Chapter Nineteen

Halfway there.

The sun glared at him as he played The National on repeat. His favorite band. Dark and moody. It suited him after seeing Luke then lying to Sophie.

He gripped the wheel tighter. What choice did he have? Was he supposed to tell her about his mom on the goddamn phone? He was flying blind when it came to sharing this emotional stuff, this family history. He’d had no training in how to open your heart, or your life, or your past. He wasn’t a practitioner of closeness or commitment.

But he couldn’t seem to stay away from Sophie.

So he’d need to do it right. Tell her when they were sitting down, face to face, not over the phone.

As the road echoed its sameness for miles, he dialed his sister’s number. After a quick hello, he put her on speakerphone and jumped right into the matter at hand.

“Where do I find a dress? You know the kind the women from the fifties wore?”

Shannon cracked up, so damn loud that he thought his eardrum was going to split in half. “Something you want to tell me, Ryan? You’re taking up cross-dressing?”

“My, my. Aren’t you a funny lady? Anyway, you know the kind the movie stars wear? Like a pinup dress, I think it’s called?”

She stopped laughing and turned her voice serious. “Sure. I’ve got a super hot one that might fit you. I’ll drop it off at your house later tonight.”

He rolled his eyes. “Make sure it has a petticoat and all.”

“Consider it done.”

“Anyway, where do I get one as a gift? For a woman.”

Shannon whistled. “Is Mr. Always Single dating someone? Or is this like a gift for your assistant?”

“It’s for a woman I’m seeing.”

“Details,” Shannon said demandingly.

“I can’t get into them now. I’m driving. Just tell me where I can buy one. Is there a store on the Strip that sells them? She told me they’re kind of specialty items.”

“Well, they are very boutique-type dresses. You don’t really find them at the department store. But maybe Rockin’ Bette or Viva Las Vegas might have them. Do you want me to call around for you?”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “That would be awesome. But I want one with peaches on it.”

She scoffed. “You’re not going to find that off the rack, even at a boutique. You need to go to Etsy and hunt online for something that specific. I’ll look for you. Tell me what size to get.”

“Um…I don’t know what size she is,” he said.

“Well, what’s her figure like?”

“Perfect.”

“You’re going to need to be a little more specific. Perfect is in the eye of the beholder.”

An image of Sophie’s round, full breasts popped into his mind, and he nearly swerved off the road. “She has nice…” He began and then trailed off, not wanting to talk like that in front of his sister.

“Tits, Ryan? She has nice tits?” Shannon supplied.

He laughed. “Yeah. What you just said. But they’re bigger than—”

“Than mine? Is that what you were going to say?”

He laughed. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I like my tits. So does my husband. Anyway. What are we talking in the knockers department? C?”

“That sounds about right. Maybe a big C.”

“And is she skinny? Heavy? Average?”

“There is nothing average about her,” he said quickly.

“Oh my God, I do not need to hear you wax on and on, even though it is adorable coming from The Ice Man. Just tell me—is she skinny or curvy?”

“She’s not a stick. She has hips. She’s not heavy or anything. But she’s curvy.”

“Marilyn Monroe?”

He snapped his fingers as he drove. “Yes. That.”

“Fine. Done. I’ll see what I can track down for your girl with the nice tits. How’s her personality?”

He smiled, a grin that seemed to come out of nowhere, one that he had no control over when he thought of Sophie. “Brilliant, clever, sweet, fun.”

“That makes me very happy to hear. Brent and I are coming by on Saturday for lunch, so you can tell me all about her when I see you in person and, hopefully, drop off the dress.” She paused before she added, “By the way, have a good visit with Mom.”

“Thanks, Shan.”

He hung up and, an hour later, pulled past the gates and into the visitor lot at his mother’s home.

* * *

Talking to his mom was like trying to capture a hummingbird with a thimble.

“Focus,” he told her, as frustration surged inside him. “You’re all over the place. I don’t want to hear about how the guys in New York State broke out through a manhole, or why Kelsey in the cell next to you can’t eat bread because now she’s a fucking gluten-free inmate. I love you, Mom. But you gotta fucking focus.”

“Watch your mouth,” his mother said, narrowing her eyes as she chided him. She wore orange, as she always did, and they talked in one of the stark concrete visiting rooms, outfitted with only a table and chairs.

“Sorry,” he muttered. Then he tapped his watch. “But time is running out, and I want some details. I’ve held onto your pattern; I’ve held onto your secrets. Can’t you tell me a damn thing? The cops won’t say a word about the evidence they have. You’ve got to know, Mom. I’m sure they’ve been here to see you about the case being reopened.”

She nodded and pursed her lips together.

He held his hands out wide, waiting for an answer. “So?”

She shook her head.

He closed his eyes and sighed. “Mom, c’mon. I’m trying to help, but you’ve got to give me something. Does it have to do with Stefano’s kid?”

She snapped her head up. “What?”

