planning to be here for the funeral, though.”
“Yes, although she can’t stay long.”
“Their tour business falls off during the winter months, but they still have the DVD store.”
Which they’d recently turned into more of a new and used video game store that wasn’t performing very well. “Makes sense, especially since they have the kids to worry about, too.”
“What about your business?” she asked. “How long can you be away?”
“I’ve got plenty of people to fill in for me. I’ll have no problem staying for a week or two.”
“You’re confident we’ll learn what happened that soon?”
“Someone has to know.” Was that person banking on the fact that the cops would see the pills, label Josephine’s death a suicide and leave it at that? That Maisey would be too involved with her own family to do much more than put on the funeral? That the lazy, good-for-nothing Lazarow son wouldn’t care enough or be capable enough to challenge those findings?
If so, whoever killed his mother would have a rude awakening.
“So you’re really going to dig into this?” Maisey asked. “Even though the coroner and the police—everyone—are coming to the same conclusion?”
“They’re wrong. And I’ll prove it. Mom didn’t kill herself. You have to admit she’d hate being remembered that way.”
“She’d be embarrassed.”
“Mortified,” he corrected.
She made a sound of frustration. “God, Keith. Can’t anything ever be easy?”
“You did your part when you found Rocki. I’ll take care of this.”
“I’ll do everything I can to help. So will Rafe. But...are you sure it won’t...you know, be too unsettling for you? There’re a lot of memories in that house...”
They were back to her concern for him. He wished she’d give it a rest. But she had good reason to be worried, good reason to grill him.
“The only thing I’m sure about is that Mom’s death isn’t going down as a suicide,” he said. Maybe he’d never be classified as a model son, but he would do that much for his mother.
“ARE YOU OKAY?”
Maisey looked up to find her husband standing in the doorway of their bedroom. “I’m fine.”
He came into the room. “You seemed so worried there for a second.”
“I just hung up with Keith.”
“And? How’s he taking the news about your mother?”
She chewed on her bottom lip. “He’s insisting we get our own pathologist to perform the autopsy.”
He rested his hands on his lean hips. “Why?”
“He says that Mom would never kill herself, and he doesn’t want someone who might be influenced by what the coroner and the police have said about her death.”
His dark eyebrows drew together as he sat down next to her on the bed. “Do you agree?”
“Don’t you?” she asked.
He studied her for several seconds. “Your mother was a difficult person. Maybe something happened that was just...too much for her.”
“I’ve never known her to come up against a challenge she couldn’t handle,” she said wryly.
“Doesn’t mean there wasn’t one. She was a proud and private person. We don’t have any idea what was going on in her life—beyond the few details she was willing to divulge.”
Laney’s voice interrupted from the living room, where she was playing with Bryson, their two-year-old son. “Daddy, I think Bry needs to go potty!”
“What makes you say that?” Rafe called back to his daughter.
“He keeps saying, ‘Poop.’”
“That would be a good indication,” Maisey said with a chuckle.
Rafe got up. “I’m coming!”
“Why can’t I help him?” Laney asked. “He’ll go for me.”
Eleven-year-old Laney was blind and had been since birth, but she navigated their house well. And she loved nothing as much as her little brother. “Sure,” Maisey called. “But only give him two M&M’s as a reward.” Maisey suspected Laney was more generous with the treats they kept on hand for potty training purposes than they were.
“Can I have some, too?” she asked.
“Of course. Just let us know if you need help, okay?”
“I’ll let you wipe him,” she told them, and Maisey grinned as Rafe sat down again.
“That’s probably best,” he conceded. “Otherwise, that trip to the bathroom might not end the way we’d like it to.”
Maisey imagined the sweet face of her stepdaughter, who had the same dark hair and golden eyes as Rafe. “What would we do without her? I couldn’t love her any more if she was my own.”
“For all intents and purposes, she is yours,” he said and leaned forward to peck her lips.
It wasn’t as if her real mother had ever taken an interest. She’d essentially abandoned her child as soon as she found out the baby was handicapped.
“Back to your mom,” Rafe said. “I’m not convinced the police and the coroner are wrong, but if there’s any doubt and getting our own pathologist could relieve that doubt, let’s do it. Putting off the funeral for a few days isn’t the worst thing in the world.”
“True, but getting our own pathologist will mean we have to pay for it.”
“Won’t be a problem for Keith. He’s Midas these days, right?” he said with a chuckle. “And we’re doing okay. I say we split it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
She supposed sharing the cost would be fair. Rafe was doing well with his construction and home repair business—had more work than ever before. They were still managing the vacation bungalows, which took care of their mortgage every month. And Maisey had gone back to writing children’s books, a passion and vocation that was beginning to pay more handsomely now that she was building a bigger readership than she’d had when she’d been married to her first husband and living in New York City. “But there’s more at stake than money.”
“Like...”
“What they might find. I could deal with it, no matter what. But I’m worried about Keith.”
Rafe fell back on the bed and propped himself up on his elbows. “Keith’s come a long way.”
“Exactly. I’d hate to see him fall apart. Especially now that Mom’s gone. I want what’s left of my family to finally be unified and healthy.”
“It’s been five years since he was in any trouble. I’m sure he’ll be careful not to head back down that road.”
“He’s had plenty of relapses in the past,” she pointed out. Far more than she cared to remember. He was the primary reason she’d come back to the island after her divorce. She’d felt he needed her support.
“But he’s never been clean this long.”
She wanted to believe he’d be able to hang on, but... “Triggers are funny things. He hasn’t been home in those