“Thanks for your confidence in me,” Violet said.
“So, did anything happen?” Sarah asked.
“Uh...” She searched for the right words. “Not with the perp we’re hoping to find.”
Maddie stared at Violet. “That was a hesitation. Something happened.”
As Violet looked around the table, she realized that all four women had moved to the edge of their seats.
“Are you after a murderer?” Sarah asked.
“Drug dealer?” Liz asked, holding a forkful of pasta.
“I’m not at liberty to say. At this juncture, we don’t know about murder, but it wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility.”
“It is a drug dealer,” Liz said. “Listen, Violet. After what Cate and Trent went through, and poor Mrs. Beabots being the victim of a drive-by shooting in this very house, you can’t shock us.”
“That’s true,” Mrs. Beabots said. “You know all those security lights and cameras I have outside on the house?”
“Yes. It was the first thing I noticed when I came to inspect the apartment. I thought you were smart to protect yourself so well.”
Mrs. Beabots shook her head. “I didn’t do it. The cops did. Sorry. It was Trent’s idea when he was trapping that drug dealer, Le Grand. Now, I’ve inherited all this equipment.”
“That happens. And it’s good protection. Anyway, the perp didn’t show up.” Violet toyed with her pasta. “I did make an arrest, though.”
“Who?” they asked in unison.
“I can’t say. I wouldn’t be surprised if his publicity manager kills the story.”
“Publicity?” Mrs. Beabots stared at Violet. “This wouldn’t be about Josh Stevens, would it?”
Violet’s hand went numb and she dropped her fork. The silence at the table was deafening. “How. Did. You. Know?”
“Katia told me. Josh Stevens is the reason she couldn’t be here. Josh is staying with Austin and Katia tonight. She’s making crab.” Mrs. Beabots beamed.
Violet was glad she’d already dropped her fork. She had to close her mouth. Josh had said he knew Austin, but she hadn’t believed him. She simply assumed Josh was grasping for anything that would aid in his release. Lots of people knew Austin. Now that she had a chance to think about it, it made sense. Austin was a huge antique car collector. She’d heard stories that Austin’s grandfather had been a designer with the Duesenberg brothers at the turn of the last century. Austin’s father had collected cars all his life. Josh and Austin probably met at an auction or something.
She took a sip of wine.
Just my luck.
Bad luck at that. She’d arrested not only a celebrity, but one who was friends with her friends. Terrific.
Violet couldn’t have been more embarrassed. She’d only been doing her job. “He was speeding,” she said without a trace of emotion. “I ticketed him.”
“Speeding? Isn’t that what he does?” Maddie joked.
“Uh, not going down the county road in front of my mother’s house.”
“Oh, that’s not good,” Liz added.
“It’s not. I can’t tell you exactly how fast he was going.”
Silence.
“It’s a confidentiality issue,” she continued.
They continued to stare at her, like hungry baby birds.
“Well, we’ll read it in the newspaper tomorrow,” Maddie said.
“Yeah.” Violet remembered Scott’s visit to the station. Resigning herself to the inevitable, she said, “It was over two hundred miles an hour.”
All four gaped at her.
“Good for you!” Sarah exclaimed. “What if some kids were out bike riding now that the weather’s nice? They could have gotten scared, lost their balance.” She dropped her forehead to her palm. “It could have been disastrous.”
Mrs. Beabots’s eyes narrowed. “He was driving that blue Bugatti Chiron, wasn’t he?”
“I believe so.”
Sarah cranked her head up. “How do you know about Bugattis?”
“I used to own one.” Mrs. Beabots grinned. “I like to keep up. And I read in Race Car Driver Magazine that Josh bought one.”
Violet rolled her eyes. Was everyone she knew a Josh Stevens fan?
Liz sank her fork into the pasta. “It may not seem like much, Violet, but thank goodness you were there in the right place at the right time today.”
“Thanks, Liz. I needed that.”
