Suddenly One Summer

by Julie James

  In her book, that was a major victory.

  When she got back to her office, Will handed her a stack of messages. “The usual suspects. Oh, and Ford Dixon called. He said he tried your cell first.”

  Interesting. She wasn’t expecting him to call. “I had my phone on mute during the settlement conference.”

  “And how is our intrepid, Adonic neighbor these days?” Will asked cheekily.

  Not bothering to dignify the comment, she simply gave him a look and headed into her office. She shut her door for privacy and flipped through the messages to make sure none of them were urgent.

  Then she dialed the number to Ford’s cell phone.

  “Ms. Slade,” he answered warmly. “What are you doing tomorrow between twelve and two?”

  She turned in the desk chair to check her calendar on her computer. “I don’t know, why?”

  “I thought we might pencil in a nooner.”

  Seriously.

  “Please tell me you did not just say that in the middle of the Trib newsroom.”

  He chuckled. “You’re safe—I’m out grabbing lunch. And the real reason I called is to tell you about Plan D.”

  She smiled, not at all surprised to hear that there was, in fact, a Plan D already. The man was always coming up with some sort of scheme—he was rather annoyingly clever that way. “All right. Tell me.”

  “I went by Peter Sutter Number Four’s three-flat this morning. He lives only two blocks from a Red Line stop, so I thought I’d hang out for an hour or so on the off chance I could catch a guy with brown hair walking out the front door of the building to take the L to work. But when I got to his place, I discovered something even better: a For Sale sign that says there’s going to be an open house tomorrow. And since I know you’re going to ask—yep, I already checked. It’s for unit three, Sutter’s condo.”

  Ooh . . . that was interesting news. “Is it for sale by owner? Do you think Sutter will be there tomorrow?”

  “Doubtful. The place is listed with a real estate agent named Melanie Ames. But there’s likely to be some photograph of him somewhere inside the place. I can snap a picture of that with my phone and forward it to Nic. And if that doesn’t work, there’s always Plan E.”

  “What’s Plan E?”

  “I steal his toothbrush for a DNA sample. Which brings me to the point of my call: if I have some eager real estate agent following me around, it’ll be hard for me to do my thing. So I was thinking it’d be nice to have someone with me who could act as a decoy.”

  “That’s what you were thinking, huh?” Victoria checked out her calendar. “I have a call scheduled for noon tomorrow that shouldn’t last more than a half hour. Why don’t you text me Sutter’s address and I’ll meet you there at one o’clock?”

  “Actually, why don’t I come to your office at twelve thirty and we can cab over together? It’ll work better with our cover story if you and I arrive together.”

  “What cover story?”

  “That we’re a couple, sweetie. You and I are taking the plunge and buying a place together.”

  Oh, boy.

  * * *

  FORD COULD ONLY imagine what the cabdriver thought he and Victoria were up to.

  “Okay, another worst-case scenario,” she said, her body angled in the backseat of the cab so she could face him. “What if I get stuck in a conversation with this real estate agent while you’re doing your thing, and she starts asking me questions about how long you and I have been dating? Or how we met?”

  “I wouldn’t get too complicated. Stick as close to the truth as possible. Just tell her that we met when you moved into the place next to mine, and things developed from there.”

  Victoria nodded. “Okay. And how long have we been dating?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Three years?”

  “Three years?” She threw him a look. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  “What’s wrong with three years?”

  “I’m just saying, if I were actually the type to be in a serious relationship, at thirty-three years old I would hope it wouldn’t take three years for him and I to figure out whether we’re compatible enough to live together.”

  Ford considered that. “All right. So we’ve been dating, let’s say . . . six months.”

  “Six months? And we’re already moving in together?” Victoria snorted. “How’d you manage to talk me into that?”

  “Okay, why don’t you pick a length of time between six months and three years after which you would feel comfortable fake living with me, and we’ll just go with that?”

  That got a smile out of her. “Sorry. I get a little nervous before these missions.”

