by Karr, Kim
She’s not here, but her suitcases are right next to the door.
What the hell is she up to?
Pacing, I circle the table. Walk the hallway. Move about the small space like a caged tiger. Maybe the kitten really is a lion after all.
Fuck me!
Keys rattle from the behind the door and I wipe my palms on my pants.
Charlotte unlocks the door and steps inside, dressed in jeans and a tank top, with her hair pulled back.
I’m at the sink and don’t move. I don’t want to get too close. I wait for her to close the door and then menacingly say, “Charlotte, you’re home.”
She screams when she sees me. “Jasper, what are you doing here?”
I don’t apologize for scaring her. Instead, I just stare at her for a beat with narrowed eyes and then point to the suitcases. “The super let me in. Going somewhere?”
To say she isn’t flustered would be a lie. “I . . . I think it’s best if I leave town.”
To say I’m not pissed as fuck would be an understatement. “What? You got what you came here for and now it’s time to leave? What about all your righteous bullshit about setting the record straight? Proving your father’s innocence? Was that just the hook you used to lure me in?”
She drops her keys to the ground and her entire body begins to tremble. “What are you talking about?”
I take a step closer. Suddenly the space that seems so small feels like the great divide. “You and Tory Worth,” I spit out.
Her knees seem to buckle and she reaches for the counter. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, Jasper, but your tone is scaring me.”
I grab her upper arms. “Alex’s investigator uncovered a photo of Tory at your aunt’s bed-and-breakfast.”
She freezes, and her eyes are doe-like wide innocence. “If she was there, she never told me who she was. I haven’t talked to Tory Worth in twenty years.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me!” I yell.
“I’m not. I swear, Jasper. I have no idea what she even looks like.”
I shake her. “Don’t lie, Charlotte.”
“I’m not,” she cries, staring into my eyes.
This time I allow my gaze to meet hers and as I look into her pale blue eyes, I know she’s not lying. She’s telling me the truth. She never could lie to me without shifting her eyes or looking away. Now, my knees buckle beneath me and I stumble to the couch to sit down. What the fuck is going on? If the photo is real, why would Tory go see Charlotte and not tell her who she is?
Tears stream down Charlotte’s face as she sits on the couch beside me. “Jasper, I’m leaving because I just thought it would be best for you if I wasn’t around while you are trying to clear your name. Everyone in this town already hates me, and I can’t stand for them to transfer those feelings and hate you too.”
Feeling my stomach twist yet again, I just stare at her. That hole inside me miraculously shrank over the days since she entered my life, but now it feels bigger than ever.
Somehow she refrains from blasting me for my behavior. “You don’t look good. Let me get you a glass of water.”
I can barely even nod. The storm in my chest is raging and there’s no respite anywhere. Yet, despite how I feel, I watch her. Watch the way she moves. The way she reaches for the cup. The crash of the glass against the stainless-steel sink snaps me out of my daze and I rush toward her. Blood oozes from a cut on the tip of her finger. “Let me get you a Band-Aid.”
“I’m fine.”
Ignoring her, I hurry into the bathroom and find one in the medicine cabinet. When I come back out, blood is streaming down her hand. “Give it to me.”
She does.
Gently I clean it and then wrap it. When I’m done, I ask, “Where did you go just now?”
Her face is pale, the life in it gone. Even so, she looks at me. “Next door to get my paycheck. I need the money to buy a bus ticket.”
“Don’t go.” The words slip from my mouth. “I need you. You make everything wrong inside me right. I don’t give a shit what the press says or what anyone believes. What I care about is you and me. JJ and Charlie.”
Tears stream down her face and she’s shaking her head no. “I can’t do that to you. I saw what being the black sheep did to my father. I couldn’t bear if something like that happened to you.”
I put my hand on her heart. “I’m stronger than him, Charlotte. And I have you to help me be strong if I feel weak. Don’t you see?”
“See what?”
“That you’re not the needy one, I am.”
She puts her hands on my face and gives a little laugh. “That couldn’t be farther from the truth.”
“Then stay with me—prove me wrong.”
Her head tilts to the side in contemplation. “Jasper,” she breathes.
I’m close to convincing her. “Besides, you have to stay, if not because Will is expecting you to start work on Monday, then because I had that piece-of-shit car of yours towed to my mother’s and I told her I’d be there tomorrow to work on it. And I’m not going alone.”
That smile that lights me up from the inside is on her face. “Okay, I’ll stay, but only because you begged.”
“I didn’t beg.”
She raises a brow.
“Okay, maybe I begged just a little,” I admit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
DID SOMEONE SAY PIZZA?
Charlotte
THE COFFEE TABLE is pushed to the side. The credenza and TV too. A dozen or so white pieces of paper scattered on the ground separate Jasper and myself—sex, lies, deceit, and murder written on each one.
After two hours of the two of us writing down everything we knew or could think of surrounding the events of the past week, and at times confessing to each other and sharing things for the first time, we’re now trying to figure out how the pieces fit together.
The room is hot; there is no breeze coming in the window this Saturday afternoon. I’m standing near the wall in a tank top and panties. Jasper is sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch in his black boxer briefs.
