As for her father's part in anything…she wasn't sure. He didn't like fast-food. She couldn't remember a time when he'd gotten a meal to go at any of the burger places in their town.
As the drive-thru line moved, she pulled up to the window and paid for her meal, then took the bag from the server. She drove into a nearby parking spot and turned off the car. Despite the fact that she'd been starving five minutes earlier, now everything tasted wrong. The fries were too salty. The burger seemed tasteless. It wasn't the restaurant's fault. Every bite was tainted with the past.
Setting the bag aside, her thoughts returned to Constantine.
Had he been telling the truth, or had he wanted to point her in her father's direction, so she wouldn't look at him?
Maybe she should talk to her grandfather more about Constantine, and Wallace, too. The three men who had loved Natasha the most certainly made the best suspects. But then there were the women who'd hated her. Had someone killed Natasha out of love or out of hate—or was it both emotions that had been in play?
And how had they done it? Had Natasha shot herself up, or had someone else forced her to do it? Had they somehow sedated her first, so she couldn't struggle against the fatal dose?
She shivered, thinking about that night, about the evil that had come for her grandmother. A chill ran through her as she thought of her grandmother's last moments.
Had she been scared? Sad? Determined? Had she been alone?
She had to find out. She started the car and drove by the garbage can to deposit her trash and then headed to her parents' house.
The lights were on when she arrived. It was only eight. Everyone would still be awake. She used her key to get in, calling out hello as she moved down the hall and into the kitchen/family room at the back of the house.
Her mom was sitting on the couch, her reading glasses sliding down her nose as she stared at her laptop computer.
"Mom?"
Pam Ashton looked up in surprise. "Maya, what are you doing here?"
"I need to talk to Dad."
Her mother frowned and immediately shook her head. "Unless you've come to tell him that you're dropping Natasha's story, I think you should go home. You really upset him last night. He didn't sleep at all. He was tossing and turning for hours."
"I know I upset him, but it's important that I talk to him. Is he upstairs?"
"He's taking a shower. Why can't you just drop this, Maya? Why does your movie have to be about the one person who almost destroyed your dad?"
"She's not just Dad's mother; she's my grandmother. And I'm not the only one who wants the story told. Grandpa asked me to tell it. He doesn't think he has a lot of years left, and he wants the truth."
"He won't remember it even if you do get to the truth. You know that, Maya. He's slipping. It's very sad, but it's the way it is. A year from now…" Her voice trailed away. "How's it really going to matter to him?"
"It matters. If you don't believe me, you should talk to him about it, or Dad should."
"Rex is almost as angry with his father as he is with you." She let out a sigh. "This is not the way I want to be spending my life right now. I'm busy at work, and so is your father. We made sacrifices to give you kids everything you needed, and it's our turn to put our energy and focus into our work."
She couldn't actually remember a time when they hadn't done that, but she didn't think she should say that now. She perched on the edge of a chair across from her mom. "I think Dad is furious because he's afraid of what I'm going to find out."
Her mother stared back at her. "I don't want to discuss this."
There was something in her mother's tone that made Maya nervous. "You know something."
"I don't know anything."
"Just tell me. Maybe it will help me."
"I don't want to help you; I want to stop you."
Maya didn't know what to say. While she and her father had often been at odds, usually she could talk to her mother, but, apparently, not on this subject.
"You can't stop her. Don't waste your breath," her father said, as he entered the family room. He wore comfortable gray sweats and a T-shirt,