Free Always Watching by Brandilyn Collins Page B

She sighed. “The photo shoot was fine, but all the interviewer wanted to talk about was last night’s murder. She thought she’d stumbled onto a gold mine, talking to me so exclusively after the story broke.” Mom tossed back her hair. “How was shopping?”
    I licked my lips. Juvenile as it sounded, I didn’t want to admit to Mom she’d been right. “It … didn’t work. Paparazzi and reporters came. We had to shove our way out.”
    “Oh, Shaley.” Her eyes rounded. “I know how much those crowds scare you.”
    I shrugged. “It was okay. We managed.”
    She looked at me askance. “I should never have let you go.”
    My gaze slid to the floor.
    “No wonder I didn’t see any paparazzi.” Guilt etched Mom’s voice. “They were all following
you.”
    “It’s okay. Really.” I gave her a smile. It came out crooked.
    She sighed. “Getting to the airport tomorrow might be a zoo too. All those folks could be waiting for us.”
    Oh, joy. “Once we’re through security, it’ll be okay.”
    We were silent for a moment. I knew my feigned optimism wasn’t fooling Mom.
    Her gaze fell to the box. “What’s that?”
    With reluctance, I handed it to her. “It’s part of what I needed to talk to you about. It was left for me at the front desk this morning.”
    She lifted up the top, and her eyes widened. I could see her shocked gaze taking in the details. The white rose, green cellophane, red ribbon.
    “Look at the card.”
    Mom pulled the card out of its envelope. For some time she stared at the words. Emotions played across her face — sadness … regret … confusion.
    Firmly she replaced the card and lid, then plunked the box on the floor.
    Mom laid her elbows on the arms of the chair. “It’s not from him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
    “How do you know?”
    Her eyes roved across the room. “What I’ve told you is true, Shaley. He doesn’t know about you. And besides, he couldn’t send this.”
    A terrible thought gripped me. “Are you telling me he’s
dead?”
    She shook her head.
    “Then what?”
    She pulled in a deep breath, then let it out. “I’m telling you it’s not him.”
    Bitterness flooded me.
“Why
won’t you just tell me the truth?” My voice turned off-key. “It’s not
fair.
I have a right to know!”
    Mom closed her eyes, and in that action, I saw myself. We were alike in so many ways, wanting to shut ourselves off from the world when we didn’t like what we saw. Her fingers sank into the chair. “Let’s talk about this later, okay?”
    “You
always
say that.”
    “Shaley. Her tone hardened. “We have enough going on right now without bringing this up.”
    “I
didn’t bring it up. Whoever sent
that
did.” I flung my arm toward the box. “And if it’s not my dad, who is it? How would anyone else know?”
    “You’re not —”
    A knock sounded at the door.
    Mom turned her head toward it and sighed. “That’ll be the detective.”
    I saw right through her — she was glad for the interruption. I pushed forward in my chair. “I’m not
what,
Mom?
Tell
me before you let him in.”
    She was already walking toward the door. Toward her excuse for not having to say anything more on the subject.
    I shoved to my feet. “Mom!”
    The sharp edge in my voice brought her to a halt. She turned three feet from the door, folded her arms, and gave me a long, pained look. In that moment, standing in her fancy hotel room, wearing my new designer jeans, I wished it would all go away. The tour, Rayne, the fame, the money,
everything.
I just wanted my mom, the way it used to be. And my dad. The three of us living together. Happy.
    And I wanted Tom alive. Even if, without Rayne, I’d never have met him.
    Mom studied the floor, then raised her chin. “Shaley, you’re not the only one who knows about the rose.”
    Turning her back on me, she checked through the peephole, then opened the door to Detective Furlow.

21
    T he detective entered, and the atmosphere in the