As homage to Eve, I raise my eyes to the heavens, letting her know that his type of preferred underwear has been discovered. Because beneath it all she didn’t deserve to die.
The word sabotage is written on the first piece of paper taped to the wall. It’s the only item in that row. Sabotage is a deliberate action aimed at weakening something through obstruction, disruption, subversion, or destruction. It seems to be the basis for everything. The problem is why?
In the next row we’ve started the timeline. The first square is Jasper’s accident from three years ago, and the word delay appears in the space below it.
Moving to the right, we have Eve’s murder. Beneath it the word delay appears again, but this time we’ve included a square with the word motive. In pyramid fashion, in the row beneath the word motive is a piece of paper that states sex, and below that square is another with Cole’s name on it. Jasper flipped a little when I told him about the email that I had deleted from Cole’s account because of the picture, and then deduced the moment I did it that the photo would still be in Eve’s Sent box. The problem with naming Cole as the murderer is that we can’t link the abandoned plant site to him in any way, and trying to link Jasper’s accident from three years ago to Cole makes absolutely no sense.
Going back up to the second row and moving to the right is my apartment break-in. The words key and motive appear, followed by a question mark, in the row below. Jasper deduced that my keys could have been copied while at the valet the night of Eve’s murder, which again would rule out Cole, because what in the world would he want from my apartment that he couldn’t have just asked me for?
“Hang on,” Jasper says just as I’m taping the next piece of paper to the wall.
I look down at the square he’s pointing to with the words Photo of Eve tied up written on it.
“Put that one under Eve’s murder.”
�
�As a motive?” I ask.
Jasper ponders this for a moment. “Yeah, for now.”
Once I finish securing that square, I add a few more to their proper positions and move on to the Tory pile of papers on the floor, which leads to adding intent, Uncle Tom, Mom, and again, motive.
Crawling out of my own brain while I do this to keep from going insane, I secure the Uncle Tom square under her name, where another giant question mark appears.
“Why would Tory want an abandoned piece of land that could be nothing but useless to her?” Jasper asks.
Scowling at her name, I look at the jumble of facts and theories we have left on the floor and think this is absolutely hopeless.
“Charlotte,” Jasper says softly with concern in his voice.
My eyes meet his. “I’m okay,” I tell him, and shrug my feelings off before redirecting my attention to the wall. Straightening my spine, I point to the square I just posted. “The same holds true of Uncle Tom, for that matter.”
“Just add the next one,” Jasper says.
With tape, I secure the square Paying off the taxes to try to resume ownership beneath Uncle Tom’s name and add a big, fat question mark beside it. My hand shakes as I hold the remaining square. When I look at it, I find myself bubbling up with anger. Crinkling up the piece of paper where Mom is written, I throw it across the room. “This is useless. We’re not detectives. There was a reason I didn’t go into investigative journalism and this is it. We’re never going to be able to figure this out.”
“Hey.” He curls his finger, motioning me to come to him.
Slowly, I walk toward him and when I reach him, I bump his bent knees with mine. He takes my hands in his and looks up at me. “I know this is hard for you, but you have to stay strong. Whoever or whatever is behind this will be found out. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Do you really think so?”
He sways our hands back and forth. “I have to, because I know I didn’t kill Eve and right now things don’t look good for me. So believing whatever the reason was for her murder will come out is the only way I can get through this.”
My jaw clenches when I think about him having to prove his innocence.
Jasper drops one of my hands and points to our pyramid. “There is a real possibility we’re reaching here thinking anything at all is connected, because more than likely it isn’t. However, the one single truth that can’t be disputed is that someone killed Eve and buried her body at the site, and that someone wasn’t me.”
I give him a nod, wishing I had something profound to say. “Maybe we’ve done enough detective work for now.”
With a nod, he stands. “I think so too.”
I started to clean up.
“I’m starving,” he tells me flopping down and stretching out on his side on my small sofa with his feet hanging off. “What do you say we head out to get some food?”
A look at the clock on the stove tells me it’s almost three, and suddenly I feel very hungry too. I set everything down next to him. “How about a frozen pizza instead?”
An arm hooks my waist and draws me down. “You still like frozen pizza?”
I twist to look at him. “Ummm . . . Yes. I do believe it’s the fifth food group.”
In a fit of much needed laughter, his hard body presses close to mine. “A woman after my own heart.”
Silence falls between us as our eyes lock. Sex, lies, deceit, and murder might be all around us, but when he looks at me the way he does now, it all falls away. All that’s left in this room is him. The way he smells of sex and a hint of my lavender body wash. The way the slight rise and fall of his chest against my back alerts me to just how close we are. The way he knows just what to say to me at just the right time.
And to think I almost threw it all away. If he hadn’t come back this morning I’d be on a bus right now and not sitting next to him. Jasper wanting me to stay in Detroit, wanting me by his side, turns me into that kind of schoolgirl I never was. Giddy, bubbly, and happy. Still, I have to wonder if anything as good as this can last. Vacillating between the dream world I wish we lived in and the real one, I can only hope the answer is that it can.
