“I swear, it was better than the best pastry shops in Paris.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at that, but my dad had taken enough.
“So, what did you two do today?” My father’s fork and knife clinked against the plate as he crossed them. “Find anything interesting?”
I knew better than to talk about it, but Amos tripped right into the trap. “Well, we went by my place, picked up a few things, then we went to Honey B’s so your gumshoe daughter could look around.” His hand locked over a bracelet on his wrist, leather with a bead in the center. I racked my brain trying to remember if it was new.
“How’d you get in?” Dad asked with a crinkled brow.
Before Amos could say anymore, I said, “I went by the precinct. I ran into Ranger. He told me to say hi.”
Mom had been gathering dishes, but sank back into her chair. “Oh, how is he? It’s been, how long, oh I think at least ten years, wouldn’t you say, dear?”
My father’s face puckered into a sour expression. “Not long enough.”
It was more animosity that I expected. “What’s wrong? I thought you were friends.”
Dad picked up his glass and drained it. “Things change.”
“Oh, let it go. Everything has worked out fine.” Mom set her hand to his arm.
“What’s this then?” Amos asked, interest piqued. “Spoiled card game or something, Dad?”
Dad ignored the last bit. “Something like that.”
“He’s just mad Ranger told Lindy so many tales about his police work. He thinks it influenced her to—”
“Thinks?” Dad said. “I know it influenced her into this dangerous line of work. Every time her life is in danger, it’s Ranger’s fault for filling her head full of crazy ideas.”
I’d never heard my dad express worry about my job before. Of course, other than a few broken tail lights and scrapes here and there, it hadn’t been that dangerous until recent months.
“Well, in that case, Shane is probably to blame as well, dear.”
“Who’s Shane?” Amos asked, eager to keep up with the drama.
“Shane was at least willing to tell her the risks.”
“Shane is my uncle,” I said as my dad still raged on in the background.
“He’s a cop,” my mom amended.
“Furthermore, cops and prosecutors don’t always see eye to eye on the law.” My father kept talking even if none of us were totally listening.
“He’s a detective,” I corrected my mom.
“That’s true,” she agreed, “there is a difference.”
“That’s right,” Dad said, thinking she was talking to him. “There is a difference, a very strong line between right and wrong, and with cops it’s all gray.”
Mom had stopped listening and stared at the cake. “I should take a piece to the neighbor, Mr. Stone.”
“Is he a cop?” Amos asked.
“No, he’s a detective,” Dad said, assuming once more that people were still listening to his rant that never seemed to end.
“Wow, you know a lot of cops,” Amos said to me.
“I don’t know the neighbor,” I replied.
“Maybe you can take it, Lindy.” Mom sliced a piece onto a plate.
“I would,” Amos offered, “but I don’t really get along well with cops.”
“He’s not a cop,” she said.
“Yes,” Dad said from within his ranting monologue, “I know, Shane is a detective.”
“No, Mr. Stone,” she corrected.
“The neighbor? He’s not a cop,” Dad said as if she were crazy.
That started a new level of commotion and somewhere in the middle of it, my cell rang and I ducked out. It was none other than my uncle Shane, the detective.
“Hello.” I sank onto the wooden planks of the porch steps. The sun had long since set, but the afterglow barely backlit the hills.
“Hey, Slugger, I wanted to give you an update.”
I closed my eyes, willing him to say something positive, wishing he’d tell me it was time to come home. Amos could run. He could become someone new like he always had, and I could be back at Ryder’s side where I belonged. But long ago my grandma had burst my bubble when she told me wishes weren’t real, and I knew better.
“He’s trying. It was better today. His mom was with him all day. She said he was more coherent. The wound is healing, no sign of infection.”
“Is he talking at all about Eden’s Haven? Have they tested his memory?”
“No one is willing to take that chance yet. I’m not even allowed in to see him because—”
“Of me,” I finished. “You were a part of it, so he can’t see you either.”
