Her Mother’s Grave_Absolutely gripping crime fiction with unputdownable mystery and suspense

by Lisa Regan

  Josie smiled at the nurse. That was exactly what she needed. She opened her mouth to say “ten,” but sleep arrived first.

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  TWO WEEKS LATER

  Josie perched on the edge of the hard plastic chair the county jail had provided. The walls of a cubicle closed her in on both sides. Thick glass separated the visitor’s room from the inmate room. It wasn’t thick enough, Josie thought as Lila Jensen was marched up to the seat across from her. The guard left Lila cuffed and pushed her down into a chair. Lila shot him a dirty look as he said something Josie couldn’t make out. He walked off, standing in the corner of the room, hands clasped together at his waist, eyeing Lila like she might jump up and attack someone at any moment. But there were only two other inmates with visitors, and each one of them were seated several slots away.

  Lila’s face was saggy and yellow. Josie couldn’t tell if the jaundice was from the struggle in the woods or because her liver was failing her at last. She had refused to tell the doctors at Denton Memorial where she had been treated for her cancer or what her alias had been before she was Barbara Rhodes. A local oncologist was able to determine that she had ovarian cancer. She’d had at least one surgery, radiation, and chemotherapy, but the cancer had returned, spreading through her body. They gave her two months to live. Josie thought she was just mean enough that she would probably outlive that prognosis—maybe even by years. Josie still wasn’t sure what would give her more pleasure—knowing Lila was dead, or knowing she was suffering in prison.

  Lila smiled at Josie and picked up the phone receiver on her side of the glass.

  Josie’s right arm was casted and in a sling, so she used her left hand to pick up her own receiver and press it to her ear.

  “Didn’t think I’d see you again, JoJo. ’Cept on TV. I’m tired of seeing your face, to tell you the truth.”

  Josie was tired of seeing her own face on television as well, but it was unavoidable. Trinity was a correspondent for a national news show, and she now had the story of a lifetime. Rumor had it the network was working to find an anchor position for her, so hungry were they for her and Josie’s story.

  Josie got right to the point. “I want the names of your accomplices.”

  “What do you mean?” Lila asked.

  “You know what I mean. Anyone who helped you with, what did you call it? Your ‘projects.’ Anyone you paid to place craigslist ads or break into my house or stalk Trinity or her family. Or move Trinity. Or take my car to Ted’s Body Shop and then drive it back to where he found it.”

  Lila laughed, dark blue eyes glittering. “No,” she said.

  “I can make you more comfortable in here,” Josie offered. She hated to do it, hated to even offer it, but what she hated more was the thought of nameless, faceless people all over Denton who had helped Lila carry out her twisted plans.

  “Fuck you,” Lila said. “You think I’m going to give you your happy ending, JoJo? No, you’re not getting it. Not from me. You made a choice out there in those woods. You could have let me go.”

  “I made a choice?” Josie asked incredulously. “I never had a choice. Ever. You took that away from me when I was only a few weeks old.”

  “Oh, you want to play that game? Who had the worse childhood? You don’t want to know what happened to me.”

  Josie leaned forward. “You’re wrong. I do want to know. Your foster-care file was destroyed. There is nothing left. I don’t even know where you came from.”

  Lila considered this for a moment. Then her hand tightened around the receiver. “I’ll tell you what, JoJo. You’re a detective, right? Big-time chief of police and all that. I’ll give you a clue. You figure it out before I die, and I’ll give you those names.”

  “What is it?” Josie said.

  Lila hung up the phone and stood. Behind her, the guard startled, hand on his gun, and took a small step toward her. She leaned forward, opened her mouth wide, and breathed along the glass until it fogged. Then with one finger, she traced a series of letters and numbers into the spot she had made.

  OY9555

  Then she turned away and signaled to the guard. Josie watched the message fade as Lila Jensen was led back into the bowels of the jail.

