Page 104 of Every Step She Takes
“I know. I tried getting in touch with you a couple of years ago, just to say hello, but you’d gone into deep hiding by then. Can’t say I blame you. When I was a kid, I had no idea how it affected your life. Having had my own fun with the tabloids, I understand.”
He meets my gaze. “It’s unfair, and it sucks, but what’s happening right now is even more unfair and a whole lot worse. So ask your questions. Don’t treat me with kid gloves, Lucy. You of all people know how much I hate that.”
“I do. Okay, well…” I take a deep breath. “I won’t tiptoe around it, then. I know your father came to visit you the night your mother died. He’s pretending he never left LA, but he was here.”
Jamison’s head jerks up, his gaze meeting mine in a look of pure confusion.
“My… father?” A rueful laugh. “I’d ask if you mean Colt Gordon but…” A wave at his face. “There’s no question of my paternity. My dad wasn’t here, Lucy. Whatever you uncovered, it’s a mistake. I haven’t seen Dad in weeks.”
“He caught a private jet to New Haven,” I say. “He wouldn’t do that if he wasn’t coming here.” I pause as I remember that we aren’t investigating an accidental death. This is murder. “Unless he wanted toseemlike he was coming here.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” It isn’t Jamison who speaks. It’s Marco, the first words he’s said since greeting Jamison. He speaks carefully. “If it was an alibi, Gen, Colt needed to show up here. Togetan actual alibi from Jamison.”
“Maybe he planned to say he came here, but Jamie was asleep.”
“Then he’d have left proof. A note or something. And he wouldn’t have flown back to LA and hidden the fact he was in Connecticut. The only reason he’d do that is if…”
Marco looks at Jamison, who hasn’t said a word, who has just sat there petting Molly. The dog whines, and I look into Jamison’s face. It’s studiously calm, but the puppy picks up his anxiety.
“Yes,” Jamison says.
“Yes…?” I say.
“Yes, in answer to the possibility Marco doesn’t want to raise in front of me. There’s only one reason Dad would turn around, go home and pretend he never came: if I wasn’t here when he arrived. If he wanted to protect me. The answer is yes. I wasn’t here. I’d slipped out and driven to New York to see my mother.”
My heart slams, stealing my breath. I wait for his next words, which will be that he went to see Isabella but changed his mind and turned around. Or that he saw her, but early in the evening, and she was alive when he left.
His gaze locks on mine for a split second before it drops, and he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’d never have let you go to jail, Lucy. Never. I wanted to turn myself in right away, but Karla insisted I wait. I’ve been battling it out with her. For now, I was just waiting to hear that you were arrested, and then I’d step forward.”
The puppy whines, and he rises and hands her to me with a murmured thanks. Then he walks to the window and looks out with his back to us.
“This should be more dramatic, shouldn’t it?” he says. “At least more drawn out. I should keep tap dancing for as long as I can, evading questions and misdirecting you. Then, when you realize it was me, I should…”
A one-armed shrug, his gaze still on the window. “In one of Dad’s movies, I’d pull a gun. At the very least, I’d tackle Marco. Or make a run for it. You asked if I like acting. I do, but that movie poster you saw was for Dad. I don’t care for action. I’m all about drama, so in my movie, I’d beg for understanding, beg you not to turn me in, maybe bribe you to take the fall, promising you won’t go to prison.”
He turns to me. “When Mom told me her plans for you two, I hopped on my motorcycle and drove to New York to talk her out of it. To convince her to leave you alone. She admitted you were reluctant to go public, and she needed to respect that. She needed to see that her scheme was all abouther– assuaging her guilt and reclaiming her pride. She honestly wanted to help you, but she needed to proceed with more care, to besureyou wanted it.”
He shoves his hands into his jeans pockets. “I asked to stay and join her lunch with you. Mom was uncomfortable with that. She knew I still cared about you, and I guess she thought I was setting myself up for disappointment. We argued. I went to leave, storming out. She grabbed my arm, and I flung her off and…”
His voice catches. “Those slippers. Those stupid Beast slippers. She nearly fell down the stairs in them once. I tried to get rid of them, but they were important to her.” He swallows. “They slid on the bathroom floor and–”
He flinches, convulsively, as if seeing Isabella fall again, hearing her skull crack against the tiled step.
“And she hit her head and died.” My voice sounds strange, hollow, because I know that isn’t what happened, but he doesn’t seem to catch my tone, just nods and sinks back into his chair.
“You framed me,” I say.
“What?” His brow crinkles. “No. I would never do that, Lucy.”
“So you didn’t take your mom’s tablet? Didn’t send the texts luring me to her room that morning?”
He stares at me, confusion piercing the numb blankness. “Wait. You were lured…?” He breaks off and curses under his breath. “Of course you were. You didn’t just happen to show up that morning.”
He reaches for his phone. His fingers tremble as he thumbs through the messages. He keeps talking, his gaze on his phone. “We always call Karla when we have a problem. That’s her job. Fixing problems. But I’ll fix this, Lucy. I’ll turn myself in. Karla’s apparently on her way now. I’ve been ducking her calls, so she’s coming in person. What happened to Mom was an accident, and I should have turned myself in right away, but I called Karla and…” He shakes his head.
“Karla realized it wasn’t an accident,” Marco says. “She knew what you’d done. That’s why she covered it up. That’s why she framed Genevieve. She knew the coroner would uncover the truth.”
Jamison looks up, blinking. “Truth?”
