She unclipped her badge, dropped it into her jacket pocket, then went inside without knocking—because family shouldn’t need to knock on their own front door. Voices sounded from the family room at the end of the hall, beside the kitchen. In the few seconds it took Harper to reach the rear of the house, she replayed the conversations she’d had with her mother over the past two days. What a fool she’d been, thinking Rachel was finally interested in her daughter’s life. All those pleas for Harper to tell Rachel about her cases were merely an attempt to gain insider information on the Standish case. No wonder Rachel kept dismissing her every time she brought up Lily Nolan. All Rachel cared about was Spencer Standish’s murder.
But why? There was no way Rachel could have killed Standish… was there? No. Her mother’s faith was as strong as the Reverend’s. Maybe he’d sent her to Standish’s office while he’d been with Luka? But why? What were they hiding? If only she could understand why they were involved and what exactly they were involved in, then she could try to help them before it was too late.
She reached the family room. It was open-plan, with the kitchen to the left, a small breakfast nook, then the larger living area with a fireplace, sofa, love seat and the Reverend’s recliner. But the Reverend wasn’t sitting in his favorite chair, not tonight. Tonight he stood in front of the fireplace, face florid, back rigid, glaring at his wife and youngest son. John and Rachel were also standing, Rachel nearest the kitchen—the center of her domestic universe—while John paced in front of the sofa.
Rachel caught a glimpse of Harper and made a tutting noise like a startled chick. John whirled on Harper while the Reverend simply seemed irritated by her arrival.
“Naomi, what are you doing here?” John said, stepping toward her as if hoping to shoo her back down the hall and out the door. “We’re busy. Church business.”
Everything fell into place. John, who always took the easy way out, even if it meant condemning his sister. John, always ready with a shortcut or excuse to get out of chores. John, who always won every game because he cheated—and was proud that he did it so well, nobody could ever prove it.
John, who would make the perfect mark for a conman like Standish.
“You were at Standish’s office,” Harper told him. “Why? No, wait. Let me guess. You invested the church’s money in Spencer Standish’s fund, didn’t you? I mean, who could resist those double-digit returns, right?”
A rage of color crept up John’s neck at her words. “How was I to know he was a crook?” He turned to the Reverend. “It wasn’t my fault. I was going to tell you.”
“What did you do, John?” the Reverend said in a low voice, his eyes boring into his youngest son’s face. “Tell me. What did you do?”
“John only wanted what was best for the church,” Rachel defended her youngest son.
“Think of all the people we could have helped if Spencer had come through with his promises,” John added.
The Reverend’s shoulders sagged as he turned away from his son. “How much is gone? How much did you lose?”
Harper held her ground, listening hard. The daughter in her was frantically trying to think of ways to save her father and his church, the little girl in her was seething at John’s betrayal and cheering his fall from grace, while the hardened cop was wondering exactly how far a man in John’s position might go to get his money back. Could John have murdered Standish?
“All of it,” John admitted in a grudging tone. He jerked his chin up as if refusing to accept any blame. “But then, Mom overheard you and Spencer talking about the gold he’d hidden. And how if anything happened to him, you were to make sure his mistress got it.”
That caught Harper’s attention. “Mistress? What mistress? Who is she?”
John ignored her, his focus on the Reverend. “Why should some adulteress get the money when we could use it for the church and do so much good?”
“You knew about the missing gold?” Harper stepped between the two men so that John was forced to face her. “John, if you had anything to do with Spencer Standish’s death, you need to tell me. Now. I can’t help you unless you tell me everything.”
John’s haughty glare shot across the space between them, even as his lips tightened in defiance.
Rachel stepped into the fray, waving her hands like a schoolteacher asking for silence. And it worked. “Let’s all calm down. I’ll make some tea, and we’ll discuss this.”
Everyone went quiet and stared at each other.
“I think it best if John comes with me down to the station. We can discuss it there.” Harper broke the silence. She’d never get anything out of John with Rachel there for him to hide behind her skirts. “Please, you all need to let me help you. This is more serious than you know.”
“It’s not what you think, Naomi,” Rachel told her in an admonishing voice. “There’s no need for anyone to go anywhere. Now, come sit down like civilized adults.”
As if Harper was the uncivilized lout barging in on the family gathering. How could Rachel be so calm, acting as if John had done nothing wrong? He’d admitted to losing the church’s funds—and might be involved in much, much worse.
But that was Rachel, always overlooking her youngest
