by Cindy Myers
What did he really want? He wanted Trish and he wanted money and his name on a book and respect and a house and . . . everything. The trick was to figure out how to get all that and not lose himself in the process.
Three steps from the top of the stairs that led to her apartment, Sharon saw the man’s shadow. She froze, holding her breath, and studied the looming, dark figure. Her heart pounded, even as she told herself to calm down and take it easy. Her ex, Joe, was still in prison in upstate New York. The police would have told her if he’d been released or gotten out somehow. Josh Miller would have told her. Even if he was free, Joe had no reason to come all this way to harm her. Surely he didn’t. But maybe one of his buddies, the men who had joined him in his radical survivalist encampment, had decided to pay her a visit. Men like that couldn’t be said to be completely sane....
“Mrs. Franklin?” A man emerged from the shadows, a tall, broad-shouldered man in a western-cut jacket, with silver-streaked hair. “It’s Duke Breman. We met at the library.”
All the breath rushed out of her and she gripped the stair railing and pulled herself up the last three steps. “Of course, Mr. Breman, I remember you.”
“Call me Duke.” He nodded toward her apartment door. “I understand Gerald Pershing used to live here?”
“Yes. I rented the place after he left.” She moved toward the door, keys in her hand.
“I understand he left a lot of his things behind. I was wondering if you’d mind if I took a look at them.”
Before she could answer him, footsteps pounded up the stairs. Her daughter, Alina, fourteen and beginning to lose some of her childhood lankiness, leapt onto the landing, her high-tops making soft thumps on the carpet. She drew up short when she saw Duke, her cheeks reddening. “I didn’t know you had company, Mom.”
“This is Mr. Breman,” she said. “You can go on in and start your homework while I talk to him out here.”
“I was gonna ask if I could go over to Lucas’s? We can study together, then I can have dinner with him. We’re working on a project for social studies.”
“If it’s okay with Olivia and D. J., it’s okay with me. Is your brother still at basketball practice?”
She shrugged. “I guess so. You know they usually run to six-thirty or seven, then he’s working at the Last Dollar until nine.”
“He probably told me that and I forgot. All right. You can go to Lucas’s. Call me when you’re ready to come home. I don’t want you riding your bike out that late.”
“D. J. might give me a ride.”
“Call me anyway when you’re on your way, so I won’t worry.”
“You always worry.” Alina hugged Sharon and kissed her cheek. “See you later. Nice meeting you, Mr. Breman.”
“She seems like a good kid,” Duke said, as Alina thundered back down the stairs.
“She is.”
“Is Lucas her boyfriend?”
She shook her head. “Just a friend.” Lucas was the first classmate who’d befriended Alina, and the two had been close ever since. Maybe when they were older it would grow into more, but Sharon wasn’t ready for that yet.
“You have a son, too?”
“Aiden. He’s sixteen.” When Sharon and Joe had divorced last year, Alina had come to Eureka with Sharon, while Aiden chose to remain in Vermont with Joe. But when Joe’s beliefs became even more radical and isolationist, the boy had left, hitchhiking all the way across the country to get to his mom. Since then, the three of them had formed a tight little family. Life in Eureka suited them, and she’d gotten close to Jameso again. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed her brother until she had a chance to get to know him again.
“Could I come in and see Pershing’s things?” Duke asked.
“There’s really nothing to see,” she said. “Just some furniture and a few books and things like that. Nothing personal.”
“I might see something that would provide a clue to where he might have headed when he left Eureka.”
“Sharon? Is everything all right?”
She didn’t realize how tense she’d been until she heard Josh’s voice and relief flooded her, like a sedative injected into her veins. He stepped from the stairway, imposing in his tan Eureka County Sheriff’s Department uniform, pistol at his side. Usually when he saw her, he smiled, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling, his face lighting with a warmth that always made her feel a little unsteady.
But he wasn’t smiling now. He fixed Duke with a quelling frown, the kind of look he must give lawbreakers when he made an arrest. “Mr. Breman, can I help you with something?”
Duke hooked his thumb in the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on the heels of his eel-skin boots. “I was telling Mrs. Franklin that the items Gerald Pershing left behind in her apartment might give me a clue as to where he was headed when he left Eureka.”
“And I believe I heard her tell you she didn’t want you in her apartment,” Josh said.
