Change of Heart

by Jude Deveraux

  Eli started to say that was ridiculous, but he was glad to hear about anything besides her physical discomfort. He went to the back and used his knife to cut the string holding the trunk down. The lid sprang up. Inside was a lot of trash, old food containers, empty beer cans, and a threadbare tire—what would be expected in a junker. But oddly, spread over the tire was a snowy-white linen dinner napkin and on top of it was a briefcase.

  “No one’s tied up,” Eli said.

  Chelsea was staring at the contents. “That case is Stefano Ricci and they cost about three grand. Think it was stolen?”

  Before Eli could answer, Chelsea reached for the case. “Keep watch,” she said as she opened it and looked inside. There were some papers with Longacre Furniture written at the top, and a side pocket was full of business cards. As she took a few cards, something in the bottom caught her eye. Reaching inside, she pulled out a Rolex watch and held it up to the light. “This watch cost about forty-five grand.”

  Eli blinked a few times, then said, “Someone’s coming.”

  Quickly, Chelsea put the watch back, closed the case, and set it on the cloth. Eli pulled the trunk lid down just as an older couple came out of the diner. They looked at Chelsea and Eli, then at the old car. Something must have looked suspicious because they hesitated.

  “My wife caught her pants leg on the rusty bumper,” Eli said as he quickly retied the trunk. Since the string had been cut, it was almost too short to tie.

  Chelsea went around the side. “Look at this!” She showed off the hole Eli had cut. “Cars like that shouldn’t be allowed on the road.”

  “I don’t think they are,” the man said. He was smiling so sweetly at Chelsea that his wife pushed him in the other direction.

  Eli went to stand by Chelsea and put his arm around her shoulders as they waved good-bye to the couple.

  “Think they’ll call the police?” Chelsea asked as the couple drove away.

  “Because we looked like we were trying to rob a car that’s not worth a hundred bucks? I don’t think so.”

  They went inside the diner, and for a moment Chelsea stood looking around. There were eight tables and four booths along a wall. Only five of them had customers. Who owned the old car? she wondered. Who was hiding a multithousand-dollar watch and briefcase—and why?

  Eli caught Chelsea’s hand and pulled her to the left. There was another room that sold snacks and maps and toiletries. Grabbing a basket, he led her to the aisle of chips: blue, flavored, corn, potato. There seemed to be a half mile of them.

  “Look,” he said, “as you have said to me about a dozen times in the last twenty-four hours, you and I aren’t kids anymore. Why that man has a couple of expensive items in his trunk is none of our business.” He glared at her. “We are not Robin and Marian, certainly not Les Jeunes.”

  “Are you saying that with all your famous friends you can’t find out anything about this man?”

  Her words were a challenge to him, and after a moment he sighed. “All right, get something.” He pulled out his phone.

  “Who are you texting? Pilar?”

  “Can’t tell you. You don’t have the security clearance. What’s the guy’s name on the business card you lifted?”

  “You don’t have my clearance to see it.”

  Eli looked at her in disbelief, but she just smiled. “Okay, I’m sending the license number to a cop friend of mine. He’s not supposed to do this but he owes me. Now will you give me the name?”

  “Let me type it in.”

  Reluctantly, he handed her his phone and she tapped in the name Orin Peterson, plus the name of the store she’d seen on the papers.

  When a man came down the aisle, Eli and Chelsea grabbed bags of chips and left. Around the corner were drinks.

  “What do we do now?” Chelsea whispered as she reached for bottles of water.

  Eli put a six-pack of ginger ale in the basket. “We just wait until Steve gets back to me.”

  “It’s Saturday!” Chelsea said. “Nobody is at work today. Most people are out having fun. But you made me sleep on the ground last night so we’re not. Did you think that all that outdoors was going to put me in the mood to . . . To what? Be seduced by you?”

  He leaned toward her. “I thought maybe you’d be inspired to take some pictures. As for seducing you, I leave that to the sheriff’s brother. He’s a three. I’m a one, remember?”

  When the other customer moved to their aisle, they went to the refrigerator case. Chelsea tossed containers of Greek yogurt in the basket Eli was holding, while he pulled out a couple of ready-made sandwiches.

  “What does Sheriff Frazier have to do with any of this?” she asked.

  “Not him, his brother, Lanny. The guy at the bar, remember? And how do you know Colin?”

  “I don’t,” Chelsea snapped and moved to the candy aisle. “Wait a minute. Lanny? Is his real name Lancaster?”

  “I have no idea,” Eli said. “If you don’t hurry up, whoever owns that car is going to leave. You do want to see who it is, don’t you?”

  “I’ll get a table while you pay for this. And get a cooler and some ice.”

  As he watched her walk away, Eli was annoyed—but only for seconds. He was so very pleased that his plan had worked. The Chelsea who’d arrived at his house, the one with the scared look in her eyes, was beginning to disappear—thanks to him. He’d thought she needed a jolt, something that would shock her out of what she’d become, which was a woman who didn’t laugh at truly idiotic things that were said about her hair and her eyes being pools of . . . whatever.

  At one point last night he’d said, “My dad fell in love with Mom when they were alone in the woods.”