  Yes, she did. And he found it more adorable every time they were together.

  Per his instructions, the cab pulled to a stop at the end of the block. Victoria climbed out while Ford paid the driver, who—having overheard their entire conversation—gave him an odd look.

  “Long story,” Ford said, handing over a twenty. Then he stepped out of the cab and met Victoria at the sidewalk. Together, they walked toward Sutter’s three-flat. “Remember, this is a brokers’ open house, so it’ll be mostly real estate agents. But you and I were driving by the other day, saw the open house sign, and thought we’d check it out. We’ve been eyeing this block for a while, given how close it is to both the L and Wrigley Field.”

  “Big Cubs fans, are we?”

  “Oh, huge. We’re on the waiting list to get season tickets.” He crossed his fingers. “Here’s hoping for next year.”

  “Okay, you are way too good at this.” As they headed up the front steps of the building, she looked sideways at him. “One year.”

  He cocked his head, not following.

  “That’s how long I’d want to fake date someone before fake moving in with him,” she explained.

  “One year. Okay.” With a smile, he took her hand, leading her up the stairs to the unit on the third floor.

  The door was open, so he and Victoria walked right in. There were several people milling about the penthouse condo, and a handful more gathered around the kitchen island, where light refreshments had been laid out.

  It was a nice space, with lots of sunlight, vaulted ceilings, and maple hardwood floors. Two bedrooms, two baths, according to the listing sheet Ford took from the dining table as part of their cover. He and Victoria meandered into the living room, where he spotted several framed photos on the fireplace mantel.

  Including a wedding photo.

  Exchanging glances with Victoria—she’d spotted it, too—the two of them made their way over to get a better look.

  “Any questions I can answer about the place?” asked a male voice from behind them.

  Ford turned around.

  The man smiled and gestured over his shoulder. “My wife, Melanie, is the real estate agent, but since she’s a little busy, I’m helping out.” He held out his hand to Ford. “Peter Sutter.”

  Ford shook his hand, taking in the man’s brown eyes and short brown hair. Good-looking and built, this man would undoubtedly meet even Nicole’s standards of “cute” and normal looking. And there was one other thing that stood out about Peter Sutter Number Four.

  He was the spitting image of Zoe.

  Twenty-two

  FEIGNING INTEREST, VICTORIA nodded along as Sutter talked about the upgrades he and his wife had made to the unit, and told them not to miss the private rooftop deck.

  After he excused himself to greet another visitor, Ford turned to her. “Should we see the bedrooms next?”

  “Definitely.”

  Playing their parts, they checked out the second bedroom first, which the Sutters were currently using as an office, before moving on to the master suite. Victoria smiled politely as a woman passed them on her way out. Then she turned to Ford, whispering, “I think it’s him.”

  He nodded in agreement. “I’m pretty sure it is.”

  The bedroom had a contemporary-style décor, lots of clean li
nes and white fabrics. Victoria spotted another wedding photograph on one of the nightstands—a close-up of Sutter and his wife, smiling and looking adorably happy.

  “Watch the door for me,” Ford said.

  She blocked any incoming traffic by putting her hand on the doorframe and pretending to study the room. Ford grabbed his phone from his back pocket and took a picture of the Sutters’ wedding photo. He checked the image, then tucked his phone away.

  “What do you think the odds are that Sutter and his wife met and got married all in the last fourteen months?” she asked.

  “About fifty-fifty.”

  She agreed, which meant they were quite possibly looking at an infidelity situation here. Maintaining their ruse, Victoria checked out the large master bedroom closet as another couple entered the room. Ford came up behind her.

  “Plenty of room for your shoes,” he said teasingly, in a normal volume.

  The setup of the closet reminded her of the closet in her old townhome, the one in which she’d blacked out during the break-in. Remembering that moment, she suddenly began to feel slightly . . . off.

  No. Not here. Drawing on her relaxation techniques, she focused on taking steady breaths from her diaphragm.