“We’re trying to protect him, Lindy, that’s all.”
I let the silence settle in for a moment before I asked, “But he’s better, no big fits?”
“They might take off his restraints tomorrow. Start physical therapy if he’s willing.”
The thought of him tied to a hospital bed as if he were some sort of lunatic tore me up inside. I wanted to lace my fingers between his, share my strength just like we always had. I belonged there with him.
My final question was terrifying to ask, not because I was afraid of the answer, but because there was no good answer Uncle Shane could give.
“Has he asked about me?”
The sounds of the hospital caught the receiver, beeps and clicks, a muffled voice calling some sort of code. If he said yes, it meant he felt my absence, but couldn’t understand it. If he said no, then Ryder had forgotten me completely, and I’d been erased. Neither left me with very much to hang on to.
“Every time he wakes up, it’s the first thing he says. ‘Where’s Lindy?’” Uncle Shane’s sigh reverberated through the phone. “I’m not even sure he knows why he needs to know where you are, but he knows you’re important.”
We said our goodbyes. I rested my head against the porch railing. The sun was down, the day was over, but I was no closer to getting back to the man I loved—the man that might not even remember who I was.
Chapter 7
Nights were not my friend. Too many hours of staring at the ceiling focused on Ryder. I woke early again the next morning, dressed quickly, laced up my shoes and started for a walk. I’d gone about half a mile before I was willing to try jogging again. It was better than the day before. My leg dragged and caught, but I never fell. I managed ten steps before I weakened the first time, then fifteen, then twenty and near the end I had made it to one hundred jogging steps. My muscles were still sore from the day before, each movement felt like rusted iron creaking and groaning, but I was all about self-mastery, and I knew it would come back with enough work.
During my recovery portions where I allowed myself to walk, I called to the horses in the pastures, mooed to the cows, anything to keep my mind off where my life had ended up. My feet startled the birds still busy in the makeshift ponds. Ducks quacked and wings slapped the water as my messy gait approached like an ancient locomotive spitting parts by the wayside. Geese honked in warning. I have to admit I jogged a little faster as they glared at me. I knew from experience that, Canadian or not, they weren’t kind.
The egrets fascinated me. White and statuesque, brave until I was upon them, and even then they never seemed to flee, just vacated because I’d disturbed their peace. Elegance and strength, and most of all, silence. Not a single sound as they spread their massive wings and took flight without a thought, some with toad legs still dangling from their beaks.
I rounded the corner to home and slowed to nearly a crawl. My fingers dug in at my hip bones as if I could hold my frame together with just my grip. My breathing shook a bit, but I was alive, and the thought bolstered my determination. Stronger than the day before, it was the motto that I’d built my life on, the foundation from which I had risen more than once. I’d make it back to where I’d once been, but for now I was a warrior between fights.
“Early for a run, wouldn’t you say?”<
br />
The voice jolted me from my thoughts. He was tall, standing against the fence that neighbored my parents’, but stooped at the shoulders, possibly because of the cane in his hand. Gray hair barely stuck out from beneath his newsboy cap.
“It’s better now when it’s cold.” I elevated my voice so it carried to where he stood and watched me.
“Better never,” he said with a smile. “I would prefer a walk on the beach.”
“If only.” I tossed a quick wave his way before I darted up the path that ran out to my cottage. Feeling his eyes on me, I turned, but he was gone. Instead, I noted the mailbox marked with “Stone.” At least I had a face for the mysterious neighbor Mr. Stone, not a detective.
As usual, I clomped my feet on the porch before I opened the door, but it was pointless. Amos was still buried in the couch, blanket pulled high over his head. I grabbed my phone from the counter, moved to the bathroom and flipped on the light. My reflexes almost had PI Net open before I stopped myself, remembering the day before.
