She couldn’t get any more food down. Pushing her plate away, she reached for her water instead. “I can’t. It’s…very personal and embarrassing. Nothing I’d ever want to become public.”
“I wouldn’t tell anyone. I hope you realize that.”
“I do.” She knew he could be discreet. It was more than that. “She wouldn’t want you to hear about this. But you’re right in believing she’s withholding some information, because she is.”
“What’s the nature of this information?”
“I can’t even tell you that much. Really. I’d be mortified if I’d done what she did.”
“It doesn’t have to do with your mother?”
“Not…directly,” she hedged.
“Is it something you wouldn’t want a private investigator digging up?”
“Excuse me?”
Leaning forward again, he helped himself to her fries. “I’ve hired someone, Claire.”
She blinked at him. “For what?”
“To pursue your mother’s case.”
“But… When did you do that? I’ve been with you all day.”
“I made the decision yesterday.”
Before her house was trashed? “But…I can’t let you do that. Private investigators are expensive. And we tried that route.”
“Some are better than others. And you don’t have to pay.”
“I don’t even know when I’d be able to reimburse you.”
“That’s not a problem. I’m only telling you because she’s going to be digging to find everything she can. If your sister has a deep dark secret, it might not be a secret much longer. Will that be a problem?”
Claire squirmed at the thought of Leanne’s indiscretion going public, which would happen if the P.I. found something, or there’d be no point in having her search in the first place. She’d have to report any evidence to the police. Could she allow such a no-holds-barred investigation? If she did, Leanne might not be the only casualty. What if it came out that her mother was on birth control without Tug’s knowledge? Or that Tug and Roni were indeed having an affair?
What if Isaac’s P.I. learned just enough to make everyone look terrible but came up with nothing more?
She’d drag her whole family through the mud for nothing…?.
“How good is she?” she asked.
“The best. She found my mother. And she had almost nothing to go on.”
This was a revelation Claire had never expected Isaac to share with her. His background was pretty much off-limits and always had been. He certainly never spoke of the woman who’d abandoned him.
Distracted from her own misery, she watched him carefully. “Where is she?”
“Dead.”
He showed no emotion, but he had to feel something. She wanted to know what had happened, why his mother had done what she’d done. But asking just to appease her curiosity would be far too intrusive. “I’m sorry.”
A muscle flexed in his cheek. “Your mother’s dead, too. I’m convinced of it. But she deserves justice. And you deserve answers.”
“I want answers, but…I have to ask myself—at what price?”
“That’s for you to decide. I’ll pay for the P.I. as long as you can live with what she finds. Could you tolerate seeing your sister or your stepfather or someone else you love going to prison?”
“You think the person who killed her is that close to me?”
“After what April told you? In my mind, there’s no question.”
Jeremy Salter cleared his throat. He was standing at their table. Claire had been so engrossed in the conversation she hadn’t paid any attention to his approach, but she shouldn’t have been surprised. Jeremy had had a crush on her since they were children. He always gravitated toward her, no matter where they were. “Can I get you any more ketchup or…or a refill of your soda, Claire?” he asked.
She managed a smile. “No, thanks.”
He put some extra napkins at her elbow. “I—I’m sorry to hear about the, um, fall you took at the studio. I’m really sorry. Very sorry.”
Claire fingered the stitches above her ear. She needed to see Dr. Hunt to have them removed. “Thanks, Jeremy. I appreciate that.”
Isaac had been hurt, too, but Jeremy hadn’t heard about that, or he didn’t care. Unlike the teenage girls now sitting at a booth across the restaurant, who kept glancing over at Isaac, Jeremy hardly seemed to notice that he was there. But he didn’t think like other people, had always been “different.” Although, as far as Claire knew, his parents had never sought an official diagnosis, he had some undeniable mental and emotional problems, but he meant well. She thought he was sweet.
“Will you have time to give me a haircut this week?” he asked.
She cleared her throat. She’d endured his obsession for years, but every once in a while his devotion made her uneasy. “Isn’t your appointment already scheduled?”
“I don’t remember.”
He should have a card on which she’d written his next appointment. She always sent him home with one. He wasn’t a client she was dying to keep—she cut his hair for whatever change he had in his pocket—but she figured it was the least she could do for someone who’d been as teased, shunned and mistreated as he had. It was no secret that his father would never win any parenting awards; he had too many problems of his own. Don Salter had managed Walt’s gun shop for years after Tug quit, until Walt accused him of stealing. Don’s complicity in the theft was never proven, but the suspicion was enough to cost him his job.
After that, he worked in various capacities, eventually becoming a roofer. Then he fell off a house and hurt his back and hadn’t held a job since. She bumped into him every now and then. If he wasn’t inebriated he was hungover, but that wasn’t why she didn’t like him. Some people claimed he was merely neglectful to Jeremy; she feared he was borderline abusive. She or someone else in town might’ve tried to get some government agency to intercede, except that Jeremy would probably be institutionalized if he was taken from his father. It wasn’t as if he had a loving mother. His mother moved to Oregon when he was just a kid, and refused to take him with her.
“I’m sure it’s on the books,” she said. “I don’t have my schedule with me, but I’ll check and give you a call.”
“That’d be nice, Claire. That’d be real nice.”
She stirred the ice in her drink. “If it’s this week, we might need to reschedule, though,” she added. “I’m taking some time off.”
“You are? Why? Are you going out of town?”
He seemed almost panic-stricken, but Claire had known him long enough to understand that anything beyond his normal routines upset him. “I’ve got some…problems to take care of. But we’ll get you in soon. Don’t worry.”
“I am worried,” he said. “I’m really worried.”
He looked it. She reached out to squeeze his arm. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
“You’re a nice person, Claire. You—you don’t deserve what’s happening.”
She supposed he meant the bump on her head. She doubted he’d heard about her house yet, but in this town she could never be sure. At any rate, Jeremy frequently said odd things. “Thanks again. Tell Hank the burger was delicious.”
“Can I get you a shake?” he asked. “I can make it really thick. For free. To make up for your fall.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m stuffed.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe you could get me a shake,” Isaac said.
Jeremy looked startled, as if he’d forgotten Isaac was sitting there. “Um, yeah, sure. I guess I could. What kind would you like?”
Isaac’s lips curved into a smile. “Actually, I’m stuffed, too. But thanks.”
“If you say so.” Jeremy’s eyes darted back to Claire. “I’m glad you came in. It’s always good to see you, Claire.”
After several more rounds of thanks and compliments, Jeremy finally went back to work. Claire wanted to return to the conversation they’d been having before he’d interrupted, but Isaac’s wry smile stopped her.