A warm rush of happiness started in my heart and spread through my whole body. Roland cared about me! How could that have changed? My gaze slid to him.
Face to the window and with daydreaming eyes, he stood with a foot propped up behind him on the wall and his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. A second later, he turned and caught me staring. “What?” His bewildered expression made him even cuter.
“Nothing.” I sighed and slumped back in the chair to read more, my message now.
My Dear Prince Roland,
Stop worrying. I shouldn’t have sent that last email. Or maybe I should’ve worded it differently: Your dear brother has arrived. He showed up one day, but I haven’t seen him since.
It’s really no big deal. You are right, though. Your father is upset about it. The two of them fight whenever they cross paths. I think they even had a fistfight out back. And your father’s been home much more since Jarret got here.
The reason Jarret is here: I overheard him say that his favorite instructor was unable to lead the field study, so he backed out too.
Your father insists he either get a job or go with him on his assignments. Apparently, Jarret is not interested in either option. He’d rather stay here and boss me around. He doesn’t like my hair down when I’m anywhere near the kitchen. He shot a hairband at me the first time he saw me making lunch. “Don’t let Nanny see you like that,” he’d said. Then he told me not to go upstairs except to clean the bathroom. He wants me to clean it on Mondays and Thursdays. My, but isn’t he a bossy one?
“My thoughts exactly,” I said. Then I gave a little headshake. I’d written the email, so of course those would be my thoughts.
I know he used to boss you around. Didn’t it bother you at all? I try not to let it bother me. I just make a game of it. I carry hairbands in my apron, and if I ever see him in the house, I make a big deal of putting my hair up, then I look around and say, “Oh my, oh my, I hope Nanny doesn’t catch me with my hair down.”
Your father told me not to do anything for him, not even his bathroom. He said I’m only to do what Nanny says. I still brought clean hand towels down to the basement. Jarret wants them by his weight set. Your father caught me one day and got on Jarret about bossing me. I tried to say I didn’t mind, but they didn’t stop fighting long enough to hear me. So now Jarret doesn’t boss me. But he makes me stop cleaning and leave rooms that he wants to be in: family room, game room, dining room... I think he’s trying to be a pain but I don’t mind. It gives me something to offer up. I think maybe I’ll put flowers in his bathroom after I clean it Thursday. :)
Your maidservant, Caitlyn
Caitlyn,
Bad idea about the flowers. He’ll think you’re coming on to him. You wouldn’t want him to think that. And Papa said not to clean his bathroom, so don’t.
My eyes snapped open wide. Had I placed flowers in Jarret’s bathroom and he’d taken it the wrong way? Is that how it all had started? I refocused on the email, eager for the rest of Roland’s message.
Hey, I thought about your question about the Brown Scapular. And, yeah, he could be wearing one. Why not? I don’t think the Virgin Mary intended for only saints to wear it or she wouldn’t have promised that whoever dies wearing it won’t go to hell.
How is Nanny? How much longer before she’s back on her feet? All right, I can hear you. “Stop worrying.” Fine. I’m getting ready to meet Ling-si. We’re going camping with some of the others from the Dead Theologians. By the way, Ling-si loves your emails. She laughs hysterically when she reads them. Do you tell her the same things you tell me?
Roland
Dear Roland,
I share a few different things with Ling-si, I suppose. She is a girl. It’s different. But here’s something I’ll share only with you, except I won’t share all of it. I’ll have to keep some of it private because it’s personal to your brother.
Jarret came home drunk last night. Correction: this morning. Around three in the morning, loud voices outside my window woke me. I peeked out my bedroom window and saw a car in the circular driveway, a guy standing by the open driver-side door, and Jarret lying on the ground. Jarret was upset and slurring something about his car being parked at some bar. The guy helped him to the porch, told him his car would be there in the morning, and left.
After a long while, I heard the front door open, but not close. I snuck from my room and down the hallway and watched Jarret from the shadows. I wanted to make sure he got the front door closed and that he made it upstairs in one piece.
