I pondered that request for a moment. He was certainly being cautious this time around. He did look like a lawyer. Wearing a dark suit and tie. His salt-and-pepper hair was short and he had a deep tan, which implied he could be from California (either that or he had an unhealthy addiction to the tanning bed).
Of course, now I was curious as to what this could possibly be about.
“Okay,” I told him.
He reached in his car and grabbed a briefcase, shut his door, and walked across the yard to stand a few feet away. He had a black eye from where one of the men at the fire station punched him. I didn’t feel bad about it. He deserved it.
“I feel we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” he began.
I laughed. “If you consider following me through Wilmington, tailgating my car, and trying to run me off the road ‘getting off on the wrong foot,’ then I suppose you’re right.”
“I wasn’t trying to run you off the road. I was trying to get your attention. You are a very hard woman to find, Miss Parker.”
“You called me Katie before.”
“Again, another mistake. I thought you might stop panicking if I called you by your first name. I thought it would give you the impression I was familiar with you.”
Holt snorted. “Familiar like a stalker.”
“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “I hadn’t realized you were having some… trouble until I was escorted to the police station.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Someone’s trying to kill me,” I replied bluntly.
“I’m afraid I might know the reason why.”
Holt stiffened beside me and I gripped my purse, twisting the strap in my hands. “Maybe we should talk about this inside.”
Holt handed me the keys to the front door and then ushered me ahead of him, keeping himself between me and the lawyer at all times.
I perched on the end of the couch, anxiety and suspicion cloaking me. Holt sat down beside me and I slid a glance at him. “Did the police say anything about this to you?” I asked out of the side of my lips.
He gave a faint shake of his head.
Mr. Goddard heard and replied, “I didn’t discuss this with the police. Attorney-client privileges.”
“I’m not your client.” I was getting irritated with all of this talk I didn’t understand.
“No. But your father was.”
You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. I shifted uncomfortably. “You must be mistaken. I don’t have a father.”
“Miss Parker, do you know who Tony Diesel was?”
I wrinkled my nose, thinking back to the commercial I saw earlier. “The rock singer?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t like rock,” Holt said.
“It’s not my favorite.”
He put a hand over his heart like I shot him and made a face.
I rolled my eyes.
“Tony Diesel was like a rock god,” Holt announced. “Such a shame about his death.”
I looked back at Mr. Goddard, who was shaking his head solemnly. “What does this have to do with anything?”
“Mr. Diesel named you in his Last Will and Testament.”
“Me?” I said, feeling more confused by the second.
“You are Katherine Eileen Parker, are you not?”
“I go by Katie.”
“You were born on March 15, 1991, and your mother’s name is Elena Marie Parker.”
“Was,” I corrected, my voice hollow.
“Excuse me?”
“My mother died several years ago.”
“I’m sorry, I only know the information that was on file. I didn’t look into your… situation. I really should have.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s fine.”
Mr. Goddard paused, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch and glancing at Holt as he did so. When Holt didn’t object, he laid his briefcase on the space between us and opened it, reaching in to grab a stack of bound papers.
Then he looked up.
“Tony Diesel named you as his sole surviving relative—his daughter, to be precise.”
I jerked like someone slapped me and stared at him so intently that my vision went blurry. Holt slipped an arm around my waist, but I scarcely felt it.
“He was not my father,” I whispered, pain slicing through my chest. If this was some kind of sick joke, it was very, very mean.
“In all honesty, I don’t know if he is or not. But he seemed to think you were. I have here a letter—a letter written by Elena Parker dated in the fall of 1990. She wrote to your father, explaining that she was pregnant, that he was the father.” As he spoke, he handed me the letter.