choice.” An uncharacteristic steely edge entered Bonnie’s voice. “I don’t know a lot about lawyers, but I know they have rules for corruption. And I have a feeling he’s broken all of them. Tell him to talk to you or you’ll write every word of this up and put it in the newspaper. He could lose his license.” She gave her a fierce look. “I think your dad knows what a good reporter you are. I think you scare him to death. Use that. Get what you need. And then decide how to weaponize that information to bring your mother’s murderer to justice.”
For a second, Harper was speechless.
“Damn, Bonnie,” she said, when she’d found her voice. “I didn’t know you could be this ruthless.”
She was trying to lighten the mood, but Bonnie didn’t smile. Her face was tight with worry. “Whatever happens, don’t you dare go after him on your own, Harper McClain. Do you hear me? I will never forgive you if you die.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Harper promised, pulling her into a hug.
Even as she said it, though, she wondered if it was true.
Because it suddenly occurred to her that her father might know where she could find Martin Dowell.
17
Just after eight o’clock the next morning, Harper’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. She sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes groggily. Watery light spilled through the slats of her blinds onto Bonnie, asleep on a pallet on the floor, with Zuzu curled up by her feet in a silver-gray circle.
Grabbing the phone before it could wake her, Harper slipped out of bed and padded barefoot down the hall before answering. “McClain.”
“You fucking bitch.” The voice was furious and had a New York accent.
“Good morning to you, too, whoever you are,” she said, yawning.
“Don’t you good-morning me, you piece of garbage. I’m going to sue you and that rag you work for until you can’t afford to eat. Do you hear me? You are done. Your career is ova.”
The accent, the spitting rage. Suddenly Harper knew who she was talking to.
“Stuart,” she said, pleasantly. “I guess you’ve seen the paper.”
“Seen it? I’ve already sent it to our lawyers. How dare you imply that Cara or any of them had anything to do with Xavier’s death?” he demanded. “That’s unfounded slander. I’m going to sue you for libel so fast your head’ll spin.”
“You’ll be wasting your money. Nothing in that article is untrue.” Her lack of panic seemed to make him angrier.
“Bullshit. You know what you implied,” he snarled. “You’re all the same. Bunch of vipers. I told them not to talk to you. But they trusted you. And you threw it back in their faces.”
There was truth in that, and it stung, but she kept her voice even. “I simply wrote what I was told by the police and the coroner. You have no case.”
“Well, your boss will be hearing from my lawyer today.” He hung up.
With a sigh, Harper headed to the kitchen. There was no way she was getting back to sleep now.
Morning light poured softly through the window above the sink, making all the surfaces gleam. Bonnie had insisted on scrubbing everything before going to bed. Even the mark on the ceiling where the spoon hit it was barely visible.
Before she made a pot of coffee, Harper texted a warning to Baxter.
Screaming call from Xavier’s manager. Says he’s going to sue us.
She was pouring her first cup when the editor’s reply came through.
Tell him I said bring it.
Yawning, Harper carried her mug out onto the small porch, brushing the leaves off the seat of the whitewashed chair. It was cool but not cold. The breeze helped clear her head.
She and Bonnie had stayed up until after three, talking. By the time she’d gone to bed, Harper knew just what she was going to say to her father when she called him.
As she took a sip of coffee, it occurred to her that she might as well do it now, and get it over with.
Taking her phone from the arm of the chair, she scrolled slowly to his number. Her thumb hovered over his name for a long time.
Gritting her teeth, she pressed the call button.
His phone rang four times before voice mail kicked in. When she heard his familiar voice say, “Hello, this is Peter McClain…” her heart twisted.
She cleared her throat, waiting for the beep. When the time came, the words came out too fast and too nervous. “Hey … Dad. It’s