the time for minor offenses, and from what you’ve described, I hate to say it, but Mark’s reaction is understandable. He came on pretty strong on Friday, though.”
She frowned and reluctantly told him what happened with Aaron Brady three years ago. Her only solace was his expression, which remained sympathetic.
Jason remained quiet for several seconds after she finished, but methodically buttered a slice of bread and then set it on his plate without taking a bite. “I would look at Mark’s investigation in a few different ways, Libby. First of all, after your truck was found, it would have been reasonable, given the circumstances, for him to drop the whole thing. The fact that he continued investigating and found out about the Anti-Harassment Order is promising. It means he took you seriously that night. And yesterday, based on what I saw, he seemed to be coming around to your point of view. Not so much the day before…but in light of the story you just told me, my showing up at the door probably didn’t help your case.”
She smiled wryly. “That’s an understatement.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Jason continued. “He does have to investigate all possibilities—including you.”
“He said as much to me.”
“As far as any implied threat goes, outside of protective custody, there’s not much the police can do, except add you to the patrol route. Tell you what, if the focus of the investigation remains on you, I want to know. I have influence with the review board.”
“I don’t want you to intercede on my behalf. I just want to salvage my credibility.”
“Don’t stress about that. Some cops would investigate Mother Theresa.”
She laughed. “I’m in good company, then.”
The waiter arrived and took their orders. After he left, Jason said, “So, have you found anything interesting in my mother’s research?”
“I found some of your old report cards and school papers. You really should have studied your spelling lists.”
“Hard to believe I became a lawyer.” He smiled. “But I was only nine when I packed those boxes. You can’t judge me by the contents too much. I found my focus in school later.”
His words brought her up short. “ You packed the boxes?”
“It was a few months after my mother disappeared. I had waited in the front window every day—before school, after school, weekends—certain she’d come back. When she didn’t, I got mad and gathered up all her things and dumped them in those boxes.”
“I’m so sorry, Jason.”
“Someone had to do it and Jack was…busy.”
Her own father was no model parent, repeatedly abandoning her brother and sister and her to their increasingly bitter mother. She understood all too well what it was like for a child to be left with one negligent parent.
“When my mom’s car was found, all fingerprints, even her own, had been wiped clean. The police found it suspicious, but that information wasn’t shared with me until I was old enough to ask the right questions. Even now I find myself believing she’ll come back. It’s difficult not knowing what happened.” He sipped his wine and was quiet for a few seconds and then his look changed and he said, “So, now you’ll be finishing her work.”
“I can’t do that. Your mother was an ethnographer, I’m an archaeologist.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Your mother studied living culture. I dig up the remains of past cultures. We’re both anthropologists, but we collect information in different ways. There’s some overlap in our areas of expertise, but another ethnographer would be more suited to write the report Rosalie wants.”
Jason looked at her speculatively. “Interesting.” He paused. “I have a confession to make. I didn’t really ask you to lunch to talk about my mother.” He reached out and covered her hand with his, his fingers trapping hers in the intimate hold.
Crap. Her entire body stiffened. She fought the instinct to snatch her hand
She frowned and reluctantly told him what happened with Aaron Brady three years ago. Her only solace was his expression, which remained sympathetic.
Jason remained quiet for several seconds after she finished, but methodically buttered a slice of bread and then set it on his plate without taking a bite. “I would look at Mark’s investigation in a few different ways, Libby. First of all, after your truck was found, it would have been reasonable, given the circumstances, for him to drop the whole thing. The fact that he continued investigating and found out about the Anti-Harassment Order is promising. It means he took you seriously that night. And yesterday, based on what I saw, he seemed to be coming around to your point of view. Not so much the day before…but in light of the story you just told me, my showing up at the door probably didn’t help your case.”
She smiled wryly. “That’s an understatement.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Jason continued. “He does have to investigate all possibilities—including you.”
“He said as much to me.”
“As far as any implied threat goes, outside of protective custody, there’s not much the police can do, except add you to the patrol route. Tell you what, if the focus of the investigation remains on you, I want to know. I have influence with the review board.”
“I don’t want you to intercede on my behalf. I just want to salvage my credibility.”
“Don’t stress about that. Some cops would investigate Mother Theresa.”
She laughed. “I’m in good company, then.”
The waiter arrived and took their orders. After he left, Jason said, “So, have you found anything interesting in my mother’s research?”
“I found some of your old report cards and school papers. You really should have studied your spelling lists.”
“Hard to believe I became a lawyer.” He smiled. “But I was only nine when I packed those boxes. You can’t judge me by the contents too much. I found my focus in school later.”
His words brought her up short. “ You packed the boxes?”
“It was a few months after my mother disappeared. I had waited in the front window every day—before school, after school, weekends—certain she’d come back. When she didn’t, I got mad and gathered up all her things and dumped them in those boxes.”
“I’m so sorry, Jason.”
“Someone had to do it and Jack was…busy.”
Her own father was no model parent, repeatedly abandoning her brother and sister and her to their increasingly bitter mother. She understood all too well what it was like for a child to be left with one negligent parent.
“When my mom’s car was found, all fingerprints, even her own, had been wiped clean. The police found it suspicious, but that information wasn’t shared with me until I was old enough to ask the right questions. Even now I find myself believing she’ll come back. It’s difficult not knowing what happened.” He sipped his wine and was quiet for a few seconds and then his look changed and he said, “So, now you’ll be finishing her work.”
“I can’t do that. Your mother was an ethnographer, I’m an archaeologist.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Your mother studied living culture. I dig up the remains of past cultures. We’re both anthropologists, but we collect information in different ways. There’s some overlap in our areas of expertise, but another ethnographer would be more suited to write the report Rosalie wants.”
Jason looked at her speculatively. “Interesting.” He paused. “I have a confession to make. I didn’t really ask you to lunch to talk about my mother.” He reached out and covered her hand with his, his fingers trapping hers in the intimate hold.
Crap. Her entire body stiffened. She fought the instinct to snatch her hand
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