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Jackson opens the box and rifles through it. Mrs. Coolson watches him while she continues.
“Your mother did know who your father was, and we knew as well. She met Jackson Adley at the Country Club she used to work at. Only nineteen years old, barely out on her own. She was saving up for college, wanted to go into Hospitality and Hotel Management. She had this crazy dream of turning an old, abandoned estate into a luxury Bed and Breakfast. But she was ready to throw away everything to be with him. She was head over heels. And then before long she was pregnant.”
Mrs. Coolson fidgets with the hem of her blouse, tears spilling over her cheeks.
“She was so happy. She lived in a dream world, believing he was going to marry her, and they’d live happily ever after. And he let her believe it. He played the part of doting partner, lavishing her with gifts and taking her to every appointment. He was obsessed with some new vaccine trial. He talked about it incessantly, and so did she. She was convinced that whatever he said was like God’s words through his mouth. The way she loved that man… it wasn’t healthy.”
Mr. Coolson wraps an arm around her shoulders, comforting his wife as she relives years of pain.
“Annette was such a bright, cheerful, loving soul, utterly in love with life. But when he left her, the day after you were born, a light went out inside her. At first, we thought maybe it was baby blues or something like that, but it was more. She was obsessed with the idea that he’d come back to her, to you. She wrote him letters, which all got returned. Then one day she went to his house and saw him there with his wife and another bouncing baby boy. She walked away more torn down than ever.”
Jackson and I both glance at Bennet, stoically listening as Mrs. Coolson continues.
“Shortly after he left, money started pouring in. Eventually, when you were around two years old, I talked her into putting all that money to good use and making her dreams come true. She did it, but only because she thought her success would get his attention. If Jackson Adley ever saw or noticed anything, he didn’t care.”
“He did check in from time to time. He would ask very specific questions about you, even asked to take you for visits. Your mother refused to let you go anywhere without her, but sadly I think it had more to do with wanting to see him than it did protecting you. I’m sure you remember some of her worst depression spells. They often correlated with the times he called. I suspect he called the day she took her life.”
My eyes meet Bennet’s, a silent confirmation we are both thinking the same thing. Is it a coincidence he called that day? Can we get phone records from that far back?
Mrs. Coolson is outright sobbing by this point, Mr. Coolson pulling her to his chest with tears in his own eyes. I imagine it was as painful for them to watch their adopted daughter die as it was to watch my mother die, maybe more since they had such a close relationship.
Jackson is staring at a photo that he passes over to Bennet and me. It’s a picture of a smiling young woman in a hospital gown, proudly passing a newborn baby to a young Jackson Adley. The look in his eyes might pass for pride, but there’s something else there I can’t name. Behind him, not quite caught in the frame, is part of who looks to be a doctor. His face isn’t in frame, but he’s wearing a white coat with a name tag, and he looks to be holding a syringe.
Jackson pulls both Mr. and Mrs. Coolson in for a hug, walking them out and murmuring words of comfort. “Hey, it’s okay. I understand, I promise. I could never love you any less.”
When Jackson returns, he sits down in the chair next to me. I reach over to thump him on the back. “You alright, man?”
“Yeah, it’s just… a lot.”
Bennet is assessing the entire contents of the box Jackson handed him. “So, we have an established timeline of my –our father’s involvement with Jackson’s mother. Now we need to see what information we can gather about Luis’ mother and his involvement with her.”
I run my hands through my hair. “I’m not sure what we’re going to be able to find. Aside from those bank records, there’s no paper trail. My mom didn’t have or keep any pictures or anything. The only reason I found out about the bank account was because I went digging to find out how the rent was being paid. The pills were easy to trace using the labels.”
“I’m still trying to access the rest of my father’s bank records so we can see if they all match up. Until then, we’ll have to see what we can find about the pills. I suggest we look over the police reports from both deaths, to make sure we aren’t missing anything.”
Six’s eyes are wide. “Hold on… you think your father had something to do with Luis and Jackson’s mothers’ deaths?”
“It’s a possibility he could have been at least indirectly involved,” answers Bennet.
“We’re going to need a van if we’re going to have this many mysteries to solve,” jokes Micah.
Six looks confused, so Lukas explains. “It’s from a cartoon most of us probably watched as kids, about a bunch of teenagers and a talking dog that drive around in a van solving mysteries.”
“That sounds… interesting.” She returns her attention to the three of us. “How can the rest of us help? Bennet, I know you want to boss us all around and give us jobs.”
He’s typing something into his phone but doesn’t skip a beat. “Hopefully I’ll have the bank records soon. Someone could go downtown and collect a package for me. It’ll contain the evidence reports for both deaths, as well as the evidence kits from the hospital. Other than that, it’s a waiting game. There’s nothing else we can do until we have those reports.”
Lukas offers to go pick up the package when it’s ready.
Bennet acknowledges him with a nod. “I called in a favor, so they should be ready in the next couple of hours.”
Pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin, Six clears her throat, getting our attention. “So next we need a plan to get my memory back. I think we should go to the truck stop.”
Everyone stares back at her. Jackson gets up and leaves the room.
She lets out an exasperated sigh. “I know you all think I’m some traumatized delicate flower, but I need to know what I was running from. I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
“It’s not that I think you’re a delicate flower, and I don’t think anyone else here does either. We don’t want to see you get hurt.” I’m inclined to agree with Lukas, but the fire in her eyes convinces me otherwise.
