by Emily James
Claire’s arms loosened. And then she threw herself at me, hugging me so tight I could barely breath. Her tears soaked through my pajama top, leaving a wet patch.
For much too long I just stood there. It must have been like hugging a post. But she’d caught me off guard. I wasn’t used to being dive-bomb hugged.
I eased my arms around her and patted her back. Maybe Claire was my friend after all. If she wasn’t, she at least trusted me enough to show her soft underbelly. For a woman who was basically an armadillo, that was saying something. “I can go with you and sit in the waiting room if you want. No one has to know. Not even Dan.”
This time, I felt entirely comfortable about leaving Dan out of the loop. As close as he and Claire were, and as much as he was the best friend I had, some things a person was still entitled to keep private. The need for counseling was one of them. Claire shouldn’t have to tell anyone unless she chose to.
She nodded against my shoulder, then pulled away. She wiped under her eyes, even though she wasn’t wearing any mascara to smear.
I pointed to the vacuum cord that I’d pulled out of the wall. “Do you want help cleaning?”
Claire shook her head. “One of us should get some sleep.”
I wasn’t likely to get much sleep now, but I appreciated the sentiment. I turned to go.
“Wait,” Claire said. “Did you hang the car keys back up? If I stay here and clean, I’ll keep you awake. My gym’s open 24 hours. I might as well go there instead of vacuuming anymore. Nothing was coming up into the cylinder anyway.”
Not surprising. If Claire vacuumed this stretch of carpet much more, there wouldn’t be anything left of it. She’d probably vacuumed away half the fibers since Donald Wells’ death.
I gave her what I hoped was a comforting smile. “They’re still in my purse. I’ll grab them for you.”
Claire was particular about making sure everything in her house had a place and stayed there. Both of our purses hung right next to the door, on the same rack as the coats. Claire had once told me that was the best place to keep a purse because you were less likely to forget it and it was easy to grab in case of a fire. I’d lived in a food truck long enough before moving into her house that I hadn’t even thought about needing to grab anything in a fire. I honestly didn’t have anything worth saving in a fire.
I pulled my purse off the hook and fished around inside. The keys evaded me. Probably because of all the paper stuffed inside. Where had I gotten all this paper?
I scooped out a hand full. They were the bits and pieces that Rebecca Wells hadn’t cared enough about to reclaim when they fell out of her purse. I’d forgotten all about them. It was past time to throw them out.
I collected the rest from my purse and found Claire’s car keys at the very bottom, tangled up in the final receipt. I tugged them both out. The slip of paper had a name, phone number, and address on it. Rebecca Wells might actually miss this one once she went looking for it.
A sigh forced its way out. As much as I had other things I’d prefer to be doing right now—like sleeping—I should probably check the other pieces of paper in case they also had something written on them. When I made my next cupcake delivery to Elijah, I could leave them there for her to reclaim.
I smoothed the piece with the writing out on the counter. My hand froze. I knew that address. My friend Eve used to work at an insurance company located there. It was a street full of professional offices. Insurance, real estate…and lawyers.
Maybe the hot air balloon operator had been telling the truth all along.
15
Andy Frank had claimed he’d asked Donald Wells to meet him at the hot air balloon festival because Andy saw Rebecca coming out of a lawyer’s office. If Andy had been telling the truth about why he wanted to meet, it was highly unlikely he killed Donald.
Even though Donald hadn’t believed Andy prior to climbing into the balloon with him, Andy’s reason for meeting would be genuine. He hadn’t lured Donald up there on false grounds intending to kill him.
“Did you find them?” Claire called from the living room.
I shoved the other papers back into my purse and tucked the one with the information into the pocket of my pajama pants. Claire was ready to get help. She didn’t need something like this throwing her back into the investigation.
I wasn’t even sure I should still be involved. But it wasn’t like whoever sent the note didn’t already know where I lived. They knew, and they knew Janie was here at least some of the time. The faster we figured out who killed Donald Wells, the faster Janie would be safe.
I put the car keys back in their regular spot. “They’re on the hook. I’m headed to bed.”
Claire made an affirmative noise. When I climbed the stairs and closed my own bedroom door, she was already up the stairs and back in her bedroom, probably changing into her workout clothes.
Before I did anything else, or told anyone else, I needed to confirm that the person Rebecca had written down was actually a lawyer. The address only proved where they were located. She might very well have written down the name and address of an insurance salesman or a chiropractor.
I turned the light off in my room and waited. Ten minutes later, Claire left her room.
I took out my phone and put the name into the search bar along with the word Lakeshore.
Kirkland Attorney at Law popped up as the first result. I clicked on the link.
The website looked professionally designed. Whoever put it together had spent the money and time to make sure it was mobile friendly.
I navigated to the Services page. Wills, trusts, powers of attorney, estates, real estate law, family law, and litigation.
Andy Frank probably had seen Rebecca coming out of Kirkland law office, but that didn’t mean she’d been there for the reason he assumed.
Rebecca wouldn’t have been going to a lawyer to file for divorce. She would have lost pretty much everything thanks to the prenuptial agreement she signed.
