“It’s a good start.” Replacement slurped down the last of her milkshake and capped it off with a loud smack of her lips.
“It’s strange that there wasn’t more in the paper.”
Replacement nodded. “The story faded out fast.”
They were done with their meal, so Replacement headed back to the little shop while Jack went to pay the bill. After he’d paid, he found her once again admiring the pink Hope Falls shirt. He noticed a matching pink baseball hat and took it off the shelf. “Get the hat, too.”
“Really? No. I don’t want to spend—”
“Get them. They’ll look good on you.”
Replacement tried to hide her blush.
“Come on. I want to make one more stop before we head back to the inn.”
“Where?”
“There was a little general store in town. I’m hoping they have what I need.”
“You’re not gonna tell me?”
“It’s none of your business.” Jack took the shirt and hat up to the register.
Replacement stopped at a rack of postcards. “I’m going to get one for Aunt Haddie.”
“Sure.” Jack handed the shirt and hat to the cashier. “These, a postcard, and a stamp.”
“Did your girlfriend like the notebook?” The lady smiled.
“What? No, she’s not . . .” Jack winced when Replacement came over and pinched him.
“He’s such a kidder.” Her arm slid around Jack’s waist, and she gave him a hard hug. “Thanks, sweetie. I loved my notebook.”
“Sure . . . Buttercup.” Jack pinched her cheek.
As they exited the restaurant, Replacement whispered, “Buttercup? Come on. You stink at undercover.”
“Don’t start the whole undercover thing again.”
“What do you mean? I did great undercover.”
“We’re not undercover.” Jack’s voice got louder as they walked toward the car.
“Are we telling people what we’re doing?”
“No.”
“Ha!” Replacement pointed a finger in his face. “Then we’re undercover.”
“No, we’re just not . . .” Jack pulled open his door and leaned on the roof of the car as Replacement walked to her side. “Fine. We’re undercover. But we’re not doing the boyfriend-girlfriend thing.”
“That’s our cover. You can’t be undercover unless you have a cover, and that’s our cover.”
Jack frowned.
“Okay, what would you pick? Are we a traveling circus team?” Replacement pantomimed juggling.
Jack tried not to, but he smiled at her joke as they got into the car. “No. We keep it simple and vague. We’re doing some historical research. It gives us an opening. Then we wait and see what they say.”
Replacement crossed her arms.
“You don’t like that plan?”
“I don’t like any of this. We’re going after the man who killed your father. He’s dangerous.”
Jack started the Impala. The engine roared. He wanted to reassure Replacement that she was safe, but when the words came out of his mouth, he could see the fear they produced on her face. “So am I.”
11
Traveling Circus
Jack pulled over at the general store in the center of town. It was the largest building on the block, and employees were bringing in the miscellaneous items they’d set out for display earlier in the day. As he turned the car off, he watched a family walk down the sidewalk. A young boy tugged at his father’s arm. The man had his other arm around his pregnant wife, who smiled and waved at a passing neighbor.
This would have been my hometown. It’s like Mayberry. I would have grown up here.
The leather on the steering wheel creaked as Jack’s grip tightened. He shut his eyes. He wanted to smash something to keep from feeling anything. He flung open his door and jumped out of the car.
Replacement hurried after him as he marched to the front of the general store. As he pulled the glass door open, a little bell rang overhead. The place was filled with row upon row of neatly stocked shelves and racks of clothes. The checkout was in the back—a throwback to a more innocent age when people were trusted.
Jack spotted a young girl in a red apron stocking some shelves. She stopped as he approached.
“Can I help you?” She was maybe sixteen, with blond pigtails, braces, and a warm smile.
“I need an air mattress.”
“We have that.” The girl spun around and walked down the aisle. As she searched the shelves, she held her finger out in front of her like a pointer. “Nope . . . no . . . it was . . . here,” she proclaimed as she located the one faded box. “Are you using it for sleeping?”
Jack blinked a couple of times and tried not to smirk. “Actually, I’m with a traveling circus and we need it because our net broke.”
The girl’s eyes became saucers. “Really?”
Jacked laughed. The girl kept smiling, waiting for him to elaborate.
He laughed again, louder. “I’m sorry. I was just—”
From down the aisle, a loud pop was followed by the tinkle of broken glass. The girl jumped, and they both turned.
An old woman stood frozen in place, staring at Jack. Whatever she’d been holding now lay in a million pieces on the floor. Jack couldn’t place all the emotions that raced across her face. Fear? Confusion? Warmth?
“Are you okay?” Jack walked up to her and reached out protectively. “C’mon, let’s back up a little way from this glass.”
One trembling, gnarled hand reached up to her mouth, while the other cinched her jacket tighter to her chest. She stepped forward, her feet crunching the glass, and seemed to grow more pale. She didn’t take his outstretched hand. Instead she moved closer and touched the side of his face.
She looked to be in her seventies, very small and slightly hunched over. She raised her blue eyes to him, and they were awash with tears. “Do I know you?” Her voice was a whisper.
Jack swallowed. He opened his mouth and closed it again.
An older man with a red apron rushed down the aisle toward them. “Mrs. Ritter? Mrs. Ritter!”