“He had a kid. His girlfriend was pregnant at the time of the murder. His friends were supposed to look out for the kid, but they apparently didn’t. I think that’s why the case was reopened. I don’t know for sure, but I’ve got a hunch she set it in motion. His girlfriend went to the cops because she’s pissed at his friends for messing up their end of the deal. That’s my take.”

His mom lowered her voice to a bare whisper, her eyes fixed on his. For the first time in a long time, he saw an intense need in her green gaze as she asked, “Who was supposed to look out for the kid?”

“I don’t know, mom. Who do you think is looking out for the kid?”

“Was it T.J. and K. who—?”

Then she smacked her hand over her mouth and dug her fingers into her cheekbones. Shit. She’d done this before. She’d done some variation of this nearly every time he’d seen her lately. She’d start to say something and then physically stop herself.

“Who are T.J. and K.?” he asked, reaching across the table to gently pry her hand from her face. She was a strong woman though, and she didn’t want to let go. He was stronger, and soon he’d peeled her hand away.

“Who? Who are they? Who are T.J. and K.? Are they Royal Sinners? Were they involved?”

She shook her head and the focused look vacated her eyes. “I’m tired. I’m so tired. I’m so incredibly tired.”

“Mom, c’mon,” he said, begging. “I’ve done everything you asked. I can’t help you unless you tell me. You begged me to never say a word about the drugs, and I never did. I never said a thing, just like you asked. I followed your word to the letter. For eighteen goddamn years. But, Jesus Christ, I miss my dad. Okay?” His voice rose as he pleaded with her. “I miss him every day. If you know something you’ve never told me, now would be a really good time to share it, since there’s a chance of getting justice served.”

Her lips curved down. She reached for his hand and clasped her bony fingers around it. “I have to protect you. I swore I’d protect you. I will ’til the day I die.”

His leaned back in his chair and shoved a hand through his hair. “I can protect myself. I’m not fourteen anymore. I’m not a kid. I’m a thirty-two-year-old man. So tell me. Who are T.J. and K.? Did they kill Dad?”

“I’m protecting you and your brothers and sister,” she said, sticking to her own party line.

He tried again, hoping to rattle her this time. Press her buttons. “Then did you do it? They all think you did. Everyone thinks you did. The state sure as hell does. Did you kill Dad?”

She narrowed her eyes. “No. I’ve told you I didn’t.”

“You better not have lied to me. For years I have believed in you.”

“Everything I’ve done is for all of you. I love you all so much.”

“You gave this to me—don’t you get it? You gave me this obsession over what really happened,” he said, grabbing the sides of his skull for emphasis. “It’s like a sickness now in me. You asked me to cover up when the cops were investigating my father’s murder, and the details and the secrets eat away at me. It makes it hard for me to have a normal fucking life. Tell me, who are they?”

Her eyelids started to close. “I need to sleep,” she mumbled. “I can’t sleep at night. All I do is lie awake and stare at the ceiling and wish for the light to come.” She rested her cheek against the table. In a minute, she’d fallen into slumber.

And he was hardly any closer to knowing why.

Ryan sat there in silence ’til the hour ended, and the sturdy, brown-haired corrections officer returned to the room.

“Hey, Clara,” he said to the woman in the beige uniform.

She smiled. “Hey, Ryan. How’s it going?”

“Keeping busy. Trying to stay out of trouble. How about you? How’s the family?”

“My oldest starts high school in another month. Time flies, huh?”

“I remember when you were telling me about him starting kindergarten,” Ryan said, because it had been that long that he’d known her.

Clara patted his sleeping mom. “C’mon, Prince. Visiting hour is over.”

Dora raised her head an inch. A line from the table’s edge was pressed into her cheek. Her mouth was open and saliva had pooled in the corner of her lips. She blinked. Then she rose and held out her arms to Ryan.

He hugged her. “Bye Mom. Get some sleep.”

“Come by again, please. And stay safe. Stay away from the Sinners. Just stay away and you’ll be safe then.”

“I will,” he said and kissed her forehead.

He gave a quick wave to Clara. “Take care of yourself, Clara.”

“You, too. Will we see you later this month? She earned some more visiting hours. End of next week, I believe.”

He nodded. “I’ll do my best. Can’t seem to stay away from this place,” he said with a wry smile, and Clara patted him on the shoulder.

As he left, he wished he could simply Google “T.J. and K.” and know what the hell his mother had been talking about. But as he closed the door to his truck, it occurred to him he could do something else with the information. He was grasping at straws, but maybe someone else could make sense of this. Maybe it was time for Ryan to ask for help, to turn to another person who was trying to solve this case.

He dialed Detective John Winston, and passed on the initials T.J. and K.

“I really appreciate that,” John said.

“I don’t know that it means anything.”

“I don’t, either. But it might, and that’s what matters. A lead is a lead, and I’ll see what I can do.”

For the first time in a long time, Ryan felt unburdened.