by D. L. Wood
“Heard your boss’s name, too.”
That got Holt’s attention. And Chloe’s.
“You heard them talking about Reese?” Holt pushed.
Pax nodded. “They were tossing around whether he’s up to defendin’ an arson charge and a murder charge at the same time.”
“So the construction site fire was arson. They’re sure?”
“Oh yeah. Found the bomb and everythin’. Or least what’s left of it.”
“Why do they suspect Sims?
Pax shrugged. “Dunno. Figures, though, don’t it? Him bein’ behind the lawsuit and all,” he answered, wiping excess yolk off of his hand with a paper napkin.
Holt breathed in heavily through his nose and exhaled. “That it?”
“That’s it.”
“Okay,” Holt replied, rising as he crumpled up his napkin and tossed it beside Pax’s plate, along with a ten-dollar bill. “Let me know if you hear anything else.”
“Will do,” Pax mumbled through the bacon he’d just stuffed in his mouth, and gave a frumpy two-fingered salute off the brim of his John Deere cap.
Holt nodded Chloe towards the door, when Pax interrupted. “Oh, and one other thing. They said somethin’ about havin’ concrete evidence or somethin’.”
Holt stopped. “Evidence of what?”
Pax shrugged. “Did’n say.”
Holt pursed his lips thoughtfully then ushered Chloe towards the door again. They made their way through the gravel lot to Holt’s car and once they pulled out, she turned to him.
“So he tells you all that just for buying him breakfast at this dive?”
“Yes. Although,” he baited, throwing her a glance, “that breakfast comes with a side of Ulysses Grant.”
Chloe squinted, bemused. Then it clicked for her. “Your napkin?”
Holt nodded.
“That’s got to be illegal.”
“No. It’s just good intel gathering.” Holt smirked mischievously. “I actually researched it because I definitely wouldn’t want to cross a line. Pax doesn’t work for the lab. He’s with a private service. And he’s got no confidentiality agreement with any of the offices where he works. Although, if they were smart they would make him sign one. If they want to keep things to themselves, they ought to pay attention to who’s around when they’re yapping.” He shrugged. “It’s their own fault, really.”
“And this guy just feeds you information all the time?”
Holt shook his head. “Nah. I don’t have that much of a need for it. Only every once in a while. A guy I know that handles a lot more of the heavy criminal representation put me on to Pax a couple years ago.”
“But I thought you weren’t getting involved in Sims’s case?” Chloe pressed.
“Reese told him we’d find out what we could. Just as a favor. It was pretty obvious they’d be at least considering Sims for this after the assault case.”
“And who’s paying for Pax’s breakfast?”
“Sims. We just won’t charge him for our time for this one. He can afford the breakfast. But after this, he’s on his own unless he wants to put us on retainer.”
“Mm-hmm,” Chloe retorted. “So your generosity has its limits.”
“Hey, a man’s gotta make a living.”
“Do you think they’ll charge Sims?”
“Depends. But it does sound like they may have found something. If not,” he mused, running a hand through his hair, “it would be a pretty far leap from an assault and a lawsuit to arson and murder. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“That body…the way it sounded…I can’t imagine.”
“It definitely makes things interesting,” he piped back, apparently unfazed. “So where to?” he asked her. “We’ve still got a couple of hours before I need to head to the office. You hungry?”
Chloe spread her hands wide. “This is your party.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Okay, so first, I’m thinking you need an orange-lavender latte from Frothy Monkey to carry you through to lunch—”
He stopped short as his phone rang and Reese’s name popped up on the car’s entertainment display. He answered on his cell, then, after a short conversation, clicked off. He faced Chloe, his expression apologetic.
“Soooo, Reese’s schedule has ended up being even more packed than it was before. Turns out the police want to interview Sims.”
“So you guys are getting dragged into it after all.”
“Looks like it. And Reese is going to need help. He’s just got too much to do today. I’m going to have to go in.”
