“We’re not skydiving today, are we?” Finch asked. “You want to find out what happened to the Weston lady. Am I right?”
“‘No’ to your first question,” I said, “and ‘yes’ to your second. If she was murdered, I want to know why.”
“You don’t want to know, Joss. You need to know. There’s a difference.”
He was right. I did need to know. My curiosity wouldn’t let it drop.
Finch opened his mouth, and I prepared for the incoming lecture about letting the police do the work. I wasn’t a cop. I was the host of a television show by day and a writer with semi-decent forensic knowledge by night.
“I won’t bother trying to talk you out of whatever you feel you need to do,” he said. “You’re going to do what you want, no matter what I say.”
He was right about that too.
“At least give me today and tomorrow,” I said. “Let me dig around a bit. If I don’t find anything, we’ll resume all death-defying activities as planned. Okay?”
“You’re still calling your mom, right?” he asked.
“When I have time, yes.”
He gave me his I’m disappointed look. “Joss.”
“Later on, okay?”
“Not later on. Now. I’m not filtering any more calls from her. Like I said, it’s not what you pay me to do.”
“I know it isn’t. But you don’t just work for me, Finch. We’re friends.”
He handed me the phone. “Friends don’t make other friends deal with their own mothers.”
I took the phone, winked. “Oh, come on. Some friends do.”
He walked to the adjoining door dividing our two rooms and stepped into his, shutting the door behind him. I sighed, thought about how much I needed a strong sedative right about now, and dialed the number. My mother picked up on the first ring, almost like she’d expected the call.
“Well, well,” she began, “look who finally made time to talk to her mother.”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Did Finchie tell you I’ve been calling?”
“His name is Finch.”
“Whatever. Did he?”
“He did.”
“And?”
“This is me calling you back,” I said.
“How are you doing?”
“Fine.”
“I mean, how are you doing today?”
“Busy.”
She blew a displeased breath into the phone. “You know what I mean, Joslyn. Today is ... well, it’s just ... I’ve been thinking about you all day. That’s why I called Finchie—”
“Finch, and you shouldn’t be talking to him about my private life. What I choose to tell him is up to me.”
“Calm down. We only talked about your cousin’s wedding. Seems to me like you’re struggling today, and I just want you to know I’m here if you need me.”
“I can’t do this, Mom. I can’t talk to you if we’re going to talk about the past. I said I was fine, and I am.”
“Fine” equaled occupying the rest of today with any activity that didn’t require use of my brain.
“Are you coming to Clay and Courtney’s wedding or not? It’s next weekend.”
“I know. I haven’t decided yet.”
“Why not? You’ve known about it for several months now. You’re not filming right now, and whatever book project you’re working on, I’m sure you can take a break.”
“Give me the rest of the week to decide, Mom. Okay?”
“Come home, Joslyn. Please. We all miss you. Everyone wants to see you.”
Not everyone.
“I will. I just don’t know if it will be before the wedding.”
She sighed the way she usually did when she didn’t get what she wanted. “Listen, honey, I know it’s hard coming back here after what happened. Have you ever thought about how good it might feel to face everyone at the wedding? It’s been five years, Joslyn. Everyone has moved on. Everyone except you.”
“Clay is the brother of my ex. I doubt he’s moved on.”
Another sigh. Much deeper this time. “Maybe if you talk to your father ... hold on and I’ll get him.”
“Wait, Mom. Don’t. I have to go.”
“What? Why? We’ve only just started talking.”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll call you again later, okay?”
“Today?”
“If I can. I’m assisting the police with a local investigation.”
“What investigation? What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you all about it next time we talk. Tell Dad I love him and give my love to the family. I love you, and I’ll see you soon. I promise. Bye.”
I pressed the end button on the phone before she had the chance to utter another word and embraced the swelling ball of guilt festering inside me.
Finch poked his head back in. “How’d it go?”
I turned away. “Did you ... umm, could you hear me?”
“Some. You sound so different when you to talk to her.”
“In what way?”
“You don’t sound like yourself. The Joss I know is fearless. Last week, you jumped from a plane. Last month, you swam with sharks. Last—”
“This is different.”
“Why? Because she’s your mother?”
“It has nothing to do with her. And, to be honest, it has nothing to do with the wedding either. Well, almost nothing.”
He crossed his arms, leaned against the wall. “What happened five years ago?”
He was listening.
“Let’s talk about it another time, okay?”
He leaned against the doorway. “You remember when I interviewed with you, what you asked me?”
“I asked you a lot of things. I needed to be sure you were the right person for the job.”
“The last thing you asked me was what made me leave Tennessee and travel to California to work for you.”
“I remember,” I said.
“I could have said anything. I could have told you what I thought you wanted to hear. I didn’t. We were strangers, and still, I laid it all out for you—my wife’s infidelity, the baby, all of it. I knew it could have cost me the job. I told you anyway.”
“Your honesty was one of the things that won me over, Finch. It built trust between us.”
“Trust goes both ways. You said it yourself. I don’t just work for you. We’re friends.”
I smiled. “I know we are.”
“If you want to talk to me about anything, you always can.”
I smiled. “Thank you. It means a lot to me. It really does.”
“And if you don’t want to go to this wedding, don’t go. She’ll get over it.”
I knew she would.
The question was ... would I?