in her mother’s murder. None of them had ever been charged, so she knew going in that she wouldn’t find much evidence. But she also thought she would just know. If she saw the face, or read the details of the life of the man who had murdered her mother, she was sure she would know who he was.And yet, the photos she saw—the politician, the actor and the businessman who’d raised her—said nothing to her. None of them whispered “guilty.”She couldn’t even get an inkling for which one of them might have fathered her.She ran out of time long before she’d had her fill of reading up on the men and their connections to her mother. Dawn was coming, and she was forced to turn in, to save the rest of her reading for nightfall.She gathered up the pages into a folder and carried them with her up the stairs, where she checked out each bedroom before choosing one that faced west to the ocean and the sunset. It was perfectly dark in there, with the sun getting ready to rise on the opposite side of the house.
