Ryland gave Irene a hard stare. “You said yourself that you had no contact with Pamela after leaving Dunsley. That means you don’t know how unstable she was.
Sam says there was nothing at the scene to indicate anything other than an overdose.
For the sake of everyone involved, but most of all out of respect for my daughter’s memory, I ask that you leave this alone.”
Alexa bestowed a kindly smile on Irene. “Rest assured, Miss Stenson, when Ryland returns to Washington he intends to introduce a bill to increase funding for mental health research.”
“That certainly makes me feel a lot better,” Irene said.
Luke saw her knuckles whiten and knew that she was digging her nails into the leather strap of her purse.
“The senator is a busy man,” Hoyt announced. “We can’t delay our departure another minute.”
He stepped directly in front of Ryland and Alexa and led the way purposefully toward the door.
Ryland paused at the entrance to look back at Irene. “I hope you will remember that you are first and foremost a friend of the family, Miss Stenson.”
“I will never forget that Pamela was once my best friend,” Irene said.
Uncertainty darkened Ryland’s expression. Luke could tell that he was not sure how to take that statement. But Hoyt Egan was on the move again, shepherding his boss through the doorway.
“I’ve never even heard of the Glaston Cove Beacon,” Hoyt said to Ryland. “Which means that it is very small-time. Don’t worry, it won’t be a problem, sir.”
The trio went down the steps and got into the limo.
Luke looked at Irene. “Congratulations, I think you just rattled the cage of a U.S.
senator.”
“For all the good it will do.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat.
“There isn’t going to b n investigation, is there, Sam?”
Sam stirred slightly, as though surprised to learn that anyone had even remembered he was in the room.
“Unless you’ve got something solid beyond that e-mail note from Pamela asking you to meet her here,
I have no reason to push for an investigation,” he said quietly.
She smiled coldly. “And every reason not to go there, right?”
Sam’s mouth tightened. “You think I’m backing off because I don’t want to take on Ryland Webb, don’t you?”
Irene winced. “I shouldn’t have implied that. But there’s no getting around the fact that Webb is a powerful man.”
“Webb may be powerful, but he’s still a father whose daughter just took her own life, either deliberately or by accident. Your dad once told me that families usually try to keep suicide very quiet. I’ve dealt wit couple in the past few years, and I can tell you that he was right. It’s amazing the lengths folks will g o in order to hush up that kind of thing.”
Irene sighed. “I know.”
“Far as I’m concerned,” Sam said, “unless there’s a good reason for thinking otherwise, a family i ntitled to keep its secrets.”
He looked to Luke, obviously seeking some backup.
Luke shrugged. “Depends on the secrets, I guess. But one thing’s for sure, every family’s got em.”
Seven
Forty minutes later, Sam escorted them out the door of the municipal building. Irene was still fuming, but a renewed sense of resolve was setting in. She reminded herself that she had known from the outset that the odds of convincing McPherson to conduct a full-scale investigation were less than zero.
“Give it some time, Irene,” Sam said. “I know it wasn’t easy, finding her like that.
But when the shock wears off, you’ll realize that it really was an overdose, not a murder.”
“Sure,” she said.
Luke said nothing, just took her arm and steered her down the steps to the SUV He opened the passenger-side door. Irene climbed in swiftly.
Luke got behind the wheel and drove out of the parking lot. Irene could see that every head in the Ventana View Cafe was turned in the direction of the SUV
“Pack of ghouls,” she whispered.
“Give em a break,” Luke said quietly. “This is a small town. The death of someone like Pamela Webb,
a senator’s daughter and former local bad girl, is bound to grab everyone’s attention.”
She gripped her shoulder bag very tightly in her lap. “They stared at me in exactly the same way at the funerals of my parents.”
He gave her a quick, sharp, searching look before returning his attention to the road.
“For what it’s worth,” he said after a while, “I think Me Pherson is right. Your friend’s death was eithe n accident or suicide.”
“I’m not buying it.”
“Yeah, I can see that. Give McPherson his due, though. He’s not cooperating in a cover-up. He laid out the facts for you. There’s nothing that warrants further investigation.”
“There’s still that e-mail note she sent to me. How can he ignore that?”
“He didn’t ignore it,” Luke said patiently. “Like Webb, he thinks that Pamela was planning suicide and going through a process of saying farewell to some of the people in her past.”
“Then why didn’t she wait until after she had actually said good-bye to me before she killed herself?”
“People who are planning to commit suicide don’t follow the same logic that the rest of us do. They’re focused on their own pain and suffering. That’s all they can grasp.”
The too-even way he spoke sent a chill through her.
“You sound as if you’ve had some personal experience with suicide,” she said.
“My mother killed herself when I was six years old.”
She closed her eyes briefly against a rush of sadness and sympathy. “Dear God, Luke.” She raised her lashes and looked at him. “I’m so sorry.”
He nodded once, saying nothing.
“Last night must have been especially bad for you,” she said.
“It was my choice to follow you, remember?”
She frowned. “Why did you follow me? You still haven’t explained that.”
His mouth curved faintly. “When I see dots, I feel this overwhelming need to connect them.”
“I’m a dot?”
“Uh-huh.” He gave her a quick, assessing look and then shook his head, resigned.
“You’re not going t et it go, are you?”
“Pamela’s death? No.”