The name rang like a thunderclap, and Jack winced. Still she didn’t take her eyes from Jack’s face until he stepped back, his own eyes stinging when he saw her smile and the tear running down her cheek.
“I’m not from around here.”
Her lip trembled and her hand fell back to her side. She seemed in a daze as the clerk took her arm and led her off.
Jack grabbed the mattress box and bolted for the checkout. Replacement reached for his arm as he stormed past, but he didn’t slow down.
“Jack . . .”
“Don’t. I can’t . . .” He marched to the checkout counter and quickly counted out some bills.
When Replacement came up behind him, he shook his head. “Not right now.”
He kept his eyes on the floor as they retreated to the car. Replacement’s door had barely closed when Jack whipped the Impala out of the space. His face was white and his jaw was set.
“Jack . . .”
“Don’t.”
“She’s your grandmother.”
“You don’t know that.” He smacked the steering wheel. “My mother was a prostitute; how do I know Steven Ritter was my father?”
“Jack. Come on.”
Jack glared straight ahead and just drove, his only aim being to put as much distance between him and the store as possible.
Replacement put her feet flat on the floor, closed her eyes, and whispered, “Jack, you know he’s—”
“I don’t know. I doubt Patty knew. He could have been a hundred different guys.”
“Look at that picture! He looks just like you.” She scanned his face, confusion evident on her own. “Why are you running away?”
Jack’s teeth ground together. “Even if he was, so what? He was probably as crazy as her. He dated a whore. What kind of man—”
“He was seventeen.” Replacement cut him off. �
��Maybe he was nice.” She looked down at her hands. “Maybe he was like you.”
“Like me?” Jack scoffed. “You don’t know him. You don’t know me.”
He stepped on the gas, and the Impala raced forward.
“I know you.” She spun on the seat to stare at him.
“No, you don’t.” He slammed on the brakes at a red light. “Be glad you don’t.”
“I do know you. Aunt Haddie and Michelle talked about you all the time.”
“That’s different. That’s on the outside. They were telling you stories about what I was doing, or stuff we did when we were little. It wasn’t about me.” He pointed at his head. “Stuff in here.”
Replacement’s voice lowered. “I know a little about . . . here.” She pointed to his heart. “Michelle was worried about you,” she whispered.
“She wouldn’t have told you about . . . personal things.” Jack froze. He stared at the dashboard, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose with his breathing. “Damn it,” he snarled.
“We were like sisters.” Replacement pulled her legs up and hugged them.
Jack’s anger swirled the silence into an uncomfortable void between them. “That’s not a reason for her to break my confidence. What did—” His mind raced. He had confided everything to Michelle. She was two years younger than he was, but ever since they were kids, she’d been his confidante and advisor.
“After Chandler died . . . you didn’t come back, and she didn’t know what was going on with you. Michelle was hurting too, and I think talking about you helped her. She was worried. So . . . we talked.”
Did she tell Replacement . . . everything?
The light turned green, and Jack stomped on the accelerator. The Impala’s rear tires spun for a second before the car shot forward. Jack snarled. “That doesn’t mean you know me.”
Replacement looked out the window. When she spoke, her voice was flat. “You don’t know anything about me, Jack.”
The realization that she was right hit him in the throat. He caught his breath, and his foot eased off the gas.
Aunt Haddie brought her home when she was, like, eleven. Her real name is Alice, but she doesn’t like it. Why? What happened to her parents? The list of unanswered questions was long. Jack glanced over at her, and saw her pensively looking out the window. Is she thinking about the same things? Her parents? Her past? She refused to look in his direction, and he couldn’t blame her.
She’s right. Ever since she showed up in my living room, what have I learned about her? She saved my life, and I treat her like everyone else. I keep her out. I don’t want her to know about me, and I don’t know anything about her. I take her into my life, but I keep her at a distance. Jack, you’re a piece of work—
“I’m sorry.” The words hung in the air, but she didn’t turn her head. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about you either.”
He heard her exhale, and she put her feet on the floor. She looked out the window for a while and took quite a few more deep breaths, as if formulating her thoughts, and he was not looking forward to continuing the most recent thread in their conversation. But instead she jumped back to an earlier topic. Her voice was soft but clear. “I think you know, Jack. Steven Ritter was your father.”
Jack pulled over and shut the car off, but he kept looking straight ahead. “I knew it when I saw the photo. As long as I can remember, I’ve always wondered who my father was. I’d be somewhere, see some man who looked sort of like me, and think . . . maybe he’s my dad. It drove me crazy, but I couldn’t stop doing it. I mean, I’d be arresting some guy, and I’d be thinking: Could this be my father?”
Jack ran his hands through his hair. “Now I find him and . . . I want to deny it. I want to say it’s not him. It’s some other guy, but not him. That’s why I couldn’t say anything to Mrs. Ritter. I’d be admitting what I know. Steven Ritter was my father. And he’s dead.” Jack leaned his head back. “I just didn’t want it to be him. How’s that for crazy?”
Rain began to fall. Big wet drops smacked against the windshield and dinged off the roof.
“Jack, that’s not crazy—it’s normal.”
