Читать книгу Colby Conspiracy - Debra Webb - Страница 14

IT RAINED AGAIN on Thursday, the day Emily said a final goodbye to her father.

Thankfully, by the time those who’d come to pay their last respects to one of Chicago’s finest arrived at the church, the sun had poked through the clouds and brightened the somber afternoon.

Emily remembered the church from Sunday mornings as a child, a lifetime ago, it seemed, when her family had been a complete unit. Elaborate carvings and intricate stained-glass windows graced the interior of the limestone-and-brick chapel. With just enough pomp and circumstance, the service had provided a distinguished send-off for the man she had always loved but scarcely knew.

Emily had called her mother last night to give her one last opportunity to change her mind about attending the service, but she’d adamantly refused.

So Emily stood alone as hundreds upon hundreds of those who’d known her father passed, offering their condolences and shaking her hand. She had expressed her gratitude so many times the words now felt empty and forced. She felt numb and more exhausted than she ever had before.

She’d lost count of the police officers who’d assured her that nothing would stop them from solving her father’s murder. So many promises of support and offers of assistance had been given that her head was spinning. The whole concept that her father had been murdered still hadn’t penetrated as deeply as she knew it eventually would. It felt surreal…impossible. Her father had been one of the good guys…a cop.

But cops lost their lives every day in the line of duty.

“Miss Hastings, your father was a dear man,” the woman who took Emily’s hand next said. “Please contact me at the Colby Agency if you need anything at all.”

Colby.

Emily blinked. She stared in confusion at the woman. Middle-aged, attractive, dark hair tinged with silver. Did she know this woman? Where had she heard that name?

And then it hit her.

The letters.

“Excuse me,” Emily said, hanging on to the woman’s hand when she would have moved on. “Did you say Colby?”

The woman smiled. “Yes. I’m Victoria Colby-Camp. Your father was a good friend.”

“I have—” Emily hesitated. What difference did the letters make? The woman would probably just throw them away. After all, they were more than a decade old—almost two, in fact. But Emily’s father had kept them for some reason. Maybe she should have read one or two. “Are you acquainted with or related to a James Colby?”

“Why, yes.”

The woman’s attention had turned keen now. Emily moistened her lips, suddenly wondering if maybe she’d made a mistake. What the heck? She’d gone this far. “I have some papers.” She gave her head a little shake to clear it, forced herself to focus. “Some letters, actually, that I think might have belonged to you or some of your family.”

Dark eyes filled with confusion searched Emily’s.

The awkward moment stretched a few seconds more and Emily hastened to add, “Perhaps I could send them to your agency?” She shrugged. “I don’t know that they’re of any importance, but I found them in my father’s papers and…well…”

“How kind of you,” Victoria Colby-Camp said, saving Emily from having to find a way to make sense of her offer. “Perhaps I could drop by and pick them up.”

There were so many things for Emily to take care of tomorrow that pinning her to a time she might actually be available wouldn’t be easy. “I’ll be in and out so much. Why don’t I drop them by your office?”

The woman nodded. “That would be fine.” She smiled. “Please let me know if there’s anything you need, Miss Hastings.”

Emily watched her walk away. A woman of means, she decided. There was something about the way she spoke and moved. Understated elegance, extreme intelligence.

A shiver raced over Emily’s skin as she thought of the bundle of letters. Why had her father kept old letters belonging to another man?

Before she had time to worry about the question, more hands reached out to her, more faces offering their sympathy.

She just wanted this day to be over.

A LONG SOAK in the tub had done Emily a world of good after the exhausting afternoon.

She curled up on her father’s well-worn sofa and sipped her tea, glad the worst was behind her.

Last night, she’d lain in his bed and considered the time that had passed since she’d lived here, before she fell into a restless sleep.

It wasn’t as if they’d been close the past fourteen years, but that didn’t prevent her from feeling sad that he was gone. He had been her father. And though she’d only spent the first twelve years of her life under the same roof with him, those few years were brimming with good memories. Well, all but that last year. When her brother had died, everything had changed.

Before climbing into the tub to relax her tense muscles, she had combed through her father’s things yet again. The only pictures he had were those taken when their family had been together.

What kind of life had he lived since then? Had he found any sort of relationship with another woman? Her mother had married barely one year after the divorce, had lived happily since then. Had her father been able to find happiness again?

There certainly was no indication anywhere in his home. All that Emily found were a few articles he’d cut from newspapers about work. A couple of awards he’d received for going above and beyond the call of duty—something he’d always done. But there was nothing of a personal nature, other than clothing and hygiene products.

Not a single item that indicated any hobbies he might have enjoyed or friends he might have had.

Emily remembered her mother arguing that he was nothing but a workaholic. But that hadn’t been entirely true, at least not when she’d been a child. She recalled vividly doing lots of family things with her father—ball games, picnics, even camping trips.

She knew that anything her mother said had to be taken with a grain of salt. Her mother felt intense bitterness and resentment toward that time in her life, but Emily felt certain those harsh feelings had more to do with the loss of her son than the divorce.

She thought about the woman she’d met at the service today, Victoria Colby-Camp. Emily’s gaze drifted to the bundle of letters lying on the table near the door.

Maybe she should have thrown them away. Or maybe she should have looked to see what they were about before she passed them on.

No. They weren’t addressed to her or her father. She had no business looking at them.

Tomorrow morning, first thing, she would have a courier deliver them to the woman named Victoria at the Colby Agency. There was no need for Emily to go there personally. She already had enough to do tomorrow, and she didn’t want to feel that awkward tension again.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips. She just wanted to get her father’s business affairs resolved, to do right by him when the woman he’d loved and had children with refused. It was the least Emily could do.

He had been her father, even if he hadn’t been a part of her everyday life.

And she would miss him.