His mom’s hand stilled on the spoon. “Who was he?”
“Name is Ed Lowen. He was a private investigator out of Charlottesville.”
“Charlottesville?” She frowned. “That’s close.”
“Too close.” Caleb rubbed a hand over his face. “Sheriff’s looking into who hired him, but we don’t have answers yet. Could be connected to one of the women. Could be someone local with a grudge. We just don’t know.”
His mom set the spoon down and turned to face him fully. “I’m concerned about Millie.”
“She’s stressed. Scared. Thinks it might be connected to her ex.”
“Is it?”
“I don’t know.” He exhaled slowly. “But she’s barely holding it together.”
His mom studied him a long moment, her gaze too knowing. “You need to talk to her, Caleb.”
He stiffened. “About what?”
“You know what.” She gave him a pointed look.
He looked away. “I’m not looking for romance, Mom. That’s not what this is about.”
“I didn’t say you had to look for romance. But closure can do a lot. And that girl is carrying enough burdens as it is. Don’t add to them by leaving the past unspoken.”
Caleb’s jaw tightened. “She doesn’t want to hear it.”
“How do you know? Have you asked?”
He didn’t answer.
His mom stepped closer, her voice softening. “Caleb, you’ve spent six years regretting what you did. Maybe it’s time to stop carrying it alone and tell Millie why you made the choice you did. Not because you’re looking for forgiveness. But because she deserves to know.”
Caleb wanted to argue. Wanted to say the timing was wrong, that Millie had too much on her plate already.
But his mother was right.
She usually was.
“I’ll think about it,” he finally said.
His mom nodded, seeming satisfied with his response.
Then she turned back to the stove. “Good. Now help me with dinner. I need you to set the table.”
Caleb pushed off the counter, grateful for the distraction even as his thoughts churned.
He dreaded that conversation.
But maybe—maybe it was time.
Millie lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts refusing to settle.
Dinner had been good. Ruby’s Brunswick stew was everything comfort food should be—rich and hearty, and it had warmed her from the inside out. The stew was a tomato-based specialty, claimed by both Virginia and Georgia, that contained chicken, pork, corn, lima beans, and barbecue sauce.
But even good food couldn’t quiet the noise in her head.
A man had been murdered. On this property. Steps away from where she slept.