He stood swaying in the middle of the foyer and then turned and looked straight at me. “Stop hiding an’ step into the light,” he slurred. So I did. I stepped into the moonlight that came in through the open door. He propped himself up against the wall and stared at me. I asked if he was all right. And he told me I was beautiful, using a cuss word that I won’t repeat. Isn’t that funny? I told him he was drunk, and he never would’ve thought that otherwise. He said he thought it all the time, but he never would’ve said it. Then he said the older I got, the prettier I got.
So. That was shocking. Jarret thinks I’m beautiful! Ha ha! I’ll have to ask him about it now that he’s sober. Maybe not.
Anyway, he was so intent on getting his car that he called a cab. Since he was in no condition to walk, much less drive, I got dressed and went with him.
I don’t think he remembers last night at all. He keeps asking me questions. I’ll let him wonder. Oh, by the way, you’re right. Jarret wears the Brown Scapular. Who would’ve guessed?
You probably won’t get this email until you get back from camping. Did you have fun? Tell me all about it.
Caitlyn
A strange tingly feeling tugged at my heart. Jarret wore the Brown Scapular. I mentally re-created the scene I’d just read, trying it on for size, transporting myself to the Wests’ house and to the foyer, dark except for the moonlight. And to Jarret, drunk and holding himself up with the wall. He’d told me I was beautiful. Even now, knowing he’d married me, it seemed hard to imagine him thinking anything nice about me. He’d always treated me with cold indifference, to say the least.
“Something wrong?” Roland squatted by my side and glanced between the monitor and me.
“Oh, it’s just that all through high school, I had the distinct impression Jarret didn’t like me. I always felt like such a clod around him, clumsy and awkward compared to the type of girls he liked. How can he think I’m pretty?”
“Well, the only reason he didn’t like you back then was because you were my friend.” Roland pressed his lips together and glanced to one side, as if not sure how to word the rest of his response, or maybe not sure how much to divulge. “For a time there, he didn’t like any of my friends. But he didn’t have a reason not to like them.”
“And that changed? How?”
Roland’s gray eyes shifted and held a strange, distant look. “Jarret changed. You’ll have to trust me on that. And his opinion of you must’ve changed when you guys got to know each other. Have you ever formed an opinion of someone because of one little thing, then you get to know them and you realize you were wrong about them?”
I shrugged, but my heart convicted me. Yes, I’d jumped to conclusions about others in the past. And I was doing it now. I was judging Jarret based on his past mistakes.
CHAPTER 14
I SAT BESIDE Roland in the shade of the front porch, kicking my feet into and out of the sunlight. Birds sang happily in the trees. Crickets buzzed and chirped in the dense woods that surrounded the little street. The sweet smell of flowers and grass lingered in the air. And Roland looked fine in his black, button-front shirt and jeans. Everything felt right.
Except for my stomach. It kept making weird, sproingy noises.
Since breakfast had been so light, I’d made up for it with lunch. We had tuna fish sandwiches, potato chips, chicken noodle soup and salads. I’d eaten prunes for dessert. Maybe I shouldn’t have.
“I’m sorry,
Roland. The emails haven’t helped. I don’t like Jarret any more in the emails than I do now. I don’t get it. He sounds like a drunk. How could he ever have appealed to me?”
Roland sighed then gave me a serious look for a whole second before he spoke, making my heart stir every which way. “Sometimes Jarret’s qualities are hidden and hard to find.”
“I guess I should use my detective skills.” I said it seriously, but he smiled and dropped his head to laugh.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Caitlyn. You should talk to Jarret. Have him tell you about the summer you two fell in love. You never explained it to me. But you haven’t read all the emails. Keep reading. After a while, I got the impression that you and he were friends. You rode the horses together and took walks. Selena came up, and the three of you did everything together.”
“Selena? Really? I met Selena?” In high school, Roland had told me stories about the fun and beautiful Mexican girl from Arizona, the daughter of his father’s close friend. I had always wanted to meet her. Figures, I did and couldn’t remember it at all.