Chloe waved him off. “It’s fine. Really.”
“Reese said that he’d be home for an early dinner if you want to join them later.”
“Okay, sure,” she replied, without any confidence whatsoever that such a dinner would ever take place.
THIRTEEN
With everyone busy for the rest of the day, Chloe headed back to Main Street, determined to squeeze in as much of it as she could. Pedestrians of all sorts steadily streamed down the sidewalks on both sides, even during the Friday workday hours, passing a mix of designer, eclectic, and specialty stores offering something for every type of shopper.
The sounds of the bustling town serenaded her as she made her way from one shop to another, discovering treasure after treasure. In one she found hand-painted pottery in bright pastels depicting things like bunnies, cows or landmarks of the town. A few doors down she found a hip boutique filled with striking contemporary clothes and accessories. A black dress displayed in its window fit her better than anything she had ever owned, and she bought it as a splurge, thinking how much Jack would like it. She gave the owner her business card and took some shots before leaving for the next stop, a chocolate shop with every form of confection you could imagine: truffles, caramel apples, chocolate clusters, and homemade fudge cut on a marble slab. The heavenly cocoa smell was enough to send a person running for Weight Watchers. Telling herself it was all for the research, Chloe bought at least two dozen different sweets, leaving with a bulging paper bag that would keep her in a sugar coma till Christmas.
As she stepped out the sweet shop’s door, a bright red and green trolley reminiscent of those in San Francisco, though without the electric lines, rolled by. Chloe made a mental note that she would have to take at least one ride on it before leaving town. She popped into the next store, which specialized in home decor, including velvety 2000 count linens on fanciful beds fit for a princess, and china and glass tableware displayed beautifully on a white rustic farm table with ivy and ceramic dove centerpieces.
After two hours her stomach started rumbling, so she stopped by McCreary’s Irish Pub for a late lunch of the Dublin Pot Pie, a creamy mix of chicken, carrots, and corn in a flaky crust, served with homemade soda bread. By the end she was so full, she wanted a nap more than anything, but with almost half the street still to explore, she headed back out, moving down the paver-bordered sidewalk. This time she noticed that, spread amongst the common concrete pavers that ran the length of the curb, were many larger ones, about twelve inches by twelve inches, that contained inscriptions, probably purchased as part of a fundraising effort by the city. Some were memorials noting dates of birth and death. Others contained dedications to a loved one. Some marked milestones like anniversaries or graduations. One in particular caught Chloe’s attention: “From Robert to Pauline, loving you since 1939.” She snapped a photo of it as the early afternoon sunlight fell across its surface, highlighting the dimples in the stone.
However things turned out with Reese, she was definitely going to have to bring Jack back here to visit. Thinking of him, she realized she hadn’t caught him up on the craziness of the morning. Spotting a nearby bench, she sat down, pulled out her cell and called him.
As she waited for him to answer, she looked back at the paver and couldn’t help but think that maybe someday, somewhere, she and Jack would get a paver of their own.
FOURTEEN
“You stood me up,” Jack sa
id, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table. The leggy red-head slipped into the seat across the table as the wind whipped up. It jostled the bright orange patio umbrella hovering above them and flipped wisps of the woman’s long, wavy hair back and forth before they settled across her ivory cheek.
Lila Bartholomew sighed and dramatically pushed her oversized tortoise shell sunglasses atop her head. “I know. I’m sorry. I…I just couldn’t make it.” Jack’s ex-wife signaled the waiter and ordered a non-fat macchiato. Jack eyed her doubtfully, keeping a tight grip on the black coffee he had been nursing for the last twenty minutes.
“You said it was life or death,” he replied. The little cafe in Burbank was busy this afternoon, its half dozen street-side tables occupied. The loud buzz of conversation and traffic zipping by kept their exchange private.
“It is. And I really appreciate you coming. I wasn’t sure you would after…well after everything.”
