sat, then cleared her throat. “Your dad loved you and your girls so much… He told me how God had blessed him.”

Understanding crossed the woman’s face. “You’re from his church.”

When she said she wasn’t, the woman frowned. “Do I know you?”

“No, I… I only met your father once, but he touched me deeply. He was a sweet, sweet man.”

Angie began to cry. The child, who had been at her mother’s feet flipping through a picture book, climbed onto her mother’s lap, expression stricken. “Don’t cry, Mommy. Poppy’s in Heaven.”

“You’re right, sweetie.” She hugged the child. “Could you go get Mommy a tissue?”

The girl scrambled down, then trotted off to do as her mother asked.

Angie looked at Alex. “You’re the one who found him.”

It wasn’t a question; she answered anyway. “Yes.”

“Why were you there?”

“I have a ring… it was my mother’s… he may have designed it.”

She nodded. The girl returned with the tissues. Alex waited as the woman took them, praised the child, then wiped her cheeks and blew her nose.

“Thank you for the flowers. I… If you don’t mind, now’s not a good time.”

“I know. I’m so sorry.” She reached across and touched the woman’s hand. “It will get better. Give it time. I understand how your-” Alex drew a deep breath. “My mother died recently. She… took her own life.”

Angie stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just trying to say, I know how you feel.”

“My dad didn’t kill himself.”

Alex couldn’t hide her shock. “I’m… the police… I-”

“My dad did not commit suicide. He was happy. Content. Even after Mom passed away, he never-”

She stopped and fisted her fingers, as if in frustration. “You saw how frail he was! How do you think he did it?”

Alex blinked. “I don’t know. I just-”

“His hands shook so badly he had trouble picking up his cat. How could he have pulled it off? Set up the stepladder, hung the rope from a beam and tied the slip knot? It’s laughable.”

She hadn’t asked any questions, Alex realized. She had taken the scene at face value. Just as she had her mother’s.

But her mother hadn’t been happy and content. Her mother had attempted suicide before.

Alex cleared her throat. “Had your dad ever attempted this before? Had he ever talked about killing himself?”

She already knew the answer. The man who had trumpeted his blessings to a perfect stranger wouldn’t have hung himself.

Even if he had been physically able to do it. Which was questionable.

As that realization struck, so did another: If Max hadn’t killed himself, then he’d been murdered.

Her hands began to shake; she met Angie’s eyes. “Did you talk to the police? Tell them what you just told me?”

“Of course,” she said bitterly. “They treated me like I was a naive child.”

Alex could see that happening. The cops knew what they knew, and that was it. But in this case, maybe they were wrong?

“You want me to talk to them? I know Detective Reed, maybe if I explain-”

“Why would you do that for me?”

It was a fair question. One she was certain she would have asked if she’d been in Angie Wilson’s shoes.

But she was certain saying she felt somehow responsible wouldn’t go over well. The other reason would.

“I liked your dad. A lot.”

“I already spoke with Detective Reed, he wasn’t too interested in my opinion.”

“Let me see what I can do.”

Alex stood. The woman followed her to her feet. “Thank you.”

She walked her to the door. There, she asked, “Did you ever find out if Dad designed your ring?”

Alex shook her head. “I guess I’ll just have to find out another way.”

“Why does it matter?”

Alex looked away, then back. “She’s gone and I don’t… have anyone else. I hoped that maybe it’d be a clue to her past. That somehow it’d lead me to my father.”

“My dad kept a portfolio of his designs. I’ll look for it.”