  Chapter Eighty

  Josie dozed on Noah’s couch, nestled in a blanket, the remote in her good hand. She was watching Ally McBeal reruns while she waited for her pain medication to dull the throbbing in her arm. She had been back to her own house, replaced the kitchen window, repainted her bedroom walls, replaced all the bedding that had been destroyed, and bought a new jewelry box. But she didn’t feel right, not as safe as she did right now in Noah’s home, where no hungry reporters waited outside, shouting and vying for photos and any comment she might make. At Noah’s she felt hidden and out of harm’s way. He had assured her that she could stay as long as she needed. He had tried to be there with her as much as possible, but there was so much work to be done to wrap up Lila’s case that he was only home a couple of hours at a time.

  The remote dropped from her hand when she heard the front door open and close. She blinked the fatigue away and smiled as Noah entered. He grinned back at her, placing the large wooden box in his hands on the coffee table and then planting a kiss on her forehead. “How do you feel?” he asked.

  Josie lifted her cast. “Like someone broke my arm with a shovel.”

  “I’m sorry,” Noah said.

  Josie shrugged. “It’ll heal.”

  “Did you figure out Lila’s message yet?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll sleep on it. It’ll come to me. What’s that?”

  Noah tapped a hand on the box. “We found this in Lila’s trailer. I thought you might want a look at it.”

  Josie threw the blanket off her lap and lowered her legs to the floor, moving to the edge of the couch. “Silverware?” she asked. The box looked like an old box Lisette used to have where she kept her expensive silverware set. She’d given it to Josie and Ray when she’d moved into Rockview. Josie remembered because she and Ray had argued over it. Josie thought they should use the silverware, because what else would you do with it? Ray thought it was too fancy to use on a regular basis. The box was still sitting unused in Josie’s garage.

  “No,” Noah said. “I mean, I think that’s what used to be in here, but now it’s—I don’t know. You have a look.”

  Josie reached forward and lifted the lid. The inside was lined with dark-red velvet that was worn in many places. There were several pieces of jewelry, including jewelry that Needle had taken from Josie’s home. She sifted through the pieces until she found what she was looking for. Tears filled her eyes as her fingers closed around her old engagement ring, then the pendant Ray had given her when they’d graduated from high school. On a normal day, the sight of them would have been like a spike in her heart, but now they filled her with joy. They were relics from the life she had made in spite of all that Lila had done to her. Symbols of the great loves of her life thus far.

  She set them aside and sifted through various newspaper clippings, including one about the Payne house fire. There were also photos—of men, mostly, including Josie’s father. There were other trinkets that had little meaning to Josie, whose import she couldn’t guess. Belinda Rose’s locket was there with the tiny piece of Andrew Bowen’s hair inside. “You’ll have to get this to Andrew Bowen,” Josie said.

  “Of course,” Noah replied.

  She picked up a long purple scarf wrapped around something soft and unraveled it. A gasp escaped her throat. “Oh my God.”

  In her hands, his small face covered with rust-colored blood stains, was Wolfie.

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Josie sat at a table in the back of Komorrah’s Koffee, her black hair tied in a ponytail and covered with a baseball cap. She had managed to evade the press, even though she wasn’t that far from the police station, where several reporters had taken up residence, hoping to catch someone coming or going who might have informat
ion about the sensational Lila Jensen case. It was going to take months for the fervor to die down.

  Wind chimes positioned over the front door tinkled as Gretchen entered. Josie smiled and waved her over. Gretchen slid into the booth across from her and pulled a file from inside of her jacket.

  “Did you get it?” Josie asked.

  Gretchen pushed the file across the table. “Yeah, I got it. It’s all there.”

  Josie’s fingers brushed the edge of the folder. “Did you read it?”

  “I did.”

  Josie flagged the waitress over and Gretchen ordered a large coffee. Josie had already purchased several pastries, and she pushed the plate across the table toward Gretchen, spinning it so that the pecan-crusted sweet roll was positioned just under Gretchen’s nose. Gretchen eyed the pastry as though she were sizing up an enemy. “We’re about to discuss toxic mothers,” Josie said. “You’re going to need it.”