“Toward the end of summer, something you wrote made me realize your relationship with Jarret was deeper than you were letting on.” With the hint of a smile, Roland leaned close and bumped my shoulder. “Keep reading. Maybe you’ll see what I mean.”
“I suppose.” I took a deep breath, my gaze resting on the swaying leaves of the dogwood tree in the front yard. “I don’t want to read anymore today. It’s so nice out. I’m tired of being here. Let’s take a walk or call a cab.” An idea popped into my mind. I jumped up. “Yes! Let’s go to my workplace.”
“Ah, Jarret doesn’t want you going anywhere.” Roland stood and stretched.
“So? He’s not my father. He’s my husband. I still can’t get over how he dragged me clear across the country, so far from home.”
“No, you got that wrong. You’re the one who wanted to move to North Carolina. Before you moved out here, you told me you had a job opportunity you couldn’t pass up.” Standing face to face, Roland stared intently into my eyes as if determined to make me understand. “Do you know what Jarret gave up for you? I couldn’t believe he agreed to it. He wanted to get his master’s from the University of Arizona. He put that on hold for you.”
Stunned, I tried to absorb this revelation. It did not fit the image I had of Jarret. Maybe he had changed, but maybe he still had some changing to do. “Oh, well, that was nice. But must I do everything he tells me? Can’t I do things that I want to do?”
“He’s afraid you’ll run away. He’s afraid of coming home and finding that you’ve gone. Do you know what that would do to him?” Gaze dropping and emotion flickering on his face, he took my hand with the slightest possible grip then released it. “It would break his heart, Caitlyn.”
Moved by Roland’s concern for his brother, I sighed, but I wouldn’t give up, couldn’t give up. I might find answers at my workplace. I took Roland’s hand in a firm grip. “Don’t you want to be a private investigator?”
He shrugged. “Well, yeah. That’s what I’m going to college for. Maybe I’ll work with the police or the FBI.”
“Okay. Then call Jarret. Convince him that we should stop by my workplace. I want to learn as much as I can about last Friday and, well, what specifically do I do on the job?” I squeezed his hand and smiled. “I’m a private investigator.” Excitement raced through my veins. “Let’s go see what I do. Wouldn’t you like to know? Maybe we can work together some day.”
Roland stared at me while thinking it over, making me want to lose myself in his deep gray eyes. Then he glanced up and down the street. “All right.” Grudging reluctance gave way to a hint of excitement. “I’ll call him. Do you know where your workplace is?”
I bounced on my toes. “Mm-hm. Jarret showed me. We pulled into the parking lot, but we didn’t go in.”
“Okay. Give me a minute.” He took his cell phone from a back pocket and strolled down the driveway.
I dashed inside to change into one of the more professional outfits in the closet. I chose a straight tan skirt and a pale-blue button-front blouse from the group of clothes that I couldn’t imagine myself wearing. Then I grabbed a matching purse. What would I put in it? I didn’t have a wallet or anything. I tossed the purse and ran to the bathroom. Checking my face in the mirror and running my hands through my miserably wild-looking red curls, a thought flashed in my mind. Jarret thinks I’m beautiful? Pushing the thought back, I stuffed my feet into black pumps and hurried outside.
Roland sat on the front porch. He twisted around and looked me over. “Whoa! You look great, like a regular professional.” He stood up, smiling.
“Thanks.” The compliment pleased me, making me stand tall, though I couldn’t stop swinging my arms. “Did you talk to Jarret? What’d he say?”
“They found your car.”
My heart skipped a beat. “What? Who did?”
“The police. They had it at the impound lot. Guess Jarret called around this morning. He’s bringing it here. Should be here any minute.”
“Wow, where’d they find it?”
“I don’t know. Some park around here. He said your purse and everything was still in it. Didn’t look like it had been touched.”
Confusion drew my eyebrows together and made me bite my lip. “That’s strange. What could’ve happened? Did they check for fingerprints?”
“Uh, I don’t think so. I guess Jarret never reported it stolen.”