But maybe she’d been concerned enough about whoever she thought was following her to seek legal counsel. She might have been looking to file a harassment suit or something.
Rebecca had seemed pretty upset about the people who’d been bothering her prior to Donald’s death. She also didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would quietly endure that kind of treatment. Not if how she’d been acting since Donald’s death was any indication.
The problem with my theory was she hadn’t told Donald what she was doing, and she’d lied to the police.
I put my phone face down and laid back on my pillow. At this rate, Claire had a better chance of a full night’s sleep than I did. There were too many questions rumbling around in my brain, and I couldn’t do anything to follow up on them in the middle of the night.
I punched my pillow to fluff it up and turned over.
I could understand why Rebecca might have lied to the police, even after Donald’s death. Whatever Donald had been up to, she didn’t want the police to find out. If she admitted to going to the lawyer to deal with a quasi-stalker, she’d have had to give them the person’s name. Then it wouldn’t have been long before the police would have known everything. Donald’s clandestine activities must have benefitted her somehow.
That explained why she’d gone to a lawyer instead of the police if someone was harassing her. She’d hoped the lawyer could handle it quietly.
But why lie to Donald about it? Had she been afraid he’d stop, and she’d lose the benefit of whatever he was into?
I flopped back to my other side, feeling a bit like a beached fish, floundering around.
Maybe I was making an assumption. Andy Frank assumed Donald didn’t know Rebecca visited a lawyer. Andy assumed that because he thought Rebecca was trying to blindside Donald with a divorce.
Rebecca very well might have told Donald about her visit to the lawyer. Andy wouldn’t have known that. And Donald either might have chosen not to tell him or he might have fallen out of the ho
t air balloon before he could.
All my theories hinged on why Rebecca went to the lawyer. If I could confirm it was about someone who was harassing her, then it would mean whatever Donald Wells had been involved in might very well have gotten him killed.
When I woke up a few hours later, my eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. Claire must have come home sometime in the night without me hearing her because soft snores emanated from her room.
I’d never expected I’d be someone who could sleep that soundly. Not when Jarrod was still walking free in the world. Apparently, my middle of the night musings had exhausted my brain more than I’d realized.
I checked my cell phone. Eight-thirty in the morning. The lawyer’s office might be open.
A text had also come in from Elijah. It’d probably been what woke me up.
Could you decorate a set of cupcakes with a tiny stethoscope, a band-aid, and pills that look like antibiotics?
A second text had come in a minute later.
We’ll provide extra compensation of course. I’ll call you later with the date and number we’d need.
I didn’t do a lot of fancy decoration work anymore, but I used to enjoy it back when I’d been practicing because I thought I’d be going to culinary school. Polishing up my skills could only help out our business in the future.
Before I headed downstairs, I texted him back that I’d be happy to create what he was looking for.
I tiptoed down the stairs and out into the backyard. The air smelled like rain and the lavender Claire had in a pot next to the door.
I dialed the number.
“Kirkland Law Office,” a bright female voice said. “How may I help you?”
“I just had some questions about your services. I read over everything on your website, but I didn’t see if you ever did any harassment suits.”
“Harassment is a criminal charge, so it’s outside of our scope of practice. The most we can do is things like landlord-tenant and small claims court. You’d need a criminal attorney for that. I’d be happy to give you the name and number for a few that we’ve referred clients to in the past.”
Thankfully, I didn’t need that kind of service. That’d be quite the change in circumstance if I ended up charged with harassment. “I meant if I was being harassed and wanted to bring a suit against someone else.”
“Oh, no.” Her voice sounded genuinely regretful. “If you’re being harassed, you’d need to go to the police, and they’ll investigate it like any other crime.”
So Rebecca hadn’t gone to the lawyer for an official harassment suit. But possibly only because the lawyer couldn’t do harassment suits? Obviously she wasn’t going to take it to the police if she didn’t want the police to know about it.
The non-criminal equivalent would be the restraining order she’d threatened me with. “What about restraining orders?
“We get requests sometimes, but you don’t need a lawyer for those. At least not at the start. You might want a lawyer if the person you’re filing against requests a hearing once he or she has been served. At the start, though, you just need to go to a courthouse and file.” She lowered her voice. “Might as well save a little money.”
If I’d actually been calling out of need, I would have appreciated her kindness. Her boss probably wouldn’t like her telling potential clients that they didn’t need his services.
“Sweetie, if you’re in trouble, go right away. Don’t assume you’re making too much out of nothing, okay? As women, we’re taught not to cause trouble or rock the boat, but sometimes the boat needs rocking. Especially if there’s someone in it who should be tossed overboard.”
My throat clogged. It was the kind of caring advice I could have used all those years that I talked myself into and then out of leaving Jarrod.
I’d been so isolated when I met him, and then he’d cut off my contact with the few friends I still had. I hadn’t had anyone to give me that kind of nudge when the time came. I certainly wouldn’t have been brave enough to call a lawyer. Jarrod checked all our phone records and grilled me about any number he didn’t recognize. Once he’d actually called and screamed at a wrong number, threatening him with an arrest if he ever tried to contact me again.