Mrs. Beabots took a thoughtful sip of wine. “You know, this gets me to thinking about my fund-raiser. What I’m proposing is ambitious for Indian Lake,” she said. “Violet, you certainly are aware of the situation with the many foster children in the system, what with Isabelle and Scott adopting their foster children.”
“I do. And I applaud you for taking on such a task. How much do you want to raise?”
“Oh, it’s not just the money we need, Violet. Sophie and Jack Carter helped to get the Alliance Recovery Center for addiction support and rehabilitation started. They’ve made incredible progress, and their efforts are working. Though addressing the drug problem is vital, this town has to deal with the abandoned children and homeless families that are the fallout. We need a facility with day care and programs for the children and the parents. I want more than counseling. The children need activities and learning experiences. And so do the parents. Their backs are against the wall, and they’re desperate.”
“They need options,” Violet agreed.
“Yes,” Mrs. Beabots said. “We will staff it, and I personally will award an endowment so that the shelter can go on for years.”
“You will?” all four women chorused.
“Sarah, I told you I was the ambitious type.” Mrs. Beabots smiled proudly.
“Yes, but...” Sarah looked from Violet to Maddie and to Liz.
Mrs. Beabots wagged her forefinger at Sarah. “Now don’t go thinking because I’m older that I can’t do this. I can and I will. I want to leave something that will go on—after I’m not here.”
Violet reached over and touched Mrs. Beabots’s hand. “You are all heart.”
“Look who’s talking. You don’t fool me, Violet Hawks. If you weren’t trying to eliminate crime in our town, you’d be the first to take in these children and you know it.”
“Well, I’m not sure about that. I don’t have much experience with kids.” Violet felt a pinch in her heart thinking about the infants that were abandoned by addict mothers and fathers. She pushed her emotions aside. “So, Mrs. Beabots. Exactly what are you thinking? To build this kind of shelter will take millions. And just as much to staff.”
“I understand that. I have philanthropic friends all across Indiana. It’s about time I talked to them. And Maddie, I could have a chat with that friend of yours, Alex Perkins, who helped you get the investor for your café.”
Maddie folded her hands and rested her chin on them. “You have been thinking about this, haven’t you?”
“Ever since I started volunteering at The Alliance. But this idea came to fruition when Beatrice Wilcox and Rand Nelson took in those two foster boys of theirs. If more people stepped up to the plate like they did, think of the lives that would be changed forever.”
She picked up her linen napkin and dabbed her eyes.
Maddie said, “I think this is a great idea. I want to help.”
“Me, too,” Liz chimed in.
“You know I’m at your beck and call,” Sarah said.
“I’ll help in any way I can,” Maddie said. “I could organize food pantry donations at my café.”
Liz nodded. “I can help with that as well at the vineyard. In fact, we should double our efforts during harvest when we have so many tourists to the vineyard. With the holidays after that, Thanksgiving donations tend to soar.”
“That’s a wonderful idea
,” Mrs. Beabots said.
Maddie snapped her fingers. “It should be an annual event. Maybe we could have a harvest dance and donation at the vineyard. I’ll donate cupcakes, doughnuts, cider. The tourists will love it.”
“So would I,” Liz said.
“Mrs. Beabots,” Violet said slowly, “this is a monumental task. You’re going to need more than just us. What if I were to talk to my chief? Perhaps the Indian Lake County Sheriff’s Department. Both have resources and connections we could use.”
“That’s a fine idea, Violet.” Mrs. Beabots placed her hand over Violet’s. “I’ve thought of everything from taking on one of the old mansions that needs renovation and starting there. I’ve toyed with the idea of asking Gina Barzonni to donate a tract of her farmland to build on, too.”
Maddie looked at Liz. Gina was mother-in-law to them both. “What do you think? Would Gina do that?”