He hadn’t seen her since before their long, drawn-out divorce was finalized last summer, but on the surface she looked exactly the same, ever-fashionable in her short, dark blue slip dress and suede ankle boots, gold earrings dangling. She did seem to move a bit differently than he remembered, with a little less…flare. And her eyes looked weak. It was surreal, being here, with this woman who had not only cut him loose for another man after just eighteen months of marriage, but who had also waged a vicious divorce against him for two years before finally walking away with a big chunk of his money.
She watched him, as if waiting for him to say something in return, but instead he just sipped his coffee. Finally, she inhaled sharply through her slight nose. “Alexander left me.”
Jack’s brow furrowed and before he could help it, an amused look stole over his face. “Really? Romeo took off?”
She pursed her lips at the dig, exasperation tinged with hurt swimming behind her eyes.
Jack noticed the latter and, surprising himself, actually felt a little bad. “Sorry,” he apologized. An uncomfortable silence filled the gap between them. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing about that anyway. It’s not why I’m here. Well, not exactly.” She eyed him appraisingly. “You look different.”
“Yeah, well, a lot has changed.”
“I heard about that mess in Miami.”
Jack subtly reached for his bad leg. “It all turned out okay.”
“I was worried.”
“You shouldn’t have been. I’m not your problem anymore.”
Lila sighed again, a note of weariness slipping through. “Can we not do this? Please?”
How many times had he thought about this moment? A face-to-face with the person who had caused him so much misery. He considered all the clever comments and stinging barbs he had played out in his head over the years. Maybe that was one of the reasons he had shown up. For a chance to deliver some of those carefully crafted insults. To leave some kind of mark. He wasn’t proud of the thought. But even if that was true, it wasn’t the only reason he had come. He had also been drawn by the desperation in her voice when she had called. The rescuer in him couldn’t help it. Something had just seemed off.
Now, laying eyes on her, he believed that he might have been right about that. Yes, she was the same person he had once found hypnotic, drawing him into a hurricane of a romance that ended just as chaotically as it began. But this version of Lila seemed more depressed than dazzling, and despite himself, his ire softened. “Okay,” he surrendered. “We won’t do that.” She smiled faintly at the concession.
The waiter returned with her macchiato and she took a long sip on it before speaking again. “After Alexander left I was really messed up. Angry, depressed, no place to go—it wasn’t the money,” she interrupted herself, anticipating Jack’s coming question when he moved to speak. “I’m fine in that department. It was emotional, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” Jack groused, his gaze fixed on hers as if trying to telepathically remind her that, not only was she the reason he was well acquainted with emotional misery, but that the reason she was fine in the money department was because she had taken so much of his in the divorce.
She seemed to get the message. “I’m sorry I was so hard on you,” she said ruefully. “I really am. I didn’t have to make it so difficult.”
His first thought was, If you feel so badly, you could just give the money back. His second was that this was the first time he could remember Lila actually saying she was sorry. For anything. Before or after their marriage. He digested that truth, wondering what kind of power Alexander had held over Lila in order to elicit such a change by his leaving.
“What do you want, Lila? What’s so life or death that you needed to see me after all this time?”
She paused, gathering her words as a woman strolled by on the adjacent sidewalk, a fluffy, cinnamon-colored Shih Tzu prancing several feet ahead of her on a long, crystal-studded leash. “Me, Jack. I’m the life or death thing.” She twisted her hands in front of her. “I’m struggling, Jack. Really struggling. I see now how much I screwed up. Really screwed up. I had a good thing. You were the real deal, and I couldn’t see you for what you were until you were gone. Well, until Alexander was gone, and then I finally got it. I was stupid and selfish and I should have never left you. I had everything—”
“Lila,” Jack said, leaning into the table, his hands held out in front of him as if warding her off. “Don’t.”
“But Jack, I need to—”
“Lila, I’m with someone.”
“I know. I heard that too.”
