CHAPTERONE
“I wish I could have been more help.” Leon Fitzke, looking more like an accountant than a private investigator with his pocket protector and drab brown suit, leaned across the desk and spread his hands. “Other than the list of party attendees, there wasn’t much else I could dig up.”
June Parker understood the PI’s discouragement. She felt the same about the course of this investigation. “Just knowing that we were checking out possibilities buoyed my mother’s mood, at least for a little while.”
Her older sister, Aubrey, had been gone for nearly ten years, and the person who’d run her down was still out there. The only ones punished had been the Parker family.
The police had relegated the unsolved hit-and-run to their cold-case file years ago. Leon might have taken the case—and a good sum of her money—but he hadn’t delivered much. Certainly not any information that would lead the police to the person—or persons—responsible.
For most of the past decade, June had tried not to think about the person who’d driven the car that had struck Aubrey. Her mother, on the other hand, had thought of little else.
Neither June nor her mother had found solace in the coroner’s determination that the impact had killed Aubrey instantly. While they were glad Aubrey hadn’t suffered, she was still gone, leaving a big, gaping hole in their hearts.
June’s father, Bob, never one to shoulder any responsibility, had blamed her mother for being too permissive. According to him, no good came from letting an eighteen-year-old stay out past midnight. The war of words and the blame game had gone on until the marriage passed the point of no return.
No, June thought, thinking of her now-divorced parents, they’d all suffered far more than the person who’d struck Aubrey with their car.
Her father had moved to California and remarried. Her mother… Well, Camille Parker’s grief was as palpable today as it had been the night Lakewood police officers had shown up at their door.
“How is your mother?” Leon asked, probably more out of politeness than real interest.
“Discouraged.” No need to tell the PI that, with the tenth anniversary of Aubrey’s death approaching, her mother had begun to spiral. June could only imagine what it would be like when the date finally rolled around and her mom had to accept that they were no closer to finding the person who’d killed Aubrey than they’d been the night it happened.
“We’ve made good progress in terms of the list,” Leon pointed out.
“The list” included the names of those present at the off-campus party Aubrey attended the night she died. Though the police had confirmed Aubrey’s presence at the party, June still didn’t understand why her sister had been there. The college freshman had been more likely to be at the library on a Saturday night than at a party.
Her sister’s friend Sarah insisted attending the party had been Aubrey’s idea. When Sarah had hooked up with a guy that night, Aubrey had left the party alone.
The police had concluded that after her car had gotten a flat tire on a dark stretch of roadway, Aubrey had gotten out, presumably to flag down help. That was when she’d been hit and killed.
Over the past year, both June and Leon had spoken with as many of the party attendees as they could find, hoping someone had seen or heard—or knew—something that would aid in the investigation.
“We checked off a lot of names,” June agreed. She stopped short at calling the progress good. Though the names on the list of people to talk to had dwindled to a handful, she felt no closer to uncovering the identity of her sister’s killer. “But we both know that the driver or any witnesses might not have even been at the party.”
“Like Detective Willis said, since attendees of the party accounted for most of the traffic on the road that night, it was our best shot.”
Gary Willis, a former neighbor and childhood friend of June’s, wasn’t officially working the cold case, but he’d offered his assistance. Gary knew the toll Aubrey’s death had taken on the Parker family.
“It’s our only shot. I cling to hope that one of the attendees we haven’t spoken with yet saw something that will finally give us answers.” June did her best to summon up enthusiasm. It wasn’t easy.
She’d grown weary of all the dead ends. For her mother’s sake, she would continue to push forward.
Pushing back her chair, June stood and extended her hand. “Thanks for all you’ve done, Leon. I’ll be in touch if I need anything else.”
“You know where to find me.” He walked her to the door of his office. “Good luck.”
Stepping out of the downtown Denver building into bright sunshine, June determinedly shook off the lingering sadness and embraced the gorgeous late summer day.
Quickly glancing right and left, June darted across the street and joined the stream of foot traffic along 17th Street. This part of downtown was a mix of old and new. Gleaming glass skyscrapers rose up along historic brick buildings.
As June wove between tables at a sidewalk café and groups of power-suit-wearing women, she thought about how much had changed since she’d last been here. And about how much hadn’t.
Why couldn’t she get just one break?
June flung out a hand in frustration. When the flat side of it connected solidly with the back of a man striding in the opposite direction, she realized with horror she should have paid more attention to her surroundings. Or, at the very least, kept her hands to herself.
She stopped as the man turned, a startled look on his face.