  Chelsea had narrowed her eyes at him. “I bet that adorable little town of Edilean is full of women who love the forest at night. I bet that town has pie-baking contests. You should do a search to find the winner and ask her to marry you.”

  Eli had tried to act as though her words displeased him, but he was glad he was finally seeing a glimpse of his Chelsea. This clean-faced Chelsea, chomping down on fried chicken, was interested in something besides her hair—and her eye makeup and whether she’d gain an ounce from eating a hot dog. He didn’t want her to go back to being the perfectly bland creature she’d been when she arrived.

  As for the expensive briefcase and watch in the car, Eli didn’t think it mattered much. There was probably a perfectly good explanation for it, but if it put light in Chelsea’s eyes, then he’d help her. As long as she didn’t get too outrageous and do something they could be prosecuted for, he would back her up.

  By the time Eli had paid for their items and put them in the car, Chelsea was seated in a booth in the diner and pretending to read a menu. He took the bench across from her.

  “The waitress hates me,” she whispered over her menu. “I moved three times because I was near the wrong people, but I think I got it right this time.” She lowered her voice. “It’s the man we saw in the store. I think he’s waiting for someone.”

  “I think I should remind you that you and I are the ones in the wrong here. We were illegally breaking and entering. I think we should—” When his phone buzzed, he looked at the message. “It’s from Steve and there are no records on the guy. The car’s had several owners, but nothing’s been reported on it. The man and his vehicle are clean.”

  “They tell you anything about him personally?”

  “No. Think we should look on his Facebook page?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I know you think this is silly. Maybe his Jag broke down and that car is the only loaner the garage had. Or maybe that’s not his briefcase or his watch.” She took a breath. “But I have a feeling and I know something is wrong!”

  Eli was looking at the menu. “If I had a briefcase I cared enough about to keep it on a white cloth, I wouldn’t put it in a tied
-down trunk. I would carry it into a restaurant with me and not leave it in a place that can’t be locked. And watches are to be worn.”

  When he looked up, Chelsea was smiling at him. “I agree.”

  The waitress came to ask for their orders.

  “What kind of salads do you have?” Chelsea asked.

  “Baby greens with fresh-caught Pacific wild salmon with balsamic dressing. We age the vinegar in our own kegs.”

  “That sounds great!” Chelsea said. “I’ll have that.”

  Eli rolled his eyes. “Two club sandwiches, mayo on the side for her.”

  “And what about you, darlin’?” the waitress asked Eli, smiling at him.

  “All the mayo you can give me.” He gave her a slow, lazy smile.

  Smiling, she took the menus and left.

  “What the hell was that about?” Chelsea asked. “Were you flirting with her?”

  “Actually, I was. My Taggert cousins taught me how to do it. It was a struggle to learn, but I believe I mastered it. What do you think?”

  “I think you should stick to who you truly are.”

  “By that I take it you mean a computer nerd? A guy with no life? To quote you: That guy was a myth.”

  “I liked him,” Chelsea muttered.

  “Sorry. Didn’t hear you.”

  “I liked that guy,” she said through her teeth. “He had an honesty about him that was admirable. He was—”

  Chelsea broke off because a woman entered the diner. She was in her late thirties and had once been pretty, but now she looked tired and anxious. She was wearing jeans and a shirt, both of which looked as though they’d been washed too many times. Her eyes searched the diner.

  In the booth behind them, the man got up and went to her.

  “Give me your phone,” Eli said.

  “I need it to—” Chelsea began, but at his look, she handed it to him and he began punching numbers into it. “What are you doing?”

  “Watch them and listen,” he replied and kept punching. “And remember to never carry an open bag.”

  They were too far away to hear what was being said, but the woman seemed to be upset about something. The man slipped his arm around her shoulders in a comforting way and she leaned her head against him.

  “Whoever he is, she trusts him,” Chelsea whispered. He was in his forties, maybe older, and the clothes he had on were cheap: a nearly worn-out cotton shirt, the cuffs frayed. His trousers were old and the belt’s edges were nearly raw.

  At first glance he looked like he was one step below the poverty line, but Chelsea noticed some other things. “His nails were done professionally.”

  Eli didn’t look up from the phone. “How can you tell?”

  She put her hand next to his. Eli’s nails were chipped and stained from garden work and last night’s camping, while Chelsea’s were a perfect oval, the cuticles evenly pushed back.

  “Good observation,” he said, then stood up. He started toward the door but when he got near the couple, he tripped and almost fell on the woman. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his hand on her forearm as though to steady himself.

  Only Chelsea saw him drop her cell phone into the woman’s open-topped handbag.

  Eli went back to the seat across from Chelsea, took his phone out of his pocket, and began more tapping.

  “So help me, if you don’t tell me what you’re doing, I’m going to start screaming.”

  “I’m being the nerd you think I used to be. I may look different, but it’s still me inside. There. Done.” He moved to the bench beside her and held his phone up between them.

  They heard a woman’s voice through the phone: “It’s been a long time.”

  “Too long,” said the man. “How is Abby? She must be what now? Thirteen?”

  “Fifteen,” the woman answered.