“Gina adores children. I think if we presented it to her the right way, she just might. Rafe is managing the farm now, but Olivia said that he’s got two Thoroughbreds he’s been racing all spring and they are winning race after race. If he keeps this up, he won’t want such a large farm to manage. His heart is still with his horses.”
Violet caught their enthusiasm. “You know, I grew up in the country north of town. I loved it. We had neighbors, an Amish family, who let me ride their horses. Mother didn’t know, but I was always very careful. I loved working our little vegetable garden, and Isabelle planted a million flowers every spring, claiming they were magical. I thought it was the best place to grow up. If those kids had a whole farm to learn skills and play and just be in the clean air and sunshine...”
“Violet, you are so right!” Maddie said. “We have to talk to Gina about this.”
“But remember, girls,” Mrs. Beabots cautioned. “The land is only the beginning. It’s going to take a lot of money. For that, we need one huge extravaganza of a fund-raiser.”
“You can’t steal my summer festival idea,” Sarah said. “St. Mark’s still needs the profits every year.”
The edges of Mrs. Beabots’s mouth cranked up. “It’s Violet who gave me the idea.”
“I did?”
“What was the biggest gathering you all have seen since we’ve been doing fund-raisers together? Not counting Sarah’s Summer Festival.”
“The opening of Austin’s car museum,” Maddie replied.
“Exactly!” Mrs. Beabots’s eyes grew wider with excitement. “And Violet, I’m going to take you up on your offer to help.”
“What can I do?”
“Austin McCreary is sponsoring an event at his car museum. Wine and appetizers. I was thinking if you would ask Josh Stevens to make a personal appearance that night, we could sell so many tickets, people would be out the door. Better still, ask him if he’ll bring that fancy Bugatti of his for photographs of him and the donors.”
“Why not ask Austin to ask Josh?” Violet asked uncomfortably.
“Because I’ve asked Austin for a great deal more than a simple event at his museum.”
“Like what?” Violet asked.
“He’s donating a million dollars. And that, ladies, is information that remains in this room.”
They all stared at Mrs. Beabots.
“Pressing Austin for more after his generous donation might not be prudent,” Mrs. Beabots said.
“Well,” Maddie interjected, “I think this is all fabulous. And this upcoming event is perfect. I know Olivia would be happy to take photographs. She’s so talented. Maybe she can get them printed in the Chicago papers.”
“The Indianapolis newspaper would run anything about Josh Stevens,” Sarah said.
The enthusiasm was electric. But Violet felt her hands grow clammy and her mouth go dry.
She hadn’t told her friends all the truth. She hadn’t told them that in ten days she would be testifying against their hope for this project’s success.
They didn’t know anything about him other than that he was a friend of Austin and Katia’s. And how strong was that relationship?
Violet was a bit surprised that reclusive Austin would have a celebrity like Josh for a friend. Though Austin was wealthy, he came across as an ordinary kind of guy, running his father’s auto parts manufacturing company, and now a new cell phone parts manufacturing company. Austin was a hardworking entrepreneur. Violet just didn’t see the connection between status-hungry Josh Stevens and Austin.
What she did see was that there was no talking her way out of helping her landlady and her friends with this very worthy fund-raising endeavor.
Her biggest fear was that once Josh Stevens discovered that Violet was part of the fund-raiser, he would decline. Mrs. Beabots would be without a celebrity to bring in ticket sales, and Josh Stevens would race out of town so fast he’d break the sound barrier.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JOSH WALKED UP the steps of his manager’s brownstone near the South Side of Chicago. It was a three-story 1920’s building that had been gutted, re-bricked, and re-roofed. Josh guessed that all that remained of the original building, which sat close to the sidewalk across from the University of Chicago, were the Tudor stained-glass windows and transoms. Med students, interns and residents dressed in scrubs sat in the wide grassy boulevard under leafing maple and oak trees. It was spring in the city, and the buzz of life was everywhere.
“Josh Stevens to see Harry Wilcox,” Josh said to the young over-processed blonde with false eyelashes.