  Gretchen laughed and picked it up, taking a hearty bite. A small piece of pecan hung from her bottom lip. “You better have one too, because Lila Jensen’s mother is the mother of all toxic mothers.”

  Josie selected a cheese Danish and ate it in three bites. Gretchen savored her roll more slowly, appraising Josie as she ate. “Have you cried yet?”

  Josie shook her head. She wiped her hands on a napkin and sipped her latte.

  “You’ll need to cry,” Gretchen said matter-of-factly. “I mean, just do it. You’ve got to release some of that pressure.”

  Josie nodded.

  “Did you meet with the Paynes?” Gretchen asked.

  “Sort of. They came to the hospital. My grandmother suggested a dinner party. Them and my people. She thinks more of a party atmosphere will be easier for me.”

  Josie had barely been out of surgery when Shannon and Christian Payne, together with their son, Patrick, had burst into her room. Shannon had gathered Josie up into her arms, holding her, crying and whispering things Josie couldn’t remember. Christian and Patrick had hung back, the teenager looking uncomfortable and awkward while his father stood stoically, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. Two days later, Trinity had shown up with a mail-in DNA test, and she and Josie had sat cross-legged on the hospital bed, spitting into tiny vials and laughing like teenagers.

  Josie put a palm over the file. “Will you tell me what it says?”

  “Of course,” Gretchen said. She sipped her coffee and then folded her hands on the edge of the table. “You were right. The clue that Lila gave you was an inmate number. Lila Jensen’s mother is serving five life terms in maximum security.”

  Josie’s eyes widened. “Five life terms?”

  “She’s listed as Roe Hoyt, but that’s just the name she was given after she was found.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Roe Hoyt lived alone in a shack in the woods high up in Sullivan County. No electricity or running water. The land was technically owned by the state, so she wasn’t living on any type of family land. They think the shack was an old game warden building—a place the wardens could stop and take shelter if they found themselves out that far. No one had been out there for years.”

  Josie asked, “Who found her?”

  “Hunters,” Gretchen said. “They were put off by her because she didn’t talk much except to make noises—one of which was the word roe, which is how she got her name. She was wild-looking, dirty, unkempt. They might have left her alone except she had a little girl.”

  Josie felt a sinking feeling in her belly. “Lila.”

  Gretchen nodded. “The hunters said she looked to be about five years old. She was running around the woods buck naked like a feral animal. They tried to take her with them, but she attacked them. So did Roe. So they went back to civilization and got the authorities. Police came and took them both into custody. When they searched the shack, they found the remains of five infants.”

  “Jesus,” Josie said.

  “Lila went into foster care. Her first foster mother named her Lila and gave her their last name—Jensen. She was delayed, had a lot of behavioral problems. The Jensens couldn’t handle her, so she was shuffled from foster home to foster home. This isn’t in that file. I got this from Alona Ortiz. She read Lila’s foster-care file before Malcolm Bowen destroyed it.”

  “She told you?”

  “The DA isn’t interested in prosecuting Ortiz. She made a deal to tell everything she knows and testify against Lila and Sophia. She was the one who helped Belinda, by the way, the first time she ran away from Maggie Lane’s house to have her baby. Bowen paid her off to give Belinda a place to stay until the baby came. Then he made arrangements for Andrew to go into the foster-care system and greased some more palms so he could adopt him. Anyway, everything bad you can imagine happening in a foster home happened to Lila Jensen.”

  “My God,” Josie said.

  She tried to picture Lila as a small child. Feral, forced into a world she didn’t understand filled with people she couldn’t trust. Had she even had a chance?

  Gretchen tapped the file. “You can keep this. One day, you’ll be ready to open it.”

  They each sampled another pastry, and the waitress refilled their coffees. Changing the subject, Gretchen asked, “Did Tara talk to you?”