“So then, why—”
“I’m here because I’m out of answers. I know you and I are done. I’m not crazy. But, look, throughout everything that happened between us, you had this, this stability, this foundation or whatever and you kept your head even when things were at their worst.” A sheepish look crossed her face. “I’ve been remembering that lately. Now that Alexander…” She faltered, instead waiving a careless goodbye to finish her sentence.
“Now that you’ve had your own heart broken?”
She nodded and looked off across the street again. “I’m losing myself, Jack. Something’s got to give.”
“And you think I’m the answer?”
“I don’t know. But I know you had something that kept you going. And I need that.”
“You know what it was. We’ve talked about this before.”
“Your faith.”
“When you boil it down, yeah.”
“Then that’s it. That’s what I need.”
Before this moment, Jack would have confidently bet that he would never, ever hear from Lila Bartholomew again. But that Lila would return, contrite and seeking answers about life and truth and what really mattered? For that bet he would have pushed all the chips to the center, cleaned out his bank account, and borrowed as much as the house would allow.
FIFTEEN
“Hey, not that way, go right!”
Chloe was standing on Reese’s porch, and he had just opened the front door when she heard Tyler yelling frantic instructions to some unseen person somewhere further back in the house.
“That sounds serious,” she commented, stepping inside as Reese closed the door behind her. She turned towards him and noticed that his eyes were weak, his clothes rumpled, and he gave off an overall air of exhaustion. The day had taken its toll.
“Video games are a serious thing for an eight-year-old. I’m glad you could make it,” he told her, motioning for her to follow him down the hallway. They walked past the dining room, following the hallway to where it opened into a large white kitchen with a six-seat marble counter that divided it from a bright family room. In its center, two gray slipcovered couches faced each other over a trunk that served as a coffee table. Tyler and Emma’s friend, Jacob, sat on the floor in front of it, energetically playing a video game that apparently set humankind against an army of zombies.
“They’ve been at it for an hour,�
�� Reese told her, smiling. “Her friends are actually really good with him.”
“That’s nice,” Chloe said, then turned to see Emma and Trip standing at the back of the kitchen near the microwave.
“We’re making nacho cheese,” said Emma, holding up a spoon dripping with yellow goo. “You want some?”
“Chloe!” Tyler yelled, just noticing her. He jumped up, abandoning his controller, and ran over to her.
“Hey bud!” Chloe chuckled in surprise as he hugged her tightly and briefly around her waist before racing back to the game. She turned to Emma. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m okay for now. Think I’ll hold off for dinner. Hey, Trip,” she said, nodding at him. He smiled and nodded back.
Reese glanced at the microwave, then back at Emma. “Don’t fill up on dip, okay? We’re taking Chloe out in a few minutes.”
Emma rolled her eyes.
“Out?” Chloe asked, surprised that they weren’t staying at the house, which would have been a little more private. Then again, she thought, that’s probably why.
“Oh,” Reese said, hesitantly. “I hope that’s okay. I’m not much of a cook—”
“Seriously,” mumbled Emma.
“—and I thought going out would be better. We can come back here afterwards if you want.”
“That’s fine,” Chloe said, wondering when, if ever, she might finally get a few minutes alone with Reese to do what she had actually come to Franklin to do. Maybe never. Maybe he had decided that he didn’t really want time alone to discuss anything that might be uncomfortable after all.
“Come on in here for a second,” Reese said, taking her through a short butler pantry into the dining room. The pseudo-office was beyond cluttered. It looked as if he had been working for hours. Papers covered the table in no particular pattern, the computer was on and a half-drunk cup of coffee perched precariously on a stack of files. “Holt just got here too. He’s been bringing me up to speed. I haven’t really gotten to talk to him today either.”
“Hey Chloe,” said Holt, looking up from a file he was flipping through. Contrary to Reese, whatever Holt had been doing over the last several hours didn’t seem to have left him any worse for wear. He was still perfectly coiffed, his shirt still wrinkle-free, and his smile still energetic. “Good day?” he asked.