  I feel calm and relaxed.

  “Look there,” Ford said quietly, clueless to the rising panic she felt. He moved around her, into the closet, and pointed to a row of men’s red T-shirts, zip-ups, and polo shirts, all bearing the same black logo. “He works at XSport Fitness.”

  The comment diverted Victoria’s attention and grounded her. Instead of focusing on whether she felt light-headed, the lawyerly wheels in her mind began to spin in. Knowing that Sutter worked at an XSport Fitness club was helpful—she could likely contact him at work, instead of at home, to tell him about Nicole and Zoe.

  She exhaled, feeling steadier than she had moments ago, and then noticed that the other couple was waiting to check out the closet. “Oops, sorry. I’ll get out of your way.”

  Ford followed her into the master bathroom, which had double sinks, a porcelain soaking tub, and a steam shower.

  “Crap. Not a toothbrush in sight,” he whispered.

  Victoria paused while the other couple passed by the bathroom on their way out.

  As soon as it was just the two of them, Ford quietly opened one of the cabinets. “Bingo.”

  “You can’t take his toothbrush,” she whispered.

  “Why not?”

  She pointed in the direction of the living room. “Because he’ll notice that it’s gone. And when he finds out who I am, he might put two and two together, and I don’t want to get disbarred for stealing a damn toothbrush.” She paused. “But, there’s always Plan F.”

  “What’s Plan F?”

  She grabbed a small Ziploc bag from her purse. “Does he have a hairbrush in there, too?”

  “Oh . . . I like the way you think, Victoria Slade.”

  She waved this off. Yes, yes, she’d become quite the super-sleuth these days, but they needed to forgo all compliments and commendations regarding her mad skills until later. “Just hurry.”

  Ford pulled a two-inch round brush from the cabinet.

  “Not that one. That’s a woman’s brush. Yes—that one,” she said when he grabbed a flat brush with boar bristles. She checked to make sure no one was coming while Ford yanked some hair strands off the brush.

  He put the brush back, shut the cabinet with one hand, and then dumped the hairs into the bag that Victoria held open. She zipped it shut and stuffed it inside her purse.

  And Peter Sutter would never be the wiser.

  “Should we check out the rooftop deck?” Ford asked, getting back into character.

  “Absolutely.”

  They nodded while passing by a man who headed into the bedroom just as they were leaving. On the upper floor, there was an alcove that contained a wet bar for entertaining, and then a door that led to the deck. Ford put his hand on the small of Victoria’s back as she stepped outside.

  The couple who’d been in the master bedroom was outside, as were two other women. Victoria walked to the far end of the deck and leaned against the chest-high stone ledge, as if checking out the view.

  “I’d been hoping he wouldn’t be married.” She sighed. “It obviously makes things more complicated.” She checked her watch and saw it was already after one thirty.

  Ford pulled out his cell phone.

  “Is Nicole on standby again?” she asked.

  “She’s in a class right now, but she said she’d have her phone with her.” He forwarded the picture he’d taken of Sutter and then tucked the phone back in his pocket. “If she says it’s him, what happens next?”

  “I’ll get the hair sample over to a lab I’ve used in other paternity cases. But that’s just so we know that we haven’t made a mistake. We’ll do a second, official paternity test after contacting Sutter and telling him about Zoe.”

  “How long will it take to get the results from the lab?” Ford asked.

  “Three to five business days, depending on how busy they are.”

  Ford’s phone buzzed with a new text message. He took it out of his pocket, read the message, and showed the phone to Victoria.

  OMG. That’s him.

  * * *

  FORD ASKED VICTORIA to take a second look around the condo with him.

  She smiled jokingly. “Why? Are you considering moving?”

  “I want Sutter’s wife, the real estate agent, to think we are.”

  She cocked her head. “You want to talk to them.”

  Yes, he did. Both the protective older brother and uncle in him, as well as the nosy investigative journalist, wanted to know more about this married Peter Sutter who was his niece’s father.

