“Okay,” I said. I wasn’t sure why Simon was telling me this. I already knew he and Leo had had a relationship that was contentious at times and Marcus had told me about their disagreement at the hotel bar.
“This was a very public argument in the parking lot over at Fern’s.” He shifted restlessly from one foot to the other.
Fern’s was Fern’s Diner, home of Meatloaf Tuesday and also where Harrison Taylor’s lady friend, Peggy Sue, worked.
“Families have arguments,” I said. “Even the police know that.”
The lines in his face seemed to deepen. “One of the last things my father said to me was, ‘You’re killing me.’”
It took me a moment to find the right words to say what I wanted to say. “Simon, I only met your father once, but he didn’t seem like the kind of person who would want you to get stuck on something he said when he was angry.”
He studied me for a long moment, as though he thought he could find some answers on my face, and then his expression softened. “Mia’s right,” he said.
I was lost. “About what?”
“About you being nice.”
I shook my head. “I’m starting to dislike the word,” I said, giving him a wry smile.
Simon shook his head. “You shouldn’t. We act like being nice is somehow a bad thing. It’s not. The world needs more nice people.”
“Well, this so-called nice person thinks that the police aren’t going to arrest you because you had an argument with your father in the parking lot of Fern’s.”
I glanced over at Mia. She was bent over her notebook, holding her cell phone with one hand.
“It isn’t any of my business, but what were you arguing about?” I asked. “I know it’s been difficult having your uncle here.”
Simon nodded. “Dad and I did have words over that more than once, but it’s not what the fight at Fern’s was about.”
I waited. Simon’s mouth moved but it took longer for words to come. Finally he said, “You have to have heard about my mother. Mayville Heights is a small town, after all.”
“I’ve heard,” I said.
“We never talked about my mother—my choice, not his.” His fingers played with his watchband again. “I knew that Dad was angry and hurt for a long time, but I really thought he’d put that part of his life to rest a long time ago.” He looked past me for a moment and then shook his head. “He hadn’t.” He focused on me once more. “A few weeks ago I found out that he had hired a private investigator to look into the car accident that killed my mother.”
Meredith Janes’s death. Was it possible it was connected to what happened to Leo?
“Did you ask him why?” I said.
“I asked him why, all right. Why he was doing it, why he hadn’t told me, why he thought there was any point to digging up such a painful part of both our pasts after all this time. Just before he hired that investigator Mia was doing a school project, a family tree. I know they talked about . . . my mother. Dad started reading some of the old news coverage. He said he’d never been satisfied with the investigation.”
He sighed. “Kathleen, a few years ago I went to Chicago, to the police station. I talked to the detective who investigated my mother’s car accident. I looked at the reports. There was no big conspiracy. The road was wet, she was speeding—which according to everyone she knew was something she’d done since she got her driver’s license. She went off the road and over an embankment. She died. End of story.” He shook his head. “You’re the only other person aside from Dad I’ve told this to, and I waited a long time before I told him. I hate that my mother still has so much power in my life.”
Mia looked up and smiled over at us then dropped her head over her phone again.
“He wanted me to be part of this ridiculous investigation. This fool’s errand. I said no. He tried to change my mind. That’s what we were fighting about.” He shrugged.
“Simon, you don’t actually think your mother’s accident and what happened to your father are connected, do you?” I said. I didn’t say that I did.
“I don’t want to, but . . .”
“But what?”
The lines around his mouth tightened again. “He told me he’d hired an investigator. The day before the funeral I went all through his apartment. Victor had asked Everett if he could stay there for a few days. He said it made him feel closer to Dad.” He sighed softly. “I didn’t want Victor to know what Dad had been doing. I found the contact information for that investigator and I called him. He said my father told him that he’d found something out about my mother, something that was key.”
“But he didn’t say what that was.”
Simon shook his head. “I hired him, Kathleen, the detective. He says there may have been a witness, a woman who was walking her dog the night my mother’s car went off the road. If there’s any chance what happened to my father is connected to my mother’s death, I have to know.”
“Have you considered talking to your uncle?”
He shook his head. “Not a chance in hell. My father may have been giving Victor a second chance but that didn’t mean he would have ever confided in him.”
I put a hand on his arm. “Simon, tell the police,” I said.
A smile pulled at his mouth but there was no warmth in it. “I already did. I don’t think they’re taking me very seriously.”
I raked a hand back through my hair. I cared about Mia and I cared about Simon. “How can I help?”
Simon glanced down the hallway. There was no sign of Marcus. “I don’t want to interfere in your life,” he said.
“How can I help?” I repeated.
He looked over at his daughter again and his face softened. “I know that Dad and Mary Lowe go way back. Someone saw them together at a place out near the highway. They looked like they were having a pretty serious conversation.”
“The Brick,” I said, nodding my head.
Simon frowned. “How did you know?”
Mary may have looked like the stereotypical sweet, cookie-baking grandmother, which in fact she was, but there were a lot more layers to her, including her love of dancing, corsets and feathers. “That’s a story for another time,” I said.
“Would you talk to Mary?” he asked. “See if she knows anything? I think she’d be more likely to tell you before me.”
“I can do that,” I said. “She’s working tomorrow. I’ll see what I can find out.”
Simon smiled then. “How many times are you going to come to my rescue?” he said.
I smiled back at him. “How many times do you need?”
Mia had gotten to her feet and now she walked over to us. “Excuse me,” she said. “Are you done? Because I’m hungry.”
“Yes, we’re done,” I said.
“Thank you for coming to get me,” she said, wrapping her arms around me in a hug.
“Anytime,” I said.
“Thank you,” Simon said. “For everything.”
I smiled. “Like I said, anytime.”
Hercules was waiting for me in the truck. “Thank you for being so patient,” I said, sliding behind the wheel. He yawned and I realized he’d probably been napping the whole time I was gone.
We headed up the hill and I filled Hercules in on what Simon had told me about his father hiring an investigator to look into Meredith Janes’s death.
“This means something,” I said.
“Merow,” the cat said.
I glanced over at him. “Okay, so now all we have to do is convince Marcus.”
• • •
We’d only been home about twenty minutes when my phone rang. Hercules was just eating the last of the four crackers I’d given him. He meowed at me but didn’t even lift his head.
“Yes, I heard that,” I said.
It was Marcus.
“Hi,” I said. “Where are you?”
“At the station,” he said, “wrestling with paperwork.”
He sounded tired. I tucked one leg underneath me. “You want to know what I was doing at Simon’s office.”