“Who’s the girl?”
“Bronte Remington. You investigated her sister’s murder, and you caught the guy who did it.”
“Ahh, yes. I remember the case well.”
“What do you think? Will you help me?”
“Before we discuss me taking the case, I need to know more about Holly and why anyone would want to murder her.”
Her voice thinned, stretched tight with fear and grief. “I might know why. Holly was going through some things in her mother’s house, and she found this old shoebox in the closet. Inside were adoption papers. When she read them, she realized the woman who raised her, the woman she thought was her biological mother, wasn’t. She was her adoptive mother.”
“Are you saying Holly was never told she was adopted?”
“I am.”
I reached for my notebook and flipped it open, the pen cool between my fingers. “Start from the beginning. I want to know everything.”
3
Wren gripped the arms of the chair as if she were using it to maintain her balance. Luka shifted closer to my leg, his tail low, eyes fixed on her. He’d always been hypervigilant, capable of sensing a stressful situation even when no words had been spoken.
“Where would you like me to start?” Wren asked.
“From the moment Holly’s mother died.”
Wren nodded, shifting in the chair. “Celia was out on her back porch watering her flowers one morning, following her usual routine. She lost her footing on a step and went down hard, striking her head on a large rock she used as a hiding place for a spare house key.”
“I talked to a couple of my friends at the police department after it happened. They ruled her death an accident.”
“Sure seems that way. When the police called to let Holly know what happened, she packed a bag and left for Cambria right away. She was devastated, a complete mess.”
“I can imagine. What can you tell me about their relationship?”
“They were close. Holly spoke to Celia almost every day. When Celia died, I started to see a darker side of Holly’s personality, a side I had never seen before.”
I crossed one leg over the other. “Tell me more about that.”
“Holly was always the fun, cheerful one in our friend group, the one who didn’t seem to have a care in the world. After her mother died, she was much different. As if losing Celia wasn’t hard enough, she was shocked to find out she was adopted.”
“I take it Celia never mentioned the adoption to Holly?”
“She didn’t. Holly had no idea.”
“What about the father?”
“There was a man in Celia’s life when Holly was little, Lenny Cutler. Celia was married to him for a short time, but they split up when Holly was a toddler. Holly told me she remembered almost nothing about him. When Holly grew old enough to ask about her father, Celia said he had been nothing more than a one-night mistake. She claimed she didn’t know his last name or anything else about him.”
Based on what I had gathered so far, Celia came across as someone who was guarded, a woman who may have never planned to tell Holly about her roots or about the adoption.
But why?
Why keep it a secret?
“Were there any names on the adoption paperwork?” I asked.
“Other than Holly’s name, no. But a few areas on the papers she found had been blacked out.”
Blacked out—even more secretive.