  He and Victoria went back downstairs and made their way through the place one more time.

  “I love the double oven,” she said as they entered the kitchen. She squeezed his hand and smiled up at him warmly. “That would come in really handy during the holidays.”

  An image suddenly popped into his head of him and Victoria having Thanksgiving dinner with their friends and family.

  He paused, wholly caught off guard by the thought.

  Fortunately he was spared from having to answer when a pretty brunette, dressed in cream linen pants and a loose-fitting pale pink shirt, walked over.

  She shook hands with both him and Victoria. “Melanie Ames. I’m the listing agent, and also one of the owners. Are there any questions I can answer about the place?”

  Back on his game again, Ford turned to Victoria, as if thinking. “Well . . . I guess I’d be curious to know if it’s generally a quiet building? We both occasionally work from home.”

  Melanie nodded. “The great thing is, we’re on the top floor, so you obviously don’t have any noise above you. Below us, you have the middle unit, which is owned by a couple in their fifties—really nice people. Then there’s the first-floor unit, owned by a single guy. Super quiet, keeps to himself. But not in a creepy, serial killer kind of way,” she added quickly.

  Peter Sutter came out of the dining room, chuckling. “I love how you always throw that in whenever you describe poor Toby. ‘But not in a creepy, serial killer kind of way.’”

  She smiled affectionately at her husband. “Because that’s the first thing you think of when you hear about a guy who ‘keeps to himself.’” She turned back to Ford and Victoria. “Anyway, in general, I’d say it’s a pretty quiet block for being so close to Wrigley. Obviously, you’re going to get some people walking by on a Friday or Saturday night who’ve had a few beers at the game. But I’ve lived here for nine months now, ever since we got married, and I practically lived here the four years before that. During that time, we’ve never had any serious issues with noise.”

  Hearing this—that the Sutters had been together for nearly five years—hardly improved Ford’s opinion of the man who’d slept with his sister fourteen months ago and then had left without saying good-bye.
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  Melanie looked to Peter for confirmation, and he nodded. “You know me, I love being close to the stadium. We’re actually staying in the neighborhood, going to a single-family home just a couple blocks over,” he said to Ford and Victoria. “P.J. and I need a front yard to play catch in.” He winked at his wife.

  “We’re expecting our first child in December,” she explained, touching her stomach. “And my husband here is set on Peter Junior if it’s a boy—P.J., for short.”

  “Because it’s a cute nickname,” Peter said.

  “Yes, it is. For pajamas.” Melanie turned back to Ford and Victoria. “We’ll probably still be negotiating this on the way to the hospital.” Then she clapped her hands, getting back down to business. “So. Any other questions I can answer for you?”

  Ford glanced at Victoria, who likely was thinking the same thing he was—that Melanie Ames seemed like a nice person who deserved better than her philandering jerk of a husband.

  And also that Peter Sutter had some seriously fertile sperm.

  “Nope,” Ford told the couple. “I think you’ve covered everything we need to know.”

  Twenty-three

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, after returning from court, Victoria deliberately ignored another cheeky look from Will when he told her that a “Mr. Dixon” had called again.

  When Ford answered his cell this time, she could hear chatter in the background and guessed he was in the Trib newsroom.

  “I did some digging into Peter and Melanie,” he said. “They bought a one-point-eight-million-dollar house. Five bedrooms, nice front porch and yard. All that’s missing is the white picket fence.”

  “So they have money, obviously.”

  “She has money,” Ford said. “Two years ago she left Coldwell Banker and started her own successful brokerage that represents luxury residential properties. She’s like the Victoria Slade of the real estate industry.”

  Great. And now Victoria was about to turn this woman’s world completely upside down. “Did you find out anything else about him?”

  “He’s a general manager at the XSport Fitness in Lakeview. Probably makes decent money, but nowhere near what his wife is bringing in.” His tone turned dry. “You may get a new client out of this, once Melanie finds out what her husband’s been up to.”