“Something up?” He didn’t want to pressure her, but he didn’t have time for idle chitchat.
“A lot, actually. It’s Mom and Dad. . . . They ... are resistant to change, and, well, you know that Dad’s not as strong as he once was, and Mom isn’t about to move or put him in an assisted-care place, but he needs more care than she can give. . . .” She went on and on, as she always did about this particular topic, one that made his blood run cold.
She was lamenting their parents’ stubborn streak when he broke in. “So what do you want me to do about it?”
“Talk to Mom.”
“I have.”
“Again. Be firm. She listens to you, for whatever reason. You’d think since I’m the oldest, my opinion would carry some weight, but oh, no—”
“I will,” he said, cutting off the next part of her no-one-values-my-opinion pity party. “I’ll drive over ... by this weekend.”
“The sooner, the better.”
“I have a life, you know. A job. A highly stressful job.”
“Okay, okay, just let me know.”
“I will.”
“Oh, and a final warning. Mom has someone picked out for you.” He inwardly groaned. “And get this,” his sister added, her voice elevating a fraction in excitement. “It’s a nurse. Can you believe it? After all the things she’s said about that particular profession? I guess she met this woman when she was taking Dad to his annual physical.”
“It doesn’t matter what she does.” He wasn’t in the mood for a potential romance, especially not someone his meddling mother had discovered. Not when there was just so much to do.
“Just be prepared. Her name is Karalee Rierson, a redhead.”
He froze. The little worry that had been with him since he’d overheard Acacia’s phone call was growing, squirming, wriggling through his brain. He glanced down at the pile of photographs he’d collected over the years, spreading them out until he saw the driver’s license picture of Karalee Winters. No . . . it couldn’t be! He swallowed hard, started searching through the old documents. He should remember this. Wasn’t her maiden name Karalee Falcone . . . Yes, he found it. “What do you know about her?” he asked in a voice he didn’t recognize as his own.
“I think she lived in Oregon when she was married, but I’m not sure. And then there was something about a brief, like ten-minute marriage, which Mom will gloss over.”
Hence the surname of Winters.
“But she doesn’t have any kids. I’m sure Mom will have all the details and will regale you with them when you see her.”
His stomach seemed to drop to the cold tile floor. Everything was crumbling apart. “No doubt,” he said. “Look, I’ve got to run.”
“Okay, okay. Always busy, I get it. But after you see Mom and Dad and convince them to move, give me a call.”
“I will,” he promised and hung up. He stared at the photo of Karalee Falcone Winters Rierson. He’d messed up. Somehow missed that important tidbit of information. And now she knew his parents ... so, so dangerous. He crushed the copy of her driver’s license in his fist and told himself he had to up his game, move faster.
And he’d have to start with Acacia freakin’ Lambert, then zero in on Karalee, with all her last names.
He didn’t have a choice.
CHAPTER 22
Not only had Riza come through, but Kacey had gotten some information from the hospitals as well. Armed with her new, sketchy details, she drove to Helena. Riza, who also had a way to get into the DMV files, promised more information to come, birth and death notices, pictures, whatever she could find. “I could get fired,” she warned Kacey.
“Or we might both end up looking for a good defense attorney.”
She barked out a laugh. “Doesn’t matter. I love this stuff. I watch CSI and Bones and all those crime shows. I’ll see what I can come up with, but just keep everything on the down low.”
“I will,” Kacey promised but wondered how long she could keep that vow. She hung up and started to dial again, then replaced the receiver, figuring another phone call with her mother would be useless. Whether she liked it or not, she had to see Maribelle face-to-face.
It was nearly dusk when she cruised into Helena, down familiar streets where the asphalt was bare, the sidewalks shoveled, and new snow was falling softly. She guided her Ford past the Cathedral of St. Helena, its Gothic facade bathed in lamplight. Twin spires rose, seeming to pierce the darkening sky. This was the town in which she’d grown up, where she’d felt secure, and now, with twilight lurking, she felt somehow betrayed by it. Something wasn’t right.
Glancing into her rearview mirror, she got a jolt when she saw a dark truck, one similar to the pickup that had hit her and sent her spinning a few days earlier.