  Chelsea pulled back to look at Eli. “You set up the phones to eavesdrop?”

  “I did. Learned how from some spies.”

  “Interesting coworkers you have,” Chelsea muttered, then leaned her head close to his.

  “How is Paula?” the woman asked so softly she could hardly be heard.

  There was a pause, then the man’s voice sounded near to tears. “Bad. She is . . . It’s not long now.”

  “Orin, I’m so sorry. This is hard on you, I know.”

  There were some sniffs as though the man was trying not to cry. “When we met she was so very pretty. To me she’ll always be that girl I knew in high school. But now she’s—”

  “You don’t have to say it.”

  “But I need to,” he said. “She’s dying and it won’t be long until the end. Grace, you’re one of the few people who haven’t deserted us. Your cards and emails have been a treasure to both of us.”

  “I’m glad I can help in some way,” Grace said. “I feel responsible for so much of it.”

  “It’s not your fault!” Orin said. “What Gil did to all of us wasn’t your responsibility. You’ve suffered as much as Paula and I have. I’m just glad your daughter isn’t ill like my dear wife is. The bills, the debt . . .” He started crying again.

  “I’m so, so sorry,” Grace said. “If I could help in some way, I would.”

  “The money from the sale of the house?”

  “I gave you that,” she said, her voice alarmed.

  “Yes, yes, of course you did,” Orin said. “I’m sorry. I spend my life with bedpans and IV tubes. It’s hard for me to remember things. Yesterday . . . Oh, never mind. Tell me something happy about your life.”

  “I don’t know what to say. Abby has grown into a very pretty young woman. She’s rather shy, but one of the football players has taken a liking to her and he invited her to the prom. Next Saturday we’re going to buy her a dress.”

  “How wonderful,” Orin said, but there was a bit of an edge to his voice. “How different our lives are. Yesterday four big men came to repossess the mechanical bed Paula lies in. I can make it go up in the back so she can see out the window. It’s one of the last pleasures she’ll ever have. Oh, Grace! I was begging them to give me another week. Just one more week with the bed and I swore I could somehow raise the three hundred dollars they wanted. Paula was there in the room and she heard me pleading. She was so humiliated that there were tears running down her cheeks. She only weighs eighty-four pounds now, and to see those tears broke my heart. She—” He began to sob loudly.

  “I’m so very sorry,” Grace said.

  “I know you are.” His voice grew angry. “But sometimes, I remember what Gil did to Paula, me, and to you and sweet little Abby, and I want to . . . I want to . . .”

  “I know,” Grace said. “I do too, but he’s gone now.”

  “Yes, he is. Did you ever find any of the money he took?”

  “Not a penny of it. Orin, please. You know I sold everything and I shared it all with you. The house, the cars, the mountain cabin. And I signed the stores over to you.”

  “I know,” he said. “It’s my fault that I couldn’t keep them running. But Gil had taken even the deposits on the orders. No one would send me furniture I couldn’t pay for, so I had to give the deposits back to the customers from my own pocket. I owned three stores but I ended up massively in debt. Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Grace said, her voice tired. “And that’s why I gave you what I made from the sale of the house.”

  “Yes, of course you did.”

  “Orin, I need to get home. You said you had something you had to ask me.”

  “I just wondered if you’d ever found the papers from the last sale.”

  “No, I haven’t. Everything is stored away and I work long hours. Besides, those things are hard for me to look at. I . . .” She trailed off.

  “Gracie, I apologize. The papers were just an excuse to see you again. You and Abby are like
family to Paula and me. I wish we’d been blessed with children. How wonderful it would be to think of buying a dress for a dance instead of facing creditors. Maybe after Paula is . . . is gone I can get a full-time job and help your little family some. Maybe I can give you—”

  There was some noise of papers and keys as Grace rummaged in her bag. “Here!” she said. “That’s the three hundred I was going to use to buy Abby a new dress. Take it and pay some on Paula’s bed.”

  “I shouldn’t, but since it isn’t for me, I accept. Thank you, Grace, thank you very much. You don’t know what this means to Paula and me. Three hundred dollars is like a million to us. And I promise that after she . . . she leaves this earth, I’ll pay you back.”

  “Sure, of course,” Grace said. “I have to go. Good luck to you both.”

  In the next second the woman was hurrying out of the diner.

  “My phone!” Chelsea said.

  “I’ll get it.” Eli got up and left behind the woman. Minutes later, he returned, put Chelsea’s phone on the table, and sat down by her. In front of them were empty plates. While they’d been listening, their sandwiches had been delivered and they’d eaten them. Eli wondered if Chelsea noticed that she’d eaten the one with a lot of high-calorie mayonnaise on it.

  “She was sitting in her car crying,” Eli said—and Chelsea saw the blaze in his eyes. She well remembered that when they were children, Eli’s father had constantly hit his mother up for money. The man didn’t need the money, but it made him feel powerful to take it.

  “He went to the restroom,” Chelsea said, “so you can talk.”

  “I tapped on her car window and told her I thought I’d accidently dropped my phone in her bag. She gave it to me.” Eli was looking at his hands, which were clasped on the table, his eyes downcast, a muscle in his jaw working.