“Thank you,” I said. The word squeaked out in a voice so tiny it could have belonged to a child.
“My pleasure, sweetie. You call back if you end up needing someone to stand beside you in court. I’ll make sure Kirkland takes your case for half his normal fee. A wife’s prerogative, you know.”
I could practically see her wink at me. That also explained why she felt so free to say the things she said. If I ever needed a lawyer for something non-criminal, she’d made sure I’d hire them. Assuming I could afford them even at a discount.
We disconnected the call.
Based on what Andy Frank had said, Rebecca had gone to a lawyer for some reason. Whether it was this lawyer or another one didn’t really matter. The most likely reason for visiting a lawyer seemed to be that she’d wanted to find a way to deal with the person or people who’d been hassling her.
Rebecca didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would want to file for a restraining order herself. She wouldn’t have cared about saving the money. At the time, she’d had plenty of Donald’s money to spend, and she probably would have wanted to simply hire a lawyer to take care of it for her.
If the situation had gotten bad enough that she’d taken that step, then it also seemed likely this might have had something to do with Donald’s death. Especially since she still wasn’t willing to take the money in exchange for an interview even now that she didn’t have Donald’s wealth to live off of. That suggested that what he’d been doing was bad enough she didn’t want to be connected to the scandal.
I needed to find out what was so condemning that Rebecca would keep it to herself even after Donald had gone to his grave.
In the bathroom, she’d mentioned that the Michigan Daily had offered her a significant sum of money if she would do an interview with them. Whatever reporter had contacted her clearly knew something the police didn’t. Sometimes a reporter could give more focus to a story than a detective could to any single case. They could also pay sources and convince seedier people to talk to them.
And they wouldn’t go to the police with what they knew. They wanted to be the one to break the story. They wouldn’t risk a police gag order.
They also wouldn’t tell me just because I asked. A reporter didn’t uncover a story like this had the potential to be by being naïve or stupid. I’d have to convince them that I wasn’t looking for information—I already had it.
I did a quick internet search and dialed the number that came up for the Michigan Daily. It was an area code I didn’t recognize, so their office was probably located in one of the bigger cities, maybe even Detroit. The newspaper unfortunately hadn’t listed numbers for individual reporters. If it had, I might have been able to compare the names with the types of stories they normally wrote and make a reasonable guess for the one most likely to be involved with a story about Donald Wells.
An automated system answered the call, directing me to dial the extension of the party I was trying to reach or hit 9 to speak to the front desk. I hit 9.
“Michigan Daily,” a woman’s voice said. “How may I direct your call?”
I propped myself up against my pillows. “Who would I speak to about a tip for a story?”
“You mean a story idea that you want to write or you have information about an event that you think is newsworthy?”
The woman sounded bored, as if even a confession that I was a serial killer looking to do an exclusive with them wouldn’t have merited her interest.
“Information about an event,” I said.
“One moment please.”
Before I could stop her and ask her who she was connecting me to, soft music filled my ear. At least I could be sure she’d placed me on hold rather than hanging up on me.
“Jackson Hogle.” The
man’s voice was so loud and sudden that I almost dropped my phone.
He chose not to include a title of course. All I could do was stick to my plan and hope he knew enough about what was happening at the newspaper to know the name of the right reporter. The story couldn’t be a complete secret. Someone had approved a large sum offer for Rebecca.
“I’m trying to reach the reporter who is writing a story on Donald Wells.” I tried to keep my speech pattern slow and formal, mimicking Elijah’s way of speaking as closely as I could. If anyone at the newspaper had spoken to a family member, sounding like them might be enough to take down their guard. My imitation wasn’t perfect, but hopefully it was enough. “I have information he wants.”
“Okay,” Hogle said, “tell me what it is, and I’ll pass it along to her. If she thinks it’s going to be useful, she’ll get back to you.”
Shoot. Bad assumption. Hogle now knew that I’d never spoken to the reporter writing the story. I should have chosen a gender neutral, but that would have required a really awkward sentence construction. He’d have caught on through that too.
Either way, I couldn’t let him put me off. I could still handle this. “Mmm, I don’t think so. I was told there would be compensation for what I know.”
I sounded close enough to a combination of Elijah and Rebecca that if anyone had spoken to someone in the family I should bear a passing resemblance.
“Look lady, for all I know, you’re from another paper fishing around for information. Or you’re someone trying to stop this story, and as soon as you find out what reporter we have assigned to it, she or he”—he emphasized the pronouns as if to let me know that he might have been testing me earlier—“might disappear. You want to talk to anyone here, you can leave a name and number. We’ll make sure you are who you say you are, and then we’ll get back to you.”
If I’d been one of his reporters, I would have been grateful for his protection. But really. Did I sound like I was a part of some gang or crime syndicate?
Then again, who knew. Donald Wells had been killed for some reason, after all. Maybe he was secretly a crime lord.