Public Secrets

sulking “cause his lady’s going to spend Christmas in London? Lighten up, Kesselring, the world’s full of blondes.”
“Kiss off”
McCarthy put a hand over his heart. “Must be love.”
Ignoring him, Michael studied the manila envelope. It was odd when he was thinking such dark thoughts about London that he would get a letter from that city. A law firm, he mused, skimming the return address. What would a London law firm want with him? When he opened it, he found a cover letter and an envelope in shades of pink and blue. Turning the envelope over, he saw another return address in fancy script. Jane Palmer.
Though he wasn’t a superstitious man, he stared at the envelope for several minutes, thinking about messages from the dead. He slit it open and studied the cramped handwriting. Within five minutes, he was standing in his father’s orifice watching Lou read the letter.
Dear Detective Kesselring ,
You investigated the death of Brian McAvoy’s son. I’m sure you remember the case. I remember it abo. If you ’re still interested, you should come to London and talk to me. I know all about it. It was my idea, but they made a mess of it. If you will pay for information, we can work out a deal .
Yours truly,
Jane Palmer
“What do you think?” Michael demanded.
“I think she might have known something.” Lou adjusted his glasses and read the letter through again. “She was six thousand miles away when it went down, and we could never tie her to it. But…”He had always wondered.
“The first postmark’s just a few days before her body was found. According to the lawyers the letter bounced around because of the incomplete address, then ended up with the rest of her papers. Over eight months,” Michael said in disgust.
“I’m not sure it would have made a difference if it had been eight days. She’d still have been dead.”

“If she was telling the truth and knew who killed the kid, someone could have gotten to her. Someone who didn’t know she’d send off a letter. I want to see the report, talk to the investigating officer.”
Lou turned the letter over in his hand. There wasn’t any purpose in reminding Michael that the letter had been addressed to the investigating officer on the case. “It’s possible. It’s the first lead we’ve had on this in nearly twenty years.” He remembered the police photograph of a little boy, and looked up at his son. “I guess you’re going to London.”

E MMA ROLLED OUT cookie dough and tried to put her heart into it. She’d always loved Christmas. This year, for the first time since childhood, she would be spending it with her family. The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and brown sugar, carols were playing through the speakers, and Bev was measuring out ingredients for plum pudding. Outside, a light snow was falling.
But her heart wasn’t in it. She was afraid it was six thousand miles away, with Michael.
As Emma pressed the cutters into the dough, Bev slipped an arm around her. “I’m so glad you’re here, Emma. It means everything to me, and your father.”
“And to me.” She scooped up a cookie in the shape of a snowflake and laid it on the baking sheet. “You used to let me do this when I was little. If Johnno was around, he’d come in and pinch a few before they were even cooked.”
“Why do you think I sent him off with Bri?” She watched Emma sprinkle colored sugar over the tops. “You miss Michael, don’t you?”
“I didn’t know I would. Not this much.” She carried the tray to the oven. “It’s silly. It’s only two weeks.” After setting the timer, she walked back to ball the dough together and roll it again. It felt good to do something with her hands, to feel competent. In charge. “It’s probably good for me to get away. I don’t want to get too involved too quickly.”
“Katherine says you’re making wonderful progress.”
“I think I am. I’m grateful to her for staying on with me in L.A. for the last couple of months. I wasn’t always,” she added with a smile. “But talking things out helped.”
“You’re still having nightmares.”

“Not as often. And I’m getting back to work, finally pushing through with the book.” She paused with a cookie cutter in her hand. “A year ago, Christmas was a nightmare. This year, it’s almost perfect.” She glanced over as the kitchen door swung open. The cookie cutter clattered to the floor. “Michael?”
“The housekeeper said I should just come back.”
She