I couldn’t sign in with my own name, not without trouble. I was about to give up when my finger hit the ‘sign up’ button instead of ‘sign in.’ The chart with name, address, and phone number popped up and a wicked thought played in my mind. I could become someone else. Assume an alias and still be able to keep an eye on the world that had been an everyday habit for five years.
‘First name’ glowered at me, and without too much thought I typed “Katie.” In a strange way it made sense. She was everything I was not. Katie had her life together and had made all the right decisions. She was cheerful and friendly and people had always gravitated toward her. I, on the other hand, had never had that problem.
Under the slot for last name I wrote “Fullerson,” a bad combination of Katie’s two last names. I mean, after all, I didn’t want to steal her identity, just build an alias with a little back story. The address was easy enough, a series of numbers followed by a common road. I did use my own phone number, and my own licensing information, but no one memorizes any of that, and they wouldn’t be seen by anyone unless they hired me. I wasn’t looking for work, well, not any real work. I actually hadn’t admitted out loud what I needed PI Net for. This little shadow hiding in the darkness at the back of my mind, wondering if what I felt in my bones was true.
Sleuth 28.
Ryder.
I pushed it away because the thought was too dangerous. No, rationally I knew I wanted to hang on to the connection I’d enjoyed over the years. PI Net kept me feeling in control of my life. At least, that’s what I told myself.
My phone thumped lightly against the bed as I tossed it. The nozzle of the shower screeched as I twisted it, and water gushed from the plumbing in a gentle rain. My thoughts flooded with my back story, my what ifs, my if onlys.
Katie Fullerson was a PI, but she wasn’t ruthless like me. She was a voice for the little guy, the champion of the underdog. She took the cases no one was willing to take. Katie didn’t run from love, she embraced it. Katie would have given Ryder her number that first night she met him. She would have gone on that first date, she would have called, involved him, let him be a part of his life. By now they’d be together, she never would have taken the case with Eden’s Haven, or if she had, she would have gotten them out sooner than Lindy ever had.
The warm water trickled over my shoulder blades, and sweet soaps filled the air. I imagined Ryder, my boyfriend, my husband, my love, asleep in the next room because life had never been cruel to us. In the warmth of the shower, I felt nothing but that fantasy, that alternate reality I longed to claw my way into and never leave.
The handle creaked again as I turned off the water and pushed the door open. Cold air shocked my skin and prickled the nerves. The fantasy melted like water running down the shower tiles. He wasn’t here. I wasn’t Katie. I was Lindy and nothing had changed.
♦ ♦ ♦
“What do you mean, I’m not going?” Amos’ face twisted in frustration.
“I mean what I said; you stay here, get cleaned up and focus on remembering anything you can.” My keys jangled in my grip once more. “I’m going to deal with some personal matters.”
“What personal matters?”
“That’s why they call them personal, Amos. I don’t have to tell you.”
“It’s more important than getting me off a murder charge?”
I avoided his question because I needed him in the dark.
“I’ll be back later tonight, okay?” I gripped the cold knob in my hand but turned back to face him. “Stay here. In the cottage.”
His face skewed to the side. “Sure whatever. I have cable, I guess.”
“Catch up on your stories,” I teased.
He tossed a pillow at me, but the door was closed before it collided. When he’d called himself James, back when we’d dated, part of his cover was an unhealthy obsession with daytime soaps. I’d long since decided the trait actually belonged to Amos, but not without a healthy amount of shame attached.
I stopped by the house to check in with my mother, an attempt at fixing the walls that had cropped up between us, and let her know that Amos was on lockdown. I also snagged a piece of leftover cake in a plastic container as a cover for my plan. Within ten minutes I was on the road, headed for the city and, more importantly, headed for my dad’s office.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Is Richard Johnson available?”
The receptionist barely looked up at me. Miranda had run the desk since I could remember. Her hair had likely turned gray ten years ago, but since she’d dyed it blonde for ages, I’m sure no one called her on it.
“Who’s asking?”
“His daughter, Lindy.”
