“You don’t say.” He sets his mug down and leans forward. “Why would you wonder a thing like that?”
“Just a few things that have me putting the pieces together.”
He pauses, his fingers tapping on the desk. “What’d you say your last name was?”
“Adaire.”
“Hmm.” He shakes his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Suppose that doesn’t mean anything, though. Can you tell me more specifically what might lead you to believe there’s some relationship there?”
“Well, for one, he and my grams were around the same age. And, for another, her last name was also Mulligan. I never knew my grandfather.”
“And your grams, she left town, did she?”
“Yeah, a long time ago. She was probably only in her thirties at the time, and my mom would have been just a child.”
That seems to have gotten his attention, but he stays quiet, pursing his lips together as though contemplating something. Contemplating what, exactly? Whether to talk to me? Whether to help me?
“Deputy, please.” I sit up straighter, determined to get answers before I leave this building. “If there’s anything you can tell me, anything that might help . . . I just need to know if he was who I think he might have been, before”—before I lose my one chance to get answers, before I waste away—“while I’m still here, in town.”
He watches me carefully, the creases in his already wrinkled forehead deepening. “Listen, Miss Adaire,” he finally says, his voice soft, concerned, “Mulligan was a fantastic chief. One of the best officers this town’s seen, even to this day. He was well respected at the force, and I was honored to have gotten to work alongside him before he retired.”
Then why doesn’t your tone reflect your words? “But?”
“But, I’m afraid his family life was a bit of a different story. Now, I just want to make sure . . . I want to make sure you know what you’re asking here. You can’t rebury things like this once you’ve already dug them up.”
I shift in my seat. I wasn’t expecting a reaction like that. “Yes, I know what I’m asking, Deputy. I need to know.”
Eventually, he lets out a breath, reaching his resolve. “All right. Well, Mulligan wasn’t one to chitchat or divulge about his personal life. He lived and breathed the force, you understand? For a while there, it was this big mystery to the town, why his wife just up and left him one day, taking their only child with her.”
He pauses, squinting as he peers over at me, like he’s checking if I’m still okay. I don’t know if I am. My stomach’s tightening at his words, at the confirmation they bring. Clearly, I already have my answer. Wayne Mulligan was my grandfather. I give a small nod of my chin, urging him on.
“It wasn’t until the end there, his last year in fact, that he actually told me anything about what had happened. He had recently retired and his life seemed to finally be catching up with him. But even then he didn’t say much. I only got the gist of it, all right?”
Another nod.Just tell me already.
“Now, I know this may not make much of a difference, but for what it’s worth, he did a lot of apologizing. Said he’d had many regrets, and he was sure he’d be paying for them soon enough.” I swallow, suddenly nervous to hear the rest. This is just getting better and better. “He didn’t exactly get into everything he was apologizing for—seemed to be a whole lotta water under that bridge—but one thing he mentioned was the way he’d treated his wife.” He pauses, clearing his throat and adjusting his uniform collar. “Uh, physically. He didn’t get into the details, and I didn’t ask, but . . . uh, well, if it was enough to make her run, to make her fear for her daughter’s safety . . .”
The color drains from my face, my throat constricting. This can’t be right. Not another abuser, another monster. I know the other one was a man I’d only met in my dreams, but he certainly felt real enough. And now, my own flesh and blood. My own grams . . .
“Now, Miss Adaire,” he starts, his voice becoming more and more distant as the blood rushes to my ears, “I realize this wasn’t what you were hoping to find out, and especially after all this time you must have been wondering who your grandfather was, but . . . well, I’ve seen few women in my time as an officer actually free themselves from an abusive hand. And let me tell you, it takes a strong woman to get out of a situation like that.” Strong. Yes. Of course she was strong. It’s Grams, after all. The strongest woman I’ve ever known. I just never knew what had made her that way. “You and your mother are lucky to have had a woman like her in your life.”
It takes a minute for me to realize it’s my turn to say something, to respond. “Yes,” I mumble, already scooting the chair back to stand. “Yes, we were. Thanks so much for your time, Deputy Tallon.” I extend a shaky hand as he rises with me.
“Of course. I’m . . . I’m just really sorry I didn’t have a different answer for you.”
I offer a small smile as I pull my hand back, tug on my ring—a ring whose shade of blue seems to be getting darker and darker by the hour, as my body temperature spikes. It’s not Deputy Tallon’s fault my grandfather was an asshole. Scratch that, not my grandfather. As far as I’m concerned, he was just another ant in the dirt.
And moving on.
Chapter 39
Mr. Blackwood isn’t expectingme today, because I rarely show up two consecutive days. I’m sure he won’t be too pleased about the surprise, but he’s going to have to deal with it. There won’t be any running away this time.
The door’s ajar when I arrive, which is more than a little odd. I peek inside cautiously, my eyes darting around the empty living room. Mr. Blackwood’s keys sit forgotten on the floor, his cane appearing to have fallen near the sofa. I veer toward the kitchen, an uneasy feeling spiking in my stomach.
“Hello? Mr. Blackwood?”
Silence, and the kitchen is just as empty as the living room.
