Page 44 of Little Last Words

He nodded. “Had a session a couple weeks ago. I figured if I could be the man Penelope needed me to be, there was a chance for us to get through it all—together.”

Sitting in front of him now, I was conflicted. Sure, he was littered with flaws. But who wasn’t? And who was I to fault anyone who was trying to better themselves,ifwhat he said was the truth.

“Sadie told me you called one night after Penelope moved back to Cambria. She said her mother was outside, and she’d been told she wasn’t supposed to answer the phone, but she did.”

He closed his eyes and smiled. “You have no idea how good it was to hear her voice after so many days apart. I’d been calling every day, and it was the first time anyone answered.”

“What did you say to her?” I asked.

“I just kept telling her that I loved her and never to forget it.”

“Did Sadie tell you where they were living?”

“She didn’t know the address, but she did say they were close to Angelica, and that’s when I knew she’d moved back home.”

He looked shocked.

“Did you think she moved somewhere else instead?” I asked.

“I … uhh, you know, I guess I thought … Penelope always said she wanted to stand on her own two feet. She never wanted to rely on her mother for anything again. And there she was, back in the lion’s den. So yeah, it was a bit of a bombshell.”

A cell phone resting on the dresser rang to the tune ofEverything is Awesomefrom theThe Lego Movie,a song I never would have guessed he’d choose for his ringtone.

He blushed and said, “It’s … ahh, Sadie’s favorite song.”

“How sweet.”

He picked up the phone, glanced at the caller ID, and turned toward me. “It’s my lawyer. I need to take it.”

The timing was perfect.

I had somewhere else to be.

CHAPTER17

Iexited the hotel parking lot and realized my car was almost out of gas. I drove across the street, coming to a stop in front of pump number three at Moonstone Gas Station. As I reached for the fuel nozzle, someone behind me let out a long, wheezy whistle, along with the words, “Nice wheels.”

Given I was in a hurry, I didn’t bother turning around, choosing instead to offer a quick, “Thanks.”

I hoped my unenthusiastic response would be the end of it until I heard the shuffle of footsteps advancing in my direction. I turned, coming face-to-face with Whitlock. He was dressed in similar attire to what he’d worn the last time I saw him, except today’s outfit was navy blue.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

He eyed my car like one would a prized possession and said, “Same as you, I expect. Getting gas. Car’s a beauty. It’s a Jaguar SS 100, if I’m not mistaken?”

“It is.”

“What year?”

“’37.”

“I’ve only ever seen one at a car museum in Australia. If you don’t mind me asking, where’d you get it?”

If answering his question hurried along the conversation, I was happy to oblige.

“My grandmother left it to me when she passed away,” I said.

“Shame about your grandmother. As for the car, it’s a keeper.”