It brought her head up. The smile curved up at the corners of her mouth. “Go on back, honey, I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Cake in hand, I walked past the arch that divided the office from her station. Dad’s office was still at the back, but I made a careful note of Todd Donnelly’s office, the district attorney who was handling Honey B’s case. Three doors down from my father’s office, and I couldn’t help but notice how convenient the location appeared to be. I slowed my pace in order to let a blonde paralegal pass. My palm slipped over the knob of Donnelly’s door, not enough to grip it, just enough to press and twist. Locked. It was better news than I’d hoped. Locked meant he wasn’t in. Locked didn’t scare me off.
I made it to my father’s office, knocked twice and opened the door. His phone was to his ear, but his smile spread wide as he saw me, and even wider as he saw the cake.
“Hey, Ed, I’ll have to—” He was obviously trying to get off the phone, but whatever Ed had to say was more important. He caught my eye and mouthed the word, “Sorry.”
I waved him off because it didn’t matter. His work was important, and though this was the first time I was on the opposing side, I still understood that we were both looking for the truth. My father had always excelled at his job. As an ADA, or assistant district attorney, he’d been a part of many cases that had made great strides for upholding the law. His walls were a balance of awards, pictures with important figures from the community, and in his eyes, far more important, his girls—Mom, Eleanor and me. For a second I thought about telling him about Jackie, that I’d found her, but again, it was too soon.
“Ed, this is all great, but my daughter is here.” Dad chuckled twice. “Yes, she’s always number one.”
It took another minute or so, but the phone finally clicked into place and his leather high-backed office chair groaned as he stood to embrace me.
“You know, this office isn’t the same without you lurking around somewhere.” I soaked in the warmth of his arms around me. I wasn’t like other girls. I loved my mom, but my father had always been the one I turned to for comfort.
“You’re just happy I brought dessert.”
My dad pulled back and happily took the container from my hands. “Well, I’m not complaining, if that’s what you’re sa
ying.”
I sank into the plush leather chair kitty corner to his own. “I forgot a fork.”
His drawer slid open. I heard a metallic clink as he fished around to find the one in his drawer. I hadn’t forgotten it. I wanted to know if his emergency fork was still there.
“I come prepared.” He peeled back the plastic lid as if opening some great treasure. “How’s your case going, sweetheart?”
My body naturally slumped at the thought of the case. I twisted until my head rested at the back. I contorted my body enough to loop my knees over the low arm. My father rolled his eyes at the sight of me. Since my teenage years I’d sat in these chairs the exact same way. He called it my “rebellious slouch.”
“Amos is keeping things from me.” Prudence caught me before I said anything more. After all, he was my opposition. “But I know he didn’t kill the victim. He’s not capable of it, ya know?”
“People always surprise me with what they are capable of, especially in my line of work.” The end of his fork sunk deep into the chocolate layers, just to remain there. “About a month ago we put away this sweet old granny for poisoning her entire church congregation. You know why?” He paused to let me shake my head. “They insulted her organ playing skills. Apparently it was a bit of a trigger for her. Something about her mother slapping her knuckles with a ruler when she practiced as a child. Come the fall harvest party, she laced her apple pies with arsenic. I kid you not.”
“But that’s just it. Amos doesn’t have a trigger. He lets everything go. Even when he loses money, his family, there’s nothing. Nothing sticks to him because he doesn’t care about anything.”
“Everyone has a trigger, Lindy. Everyone.” He pulled his fork free, stabbed it in again. “How about that boy you were seeing, Ryder? How’s he doing?”
Triggers. I was Ryder’s trigger.
“He’s still in the hospital.” I hoped my voice wouldn’t betray what I was feeling.
“And the two of you? Where does that stand?”
The tone of his voice bothered me, tight and stern, as if he were scolding a child who’d stayed out too late, or forgotten her chores. As if his next words should be, “and that will never happen again, right?”
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