Page 8 of Commit
Taking a breath, I call my contact at the local police station to see if he can tell me more about what happened. Call me crazy, but a hit-and-run might seem like an unfortunate tragedy to most, but to men like me, it’s a possible retaliation for something. My ex-wife might not have been in my life for a long time, but anyone watching would know that she was the last woman I showed any interest in.
Still, I don’t believe it’s tied to me. I’ve laid low for a reason. If someone had found out my identity, Landon and Abbot would have been targeted, not the woman I divorced over a decade ago. If her death is more than a wrong time, wrong place accident, then it’s more likely linked to that fucktard ex of hers.
“Detective Henderson.”
“Henderson. It’s Pete Smith. I need you to do some digging for me.”
He’s quiet for a moment. I can sense his hesitation, but I don’t say anything, not when he bites back his fear to ask me what I need.
“A woman I knew as Eloise Peters was killed in a hit-and-run today.” I go on to give him her basic details.
“Not my area, but I can look into it. What is it you’re after?”
“I want to know who hit her.”
“Look, I get that you’re pissed. But the truth is, it might not be possible to find the guilty party. Hit-and-runs aren’t as simple to solve as they are in the movies. Unless the area had cameras or there were witnesses, we’ll be flying blind.”
“Just find out what you can. I want you to check out her ex-husband, too. A Derek Rivers. I heard he was into some pretty shady shit, and I want to see if this was an accident or some kind of payback.”
As fucked as it sounds, if it is payback for Derek’s shit, then Eloise’s death should make this square.
“I’ll see what I can do.” He hangs up, and I send a quick message to Landon, telling him I’m looking into the hit-and-run and his mother’s ex.
Do you think Mom’s death is connected to him?
I read his text and sigh, not wanting to lie.
It’d be stupid to rule it out.
I reply before putting my phone away and driving over to the funeral home I’ve used a few times before. Okay, a few might be an understatement.
I’d say, at this point, we’re keeping this place in business. There’s no better way to get rid of a body than to get it cremated.
When I pull into the parking lot, a short, agitated man comes hurrying out the doors. At five-five, with white hair and a permanent scowl, Barry Hopkins is like a live-action Disney character. All that’s missing as he stomps toward me is the smoke coming from his ears.
He starts the second I climb out of the car. “Another one already? Do you have any idea what will happen to this place if the cops catch on to what you’re doing?”
“This one’s different, Barry,” I tell him quietly.
He opens his mouth to say something else when he looks at my face. Whatever he sees there draws the bluster right out of him.
“Personal?”
I give him a single nod.
“I’ll take care of it myself.”
“I appreciate it. Thank you.”
That’s the thing about Barry. For the most part, he’s a pain in the ass, but he’s loyal to the core.
“Come inside. I’ll have Jackie make us some coffee, and we can talk about what you want.”
He turns and heads inside, leaving me to follow. I pull my phone back out and send a text asking Landon if he has any specific requests or if his mother ever mentioned her wishes at all.
It takes longer for him to reply this time. I’m just finishing my second cup of coffee when my phone pings with his response.
She never said anything other than wanting to be cremated when her time came.