“Crazy is the new black?”
“No. But anyone can understand why you would want it to be . . . different.” Replacement’s voice was as soft as a cloud. “I’m sorry your dad is gone.”
“Me too.”
12
My Turn
The rain soon turned into a downpour. The gray cloud cover changed to black. The parking lot was a short walk from the inn, so they had to run through the downpour, and they were both soaked by the time they reached the porch at the top of the stairs. The cold rain seemed to invigorate Replacement, and she grinned broadly. It had the opposite effect on Jack. The chill felt as if it sucked the warmth and strength right out of him. He leaned against the wall beside the front doors.
“I’ll be one second.” He pulled out his cell phone.
“No problem, I’ll wait.” Replacement leaned against the wall next to him.
“You’re soaked. Why don’t you run up and take a bath?”
Replacement grabbed his jacket and pulled his face closer to hers. “Sweet! Do you know how good that will feel?” Her whole body vibrated.
“Go. Enjoy yourself,” Jack said.
She hummed a little tune and happily rushed off upstairs. Jack smiled, but a cold gust of wind and an icy spray of rain quickly extinguished any of the joy he felt at seeing Replacement’s enthusiasm. He huddled his back against the wall and pulled out his phone.
“Hey, Cindy, it’s me, Jack. I need to ask a huge favor.”
There was a long pause, and then she cleared her throat.
Jack rolled his eyes and began again. “Cindy, how are you?”
“I’m fine, Jack. Thank you so much for asking. How can I help?”
Jack ran his fingers through his dripping-wet hair. “I need you to run some background checks.”
Jack gave her all the information he had on the three men named Terry.
“Got it.” Jack could hear Cindy’s pen scratching. “How should I get it to you? Do you have email out in the sticks?”
“Yeah. I have my smartphone.” Jack leaned closer to the wall and tucked his head down into his jacket. “And can you run one more? Alice Campbell.”
“Alice? Our Alice?”
“Yes, Cindy, please?”
There was another long pause. “Jack, are you all right?”
In her voice he heard sincerity and concern. They were both still shaken over his last brush with death, not that long ago—and she couldn’t have forgotten the one before that, either. But Cindy Grant had always come through for him.
The rough wooden shingles dug into the back of Jack’s hand as he pushed against the wall. “I’m good, Cindy. Thanks. I appreciate this.” And he hung up.
The rain was torrential now, but it made everything around Jack sparkle. The lights from the inn reflected off the drops shattering against the porch. Jack could picture the old woman’s face. He could still hear the crack of glass and then the shards chiming as they bounced along the floor.
She knew. I’m his son. My father was murdered. I had no control over that.
Jack stepped out from under the eave of the shallow porch and turned his face up to let the rain run down his cheeks. He opened his eyes and stared into the blackness.
I control the here and now. And now—it’s my turn.
13
Tea and a Bath
Inside the inn, Jack stopped. Water practically poured off him, leaving a puddle on the cranberry-red welcome mat.
“Mr. Stratton?” Ms. Jenkins called from behind the front counter. “You’re dripping on my floor.”
She raised one eyebrow and folded her hands in front of her. Jack met her gaze—was it disapproving? There was something different about her. Today again her dress was convincingly Victorian, but this one was cut low, and Jack noticed she had put her hair up, with a few auburn tend
rils curling at her neck. Except for the frown, she was very pretty. She hurried over to the door with some towels.
He took both towels and squatted down to mop up. “My apologies.”
“Oh, no, I can do that, Mr. Stratton.” She seemed distressed.
“I made the mess, I can clean it up.” He stood and she reached out for the wet towel. The warmth of her fingers on his cold skin sent a glow racing down his wrist.
She inhaled sharply, then slowly exhaled. The faint smell of chamomile wafted up, and he grinned roguishly. Her eyes connected with his. “Can I get you anything else, Mr. Stratton?” The muscles around her eyes and mouth twitched slightly, revealing her struggle to maintain a mask of refinement on her face.
Jack wiped the back of his neck with the other towel and waited a moment before answering. “I’ve had a rough day,” he said. “Do you have anything to drink?”
Her expression soured. “There’s a bar downtown—”
Jack leaned back and feigned a look of shock while his mind raced. “On a cold night like this, I was . . . thinking of having a cup of tea to warm up.”
She looked at him incredulously. “Tea? You wanted a cup of tea?”
Save. “I got caught in that downpour. Now I’m chilled to the bone. I thought I might go back to my room, get a good book, and relax in the bath with a nice cup of tea.”
Her mouth dropped open.
He looked at her as innocently as a child. He was laying it on thick, but it had softened her. She tilted her head a little to the side, and her lips relaxed and then slowly opened. Jack resisted the urge to smile as her eyes traveled over him.
Jack handed her the other towel. “Well, if you don’t have any, I guess I’ll have to remember to pick some up in town next time. I’m sorry to have troubled you, Ms. Jenkins.”
Slump your shoulders. Small smile. Nod. He moved slowly toward the staircase.
“Is there a particular brand of tea you prefer?”
One foot on the stairs, he turned around.
Detective Jack Stratton Box Set Page 34