“Not everybody,” she says. “A few tasteless media outlets. People hungry for a salacious story. Political opponents wanting to get him out of the way. People who mattered never believed it. I never believed he had anything to do with her walking away.”
“Because that's what you believe she did,” I say.
“It's what she did,” Rachel insists. “So, there's no reason to believe anything else. She left and started another life because she was too humiliated to face the community she attempted to deceive. The only thing anybody was ever able to say is that my father went to the same hotel where she was last seen. That was a very popular hotel at the time. A lot of people stayed there. He had a standing reservation. He was on a completely different floor from the one where she was staying. Nobody saw them together. Nobody saw them arrive together or leave together. Nobody can even prove he was there that night. Just that he always had a reservation.”
“And can you prove he was somewhere else?” I ask.
“Yes,” she nods. “As I told countless media outlets twenty years ago when any of this mattered, he was at a fundraiser. I have pictures of him with some of the other donors. Ironically enough, they are some of my favorite pictures of him. The light inside hadn't completely died yet.”
“But you helped him get that light back, didn't you, Rachel?"
“You say that as if there's something wrong with it," she says. “I worked hard for my father. From the time I was a little girl, I knew he was going to be one of the most important men in the world. When that woman tried to tear him down, I made sure he got the revival he deserved. He was vindicated, and everyone got to see what an incredible man he was.”
"What about Lilith?" I ask.
She visibly retracts in response to the name.
“What about her?” she asks.
“What was your relationship with your stepmother?”
“I don't even like to refer to her that way. She was a useless person who was never good for my father. Nothing ever satisfied her. She never had enough. Enough money. And things. Enough attention. It was just never enough. Then when Lindsey Granger came along, Lilith jumped on the opportunity to play the withering scorned wife in front of my father and lapped up the attention for being strong and standing by him in public.”
"So, she believed it," I note.
"Yes. You know, there was a time when I thought she might be responsible for Lindsey’s disappearance. Before I realized what actually happened. There were a few newspapers that ran editorials wondering if dear Lilith might have offed her." Rachel crosses her arms over her chest and cocks her hip to the side. "I almost wish she had. Then I wouldn't ever have to deal with either of them again."
"Do you know where Lilith is?"
"No," she answers quickly. "And I don't care. The instant my father died, she was no longer related to me."
"What happened to the inheritance?" I ask.
"What business is that of yours?" she asks. "Not that any of this is."
"It's just a question. It's public knowledge your father left you the bulk of his estate."
"Yes," Rachel nods. "Because he knew the type of woman Lilith actually was."
"But that still left a considerable amount of money for her."
"More than she deserved," she confirms.
I nod. "How did your father die, Rachel?"
Her face goes dark, and her arms slide down her body to hang in fists at her sides.
"Get out. How dare you come into my office and try to pry into the most painful moment of my life? Get out of my office, and don't let me catch you digging into my private matters anymore. Leave me and my father's memory alone. Don't call again. Either of you."
"Have a good evening, Rachel," I say.
I start toward the door, unswayed by her threats.
My phone is in my hand before I get to the car. Rachel said not to call again. Either of us.
I don't even have to ask what that means. I call Lydia. There's no answer. That's odd, so I hang up and call again. And again, it rings several times before going to voicemail. That's very strange. Every time I've seen Lydia, she has been obsessive about her phone. She checks it every few seconds, gripping it hard at her side or in her lap if she isn't on it.
I've never seen her phone ring and have her ignore it. This is especially true if she thinks that she's on the path of something.
Of course, it's entirely possible she's just ignoring me. She might know I would eventually find out that she called Rachel and doesn't want to hear me tell her to back off anymore. At least, not until she has something she thinks will compel me to bring her into the investigation.
I don't have the time or the patience to worry too much about what Lydia is doing. Instead, I call the guys.
"It’ll be a couple of hours before I get back to the hotel," I tell Dean. "Sam has his phone off, so if you talk to him, will you let him know?"
"Don't go to the hotel. Meet us at Xavier's house," Dean tells me. "We called the precinct and left a message for Sam, so he'll know when he gets done with the detective."
"What's going on?" I ask.
"We might have found something interesting."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Six months after death…
She would be unrecognizable now. If anyone even knew she was there and came to find her, no one would know it was her.
All that was left that might link her to what someone remembered was her decaying clothing and some wisps of hair. Perhaps the ring that once meant so much. He didn't know she was still wearing it. Maybe if he had, he would have taken it back. Maybe if he had, she wouldn't be here.
Her beauty was gone. From