  “Yeah. She took me off leave and said that I could return to my post as chief when my medical leave was finished. I told her no.”

  Gretchen choked on the Danish she’d just stuffed into her mouth. She coughed and spit into a napkin. “What?”

  “I don’t want to be chief,” Josie said. “I never did. Tara only wants me back now so she doesn’t look bad for firing me after I found out my whole life is a lie. I told her to appoint another detective position, and I’ll go back to doing what I was doing before Chief Harris died.”

  “What did she say?”

  “I don’t know,” Josie said. “I stopped listening after ‘you’ve got some nerve.’”

  Gretchen laughed. “She’ll come around.”

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  ONE MONTH LATER

  The smells of pasta sauce and garlic bread filled Josie’s house. From her place on the living room couch, she could hear the sounds of dishes clinking and the kitchen faucet running. She could hear Ray’s mother and Misty talking and laughing, although she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Harris was fast asleep on Josie’s chest, his head turned toward Lisette, who sat next to Josie on the side of her casted arm, stroking Harris’s fine blond hair.

  “Smells good,” Lisette commented. “Mrs. Quinn said Misty made the pasta herself. Homemade pasta! Who knew the stripper could cook?”

  “Gram!” Josie admonished.

  Lisette laughed, one arthritic finger stroking Harris’s rosy cheek. “You’re strange bedfellows, you two.”

  “I’m just helping her out,” Josie said. “She’s not so bad. I get to spend lots of time with little Harris here.”

  A blast of cool air announced Noah’s arrival. He closed the front door behind him and looked around, his eyes landing on Josie. He grinned. In his arms was a large bag. “I got three different kinds of wine,” he said from the foyer. “I wasn’t sure what kind of wine went with meeting your long-lost daughter you thought was dead after thirty years.”

  “The answer is all of the wine,” Josie said.

  Noah laughed and headed off to the kitchen. Lisette elbowed Josie, her eyes sparkling. “You’re getting to spend a lot of time with that handsome fellow too, aren’t you?”

  “Slow your roll, Gram, we’re still work colleagues.”

  “So? You don’t outrank him anymore, right? You and Ray were married, and you both worked for the Denton PD. It’s not an impossible situation.”

  “Not now, Gram,” Josie said, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. Harris stirred, and Lisette lifted him from Josie’s chest, cradling him in her arms. Josie stood and peeked out the windows.

  “Don’t be nervous,” Lisette said.

  Josie tur
ned from the window. Not being nervous wasn’t an option. It wasn’t possible. There were no guidebooks or tutorials for this scenario. She didn’t know if spending more time with her blood relatives excited her or terrified her—a little of both, really.

  Josie sat back down beside Lisette. “Gram, are you okay with this? Really? I don’t have to pursue this.”

  Lisette raised a brow. “Nonsense. You can’t walk away from your family.”

  “But you—”

  Lisette squeezed Josie’s knee. “I’ll always be your grandmother. You’ll always belong to me. But now you’ll also be theirs, and that’s okay. Truth be told, I’m happy you’ve found this out.”

  “Happy?”

  Lisette nodded. “I’m not getting any younger, dear.”

  “Gram.”

  “One day I’ll be gone. That day will be sooner rather than later. I feel at peace knowing you’ve got people to look after you.”

  Josie leaned her head against Lisette’s shoulder. “Thanks, Gram.”

  A moment later, the doorbell rang. Josie hopped up and walked into the foyer. She looked back toward the kitchen. Noah, Misty, and Ray’s mom stood in the doorway, offering smiles of encouragement.

  Josie took a deep breath and opened the door.

  Ready for another heart-thumping rollercoaster ride with DI Josie Quinn? Order The Girl With No Name now!

  The Girl With No Name

  Detective Josie Quinn Book 2

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  * * *

  Detective Josie Quinn is horrified when she’s called to the house of a mother who had her newborn baby snatched from her arms.