When a Stranger Calls. Kathleen Long
the folder. “Your mother deserves that same attention. Her real killer’s still out there.”
Lindsey said nothing as he stepped from the brick steps to the center walk. His suit jacket fit trim across his broad shoulders, narrowing down to his slender hips. Confidence emanated from each solid footstep he took, shoulders squared, head held high. He looked nothing like she imagined the son of a murderer would.
She tightened her grip on the folder. Did she want to know what lay inside? A calm resignation whispered through her. She did, and Matt Alesssandro knew it.
She felt compelled to believe him when she wanted to do anything but. The reality was that his doubts and questions tapped into her own need to know the truth.
“Did you see the ring?” she called out suddenly, her voice contrasting sharply against the quiet of the neighborhood.
Matt stopped partway down the walk, turning to face her. The play of the late-day sun against the angles of his face momentarily stole her breath. His chestnut hair fluttered in the breeze. “What ring?”
“I found it before I was hit.” Hope coursed through her. “It was in a plain, white envelope. My mother’s ring.”
He narrowed his stare, frowning. “The only thing I found was you. No envelope.” He shook his head. “No ring. I’m sorry.” He nodded toward the folder in her arms. “Was it the ring she was wearing that night?”
Lindsey nodded. “She never took it off.”
“All the more reason for you to review that. I’ll stop by your office tomorrow. We’ll go forward from there.”
As she watched his SUV ease away from the curb, anxiety and doubt coiled deep inside her.
We’ll go forward from there.
No matter what her instincts told her, Matt Alessandro was the son of the monster who had murdered her mother.
She must be insane.
Chapter Three
Matt pulled his SUV into the parking lot outside the Polaris Group office and gripped the steering wheel, shooting up one last prayer Lindsey Tarlington would see things his way.
She had to.
He scrubbed a hand across his face, sighing at the feel of wiry stubble beneath his fingers. Damn, he’d forgotten to shave. Again.
He’d been up all night laying the groundwork for a case pending against a local gang member. The kid might not be an honor roll candidate, but Matt had no doubt he’d been set up to take the rap in a burglary charge. He had no intention of letting his obsession with clearing his father’s name affect the representation of his clients.
After he’d finished the necessary paperwork, he’d spent the early morning hours poring over the extra copy he’d made of Camille Tarlington’s file. Everything seemed in order—had always seemed in order—except he knew his father was no killer. More so, his father had never been unfaithful to his mother. The prosecution had used the alleged love affair between Camille and Tony Alessandro to provide motive and intent. The theory wasn’t possible.
Matt shook his head. Tony had been a gentle man who had turned his love of the outdoors into a thriving floral business with shops in Philadelphia and New Jersey. Matt struggled to remember a single night his father had come home without a bouquet of handpicked flowers for his mother. He couldn’t think of one.
Yet Tony Alessandro had been convicted of a violent murder. A murder in which the body had never been found. His conviction had been based on blood spatter found in Camille’s station wagon and on the murder weapon found inside the shop. That, combined with testimony about the alleged affair, had been enough to send Matt’s father away, where a fellow inmate had fatally stabbed him six months later.
Matt’s chest ached. It seemed like yesterday, and yet it seemed a lifetime ago.
He pushed open the driver’s door and unfurled himself from his vehicle, heading straight for Lindsey Tarlington’s office. Common courtesy dictated Matt should have phoned before dropping by, but he’d never been one to worry much about common courtesy.
Look how far it had gotten his dad.
No. Matt had been well served by the element of surprise during his time in the public defender’s office. He could see no reason to treat Lindsey Tarlington any differently than he treated any other client or source.
Her pale gaze flashed through his mind’s eye, and his gut tightened. He shoved down the unwanted protective urge.
Whoever had left Camille Tarlington’s photocopied driver’s license was obviously privy to her personal effects, and perhaps much, much more. The possibility of clearing his father’s name loomed more closely on the horizon than it ever had. Matt wasn’t about to go soft just because of Lindsey’s vulnerable expression.
If she’d reviewed the contents of the file he’d given her, Lindsey would have to agree something seemed off, because while the case against his father appeared to be neat and tidy, it reeked of convenience. There was no way Matt would sacrifice his father’s memory and good name for someone else’s benefit.
LINDSEY SWALLOWED DOWN another mouthful of burnt coffee then rolled her shoulders. She’d been up all night staring at the horrific words and images captured in her mother’s case file.
It would be a miracle if she ever slept again. If the cold, hard facts didn’t bring back her nightmares, nothing would.
She looked across at her partners, Tally Cooke and Regina Payne, who sat, along with their office manager, Patty Jones, intently staring at the notes, reports and photos spread across the office’s conference table.
Each had a full plate right now, clients who needed help with cold cases or ongoing investigations, but Lindsey knew her partners’ input would be invaluable in talking out her mother’s case.
Tally was a whiz at logic—possessing an uncanny ability to analyze a puzzle or series of clues. Regina had a nose for the law and saw the world in black and white. Lindsey had always been the taskmaster, keeping the group on schedule and on track. How ironic that she now pulled their focus from their paying case work to her personal crusade.
“I never believed she was having an affair.” Lindsey shrugged. “I can’t accept that.”
“Why not?” Tally’s sharp tone jolted Lindsey from her fog of exhaustion.
Lindsey shrugged. “She loved my father.” Her chest tightened. “She wasn’t the type to cheat.”
Tally raised an auburn brow. “You were twelve years old. You’d have no idea if your mother was cheating.”
“She loved us.” Hadn’t she?
Doubt pooled in Lindsey’s stomach. She’d searched her mother’s art studio again in the early morning hours, after reading testimony detailing her mother’s adulterous liaison with Tony Alessandro. Her intuition screamed her mother hadn’t cheated on her father. She just wasn’t sure if that intuition came from Lindsey the daughter, the woman or the truth-seeker. She only knew it came—hard and sure.
Her voice grew more determined. “She never cheated on my father.” And if she hadn’t been involved with Tony Alessandro, why had he killed her? If he had killed her.
Lindsey shoved down the doubt. She wasn’t ready to follow that train of thought—to imagine her mother’s killer had gone free.
Silence beat for several seconds among the four women.
“Did your parents ever argue?” Regina’s gaze had narrowed, now matching the disbelieving expression Tally wore.
Lindsey shook her head. “Never.” She caught herself. “I mean, no more than any other married couple.”
While she hated the sympathy painted across her friends’ faces, she’d learned to ignore the pity a