Ten minutes later, a dusty dark-blue Honda Accord pulled into the driveway and Mike’s shiny black Mercedes stopped at the curb. Jarret climbed out of the Accord and stood tucking the back of his white dress shirt into his beige Dockers. I followed Roland over to him.
“Hey, Jarret,” Roland said. “That’s great they found her car. Part of the mystery solved, huh?”
Jarret looked me over twice and then flat-out stared.
My cheeks burned. Did it bother him to see me dressed up or to know I was going to my workplace? I folded my arms, feeling cold and self-conscious. He thinks I’m pretty, I reminded myself.
“So what park did they find it at?” Roland said. “How far is it from here?”
Jarret continued staring, wearing a brooding look now. He stuck his hand out to me. “Here’s a set of our keys. I don’t know where yours are.”
I took the keys from him.
“Car runs fine,” he said. “Your purse is in there. Nothing else seems to be missing.”
“Thanks.” I glanced away, then back.
He gave a nod and kept right on staring, conveying something I didn’t understand. Not anger, not attitude. Something more like vulnerability.
“So, it’s okay if we run up to her work, right? I think it’s a good idea to see what they can tell us.” Roland sounded positive and cheerful, even though Jarret hadn’t looked at him once. “Hey, so, um, where’d they find the car? What park was it? Maybe we can check that out too.”
Jarret finally looked at his brother, giving him a squinty-eyed glare. “You’re not taking her to that park.”
“Why?”
Jarret’s upper lip twitched. Fire flashed in his eyes. “Because I said so.”
I bristled at the bossy reply.
Jarret caught my expression, dropped his gaze, and took a breath. “God, this is hard for me,” he whispered, shoving a hand in his hair. Then he spoke to Roland again, his voice calm. “Look, I don’t know what happened to her there. But I’m not comfortable with her going back there without me. Got it?”
Roland nodded. “Yeah, sure. You... want to come with us up to her work?”
Jarret glanced over his shoulder at the black Mercedes that waited at the curb. “Can’t. Gotta get back to work.” He took a few steps backwards down the drive. “Keep her safe and be here when I get home.”
He gave me one last look. “Bye.”
“Bye,” I whispered back, barely finding my voice as I wavered between compassion and irritation.
CHAPTER
15
I DROVE THE Honda Accord myself. And it felt natural, except I didn’t know where I was going, I drove way under the speed limit, and I turned down a few wrong roads. The drive may have taken a bit longer than it should’ve, but between me and Roland, we finally found the two-story brick building with the tall white pillars out front.
“Wright Investigators?” Roland’s eyes sparkled with a look of admiration, maybe even jealousy.
“Cool, huh?” Pride and excitement propelling me to action, I swung the car door open and led the way.
We stepped into a classy foyer with huge artwork, high ceilings, and an elegant chandelier. A contemporary but empty waiting area stretched out to the right, two halls came off the left, and across the room from us stood a tall reception desk with no receptionist.
“The place looks empty,” I said, a bit disappointed but not ready to give up. We could still snoop around a bit.
“Someone’s got to be here. There’s music.” Roland approached the reception desk and drummed his fingers on the marble top.
Classical music played softly, competing with a low droning sound that came from down a hall. Roland scavenged through the little waiting room while I studied the signs behind the desk. The second floor and a few first-floor rooms belonged to Guardian Investors. Two first-floor rooms belonged to Wright Investigators.
“Hmm,” I said, two minutes later, tired of waiting for a receptionist.
“Yeah.” Roland glanced at his watch. “Let’s find their office.”
Relishing how Roland understood me even without words, I led the way. Metal plaques by the doors showed that Guardian Investors occupied the four rooms in the front of the building, so we headed to the back of the building and found an open door.
I raised a fist, ready to knock on the doorframe, when Roland nudged me.
“The door’s open. Let’s just go in,” he said.
Feeling a bit like a trespasser, I peeked into the room. An old wooden desk with a phone, computer, and a blue coffee mug—but no receptionist—faced the door. Four tan filing cabinets lined the wall behind it, and open doors leading to other rooms flanked the cabinets.
Anyone but Him Page 12