She gushed before she spoke. “Oh, I’d know you anywhere, Mr. Stevens! We have your posters all over the hallway.” She pointed to the left. Josh glanced up. He hadn’t been to Harry’s office since before last year’s race in Indianapolis. He was familiar with his most famous poster, which Harry had orchestrated and paid for, then begged and borrowed markers to get published in every racing magazine.
He noticed that rather than the victory photo in which his pit crew jubilantly hugged him, or the one in which he held the trophy, three of these posters were of him grinning broadly and surrounded by four gorgeous models, two of whom were kissing his cheeks. The way they were posed, Josh could see how the onlooker would think each one was his newest girlfriend, when in fact, he didn’t remember one of them. Models were brought in for photo shoots, and the minute the shot was taken, they went off with their managers or agents to get paid and move on to the next photo shoot.
It was all part of the biz.
Especially the kisses.
It had been a long time since Josh had received a meaningful kiss.
If ever.
The receptionist was still babbling about something, but he hadn’t heard a word. “Mr. Stevens?”
“Sorry.”
“Would you like coffee or water?”
“Coffee. Black would be great.”
She rose. “Harry’s off the phone and will see you now. I’ll show you in.”
“I know the way,” he said.
“Great. Then I’ll get your coffee.”
Josh walked down the hall to the austere, contemporary corner office where Harry sat at a chrome-and-glass mega-sized desk. There were two laptops on the desk, a cordless phone and not a scrap of paper anywhere.
Harry was forty-four years old, prematurely gray at the temples and dressed in a tailored suit, blue shirt and navy silk tie, his ever-present Bluetooth in his ear. Harry looked up from the computer and, seeing Josh, he smiled, but the pinch between his brows put there by concern remained.
“Josh.” Harry stood and shook his hand. “Glad to see you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am. I just wasn’t up to the drive to Indiana.” Harry sat back down, motioning to the leather slipper chair for Josh.
The receptionist came in with Josh’s coffee and a chai tea for Harry. She deposited the tray on Harry’s desk.
“Sure,” Madison replied, taking her time moving out the door.
Josh could feel her lingering gaze on him. He lifted his coffee mug off the tray and drank.
“Harry, it was no big deal.”
“Trust me, when it comes to small-town cops, they believe jaywalking is an infraction. They would take parking ticket violations to the Supreme Court if they could.”
“Don’t exaggerate.” Josh smiled and sipped the coffee, hoping the caffeine would lift his spirits. “Besides, I asked my friend Austin McCreary to talk to the local paper and keep it out of the daily police report, which he did.”
Harry clapped his hands together. “Thank heaven you know a guy.” Then he leaned closer over the desk. “You listen to me, Josh. That report could have been picked up by the Associated Press. What a nightmare this could have been. If this does get out, and your mug shot goes viral—” Harry groaned theatrically. “We’re talking YouTube. Twitter...”
“Stop.” Josh held up his hand. “This is gonna go away.”
“Nobody, and I mean nobody, can know about this. Not your pit crew. Not the sponsors. Not the advertisers. We’re only weeks from the Indy race.”
“I know that.”
“Yeah? Then what the blazes were you thinking when you were driving down a country lane at two hundred freaking miles an hour?” Harry shouted. “What’s gotten into you lately?”
“Lately?”
“Just last week, if you remember, we were going down Lake Shore Drive, granted at two in the morning when traffic was scarce, but you zoomed through a red light! I was terrified, Josh. And as a rule, not much scares me.”
“Would you calm down?” Josh looked down at his hands. The same hands that had expertly held the steering wheel of his Bugatti. How could he tell Harry that he hadn’t known how fast he was going...only that it wasn’t fast enough? All he’d seen was his mother’s face. “I’m fine.”
But Josh knew Harry was right. Something was happening to him, had been for the past six months. Something was changing. It was as if his perspective was off-kilter. Always serious about his career and his driving—Josh almost didn’t know himself anymore.
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