Popping up, I turn to face him, to say something that might make sense out of everything, but the burn in his stare momentarily stuns me, and the words are lost to the moment.
His gaze slides achingly slow down my body, from head to toe, and I feel it as if it were his hands touching me.
Ripples of desire move through me, shooting tingles between my legs. “I should put the pizza in the oven.”
Taking hold of my wrist, he yanks me back down. “I have a better idea.”
My body is a little achy from all the sex we’ve been having, but I don’t care—I want more. More. More. More. “I bet you do.”
His sly grin is almost too much. “What do you say you pack a bag, grab that pizza, and we go to my place?”
I blink in surprise; because that was not what I expected him to say after the way his eyes had just devoured me. “What about the press camped outside your building?”
“We can park in the garage and go up through the tunnel. The reporters won’t even know I’m back.”
I look at the pyramid of reality on my wall and think a little time away and a change of pace wouldn’t be so bad. “Good idea. Give me a few minutes to take a shower.”
His grin is even more wicked than that of just a few moments ago. “What do you say we do our part and conserve water?”
Feeling that look from the top of my head to the tip of my toes, all I can think is that I’m not really that sore after all.
Ninety minutes later we’re in his spacious loft and I’m sliding the frozen pizza into his oven. It looks brand new, with walls that gleam and sparkle. “It looks like you’ve hardly used your oven,” I say over my shoulder as I close the door.
Jasper is opening a bottle of red wine. “It’s had a few frozen pizzas tossed in it, but that’s about it. I go to Will’s when I want a home-cooked meal.”
“So you don’t cook?” I ask, rummaging through a cupboard in search of his plates.
The cork pops from the bottle. “Nope. No one ever taught me.”
I turn with a cute glass plate in my hand. “I love to cook, but I had to teach myself. When my aunt cooked, everything had at least one stick of butter or was flooded in oil, because that was the way my uncle liked it. The greasier the better, he used to say. And she kept it up for the inn as well. It was either learn to cook healthy on my own or die of a heart attack at a young age. I decided on the former.”
Jasper grabs two wineglasses and pours us each a glass. “After my father died, my mother stopped cooking. We lived on cereal, canned soup, sandwiches, and Swanson’s frozen dinners. My mother said it was all she could afford, but I think it was more that she missed my father raving about what a good cook she was. I was always fussy and complaining.”
This confession about his past takes me by surprise. “All kids are picky, Jasper.”
He shrugs. “It wouldn’t have killed me to eat the meat in her spaghetti sauce, though, and maybe even tell her it tasted good.”
I stop before I pull open the bag of carrots I’d brought over and walk toward him. Lifting on my toes, I softly kiss his lips. “No, it wouldn’t have, but when we’re kids we’re not programmed to think that way.”
He shakes it off and hands me a glass of wine.
I look at the glass. It’s the same pattern as the dishes I found. Clear, with a slight silver ring around the edge. Barely noticeable but adding a hint of sparkle nonetheless. Hidden beauty. Looking back at the plate and then at the glass again, I know I’ve seen it before. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve drooled over this pattern. Uncertain if I should change the topic, the melancholy look on his face tells me I should try to lighten the mood. So I raise my glass. “Do you shop at Crate & Barrel?”
He blushes. Actually blushes.
So adorable.
I look around and notic
e things I hadn’t before. Notice a lot. All from Crate & Barrel. “You do.”
Sipping from his wine, he speaks over the rim. “Drew’s mom works there. She helped me out.”
Walking back to where I’d been, I scoop the hummus I brought into a cereal bowl and toss the carrot sticks onto the cute plate. “I call that store the holy land.”
Striding toward me, he dips a carrot in the hummus and crunches on it. “I’ll take you sometime. You can help me finish outfitting my kitchen.”
“I’d love that,” I tell him, already taking inventory of what he might need.
That smile sparkles and gleams just like the oven and he kisses my mouth. He tastes like the garlic and onion in the hummus and I want to lick every inch of his lips. “I’m going to change—I’ll be right back,” he says.
“I’ll be here, slaving over the hot stove, waiting for the timer to go off.”
With a cute shake of his head, he starts for his bedroom, turns back, kisses me one more time, and then disappears down the hallway.
I watch that stride. The way his laces hit the wooden floor. The way he disappears, and I feel a little lonely with him out of the room. I walk over to the picture of Jasper and his father. When I pick it up, I remember the very first time I saw Jasper’s go-cart.
Mr. Storm and one of his friends are unloading a small car from the back of his truck.
“Wow, what’s that?” I ask through the fence.
“It’s my new go-cart.” Jasper comes running over to the fence and opens the part that is broken. “Come see it.”
I glance back at the house. My dad is at work and my mother and Mr. Worth are inside. Tory is playing on our swing set and I’m under strict orders to watch her, and that means not leaving the yard.
“Come on, Charlie,” Jasper says. “Really fast. She won’t know.”
I look around. “Okay.”
Mr. Storm puts his hand on Jasper’s mop of brown hair and squats down. “Hi, Charlotte, want to sit inside it?”
“Can I?”
“Of course you can.”
I look at Jasper. He nods. “Don’t be afraid. It’s fun.”