“No, Josh, it’s okay.” She put a hand on his arm. Now that he was here, she didn’t mind the detective looking at her and Gerald’s things. “It’s okay if Mr. Breman wants to take a quick look.”
“You’re welcome to come with us, if you like,” Duke said.
“Oh, I’m coming with you,” Josh said. He took Sharon’s keys from her and opened the door, then led the way inside.
The apartment was one of four units added above the hardware store. It was modern and bright, with blond oak floors and large windows that afforded a view of the surrounding mountains. It only had two bedrooms, but Sharon had turned a small study into her room and given the master bedroom to Aiden and the second bedroom to Alina. “The furniture was all his, except the beds,” she said, indicating the leather sofa and club chair and dark wood tables in the living area.
“Did he leave the TV, too?” Duke asked, walking over to the large flat screen on a console across from the sofa.
“Yes.” The children had been particularly happy with that acquisition, since they’d never had television before, though she didn’t have cable or a satellite dish. They used it to watch movies, though.
“He must have been in a hurry to leave, or determined to travel light,” Duke said.
“My understanding was that he already had a home in Dallas,” Josh said. “Maybe he didn’t see any point in moving a bunch of heavy furniture he didn’t need.”
Duke nodded, and stopped in front of a three-shelf bookcase in the corner. “You said he left behind some books. Any of these?”
Sharon joined him, aware of Josh close behind her. She studied the books, then pulled out a travel guide to Mexico, a book about gold mining, and another on conversational Spanish. “That bottom shelf is mostly his, too,” she said. “The paperback thrillers and the other travel books. I kept them because Aiden likes to read those.”
“Did you get rid of anything?”
“He left behind a few clothes. Not much—a jacket with a rip in the sleeve and some socks with holes in them. I threw them out, though there was a pair of shoes and some slacks I donated to the local thrift store.”
“Did he leave anything more personal—photos, letters, or financial paperwork?”
She shook her head. “Nothing like that.”
He flipped through the guide to Mexico. “Looks like he’s underlined some things in here. Do you mind if I take this with me? Maybe he was headed to Mexico.”
“Maybe you’d better take the guide to Italy and the one to Greece, too,” Josh said. “They’re on the bottom shelf.”
Sharon couldn’t tell if the look Duke sent Josh was one of annoyance or embarrassment at being caught out, but there was no missing the animosity between the two men. It radiated in the air like a noxious cloud. “Take anything you like,” she said. “As long as they’re not my personal books, I don’t care.”
“So when you moved in to this apartment, you didn’t find anything that might indicate where Gerald Pershing was headed next?” Duke asked. “No credit card rec
eipts or scribbled notes—things you might have tossed in the trash because you thought they weren’t significant?”
“I didn’t find anything like that,” she said. “The only things I threw out were those old clothes and some leftover Chinese takeout and some lunch meat from the refrigerator.”
Duke balanced the three guidebooks on his palm. “I’ll return these if I decide I don’t need them.”
“Wherever Pershing ended up, I don’t think you’re going to find anything here in Eureka,” Josh said, all but herding the detective toward the door. “He packed up and left and we haven’t heard from him since.”
“No one’s heard from him since he was here,” Duke said. “That’s not his usual pattern of behavior. He hasn’t used his credit cards or his phone, and no one has seen his car, since the day he was pulled out of that mine. That strikes me as suspicious.”
“Maybe he’d planned to disappear,” Josh said. “He made another identity for himself. It happens.”
“Or maybe one of the people here in town who had a grudge against him decided to make sure he never came back to bother them again.” Duke’s grim tone and expression sent another chill through Sharon.
“Who did you say you work for, again?” Josh said.
Duke’s smile was fleeting and didn’t reach his eyes. “I didn’t say.”
“If Gerald’s family or business associates suspect foul play, they should contact the police,” Josh said. “So far, you’re the only one raising these suspicions.”
“I guess I’m just the suspicious type.” He paused in the doorway and addressed Sharon. “If you think of anything—anything you remember from when you moved in that might be significant, let me know.” He handed her his business card, then nodded to Josh and left.
When he was gone, Sharon sank onto the sofa. “That man makes me nervous.”
Josh settled onto the sofa beside her. “It’s an interviewing technique. Make people nervous and they tend to talk more.”
“Is that one of those things they teach you in cop school?” she asked.
“Something like that.”
“Do you think he was ever a cop?”
“Maybe. A lot of private investigators are. It helps to have an in with a department.”
“Well, I hope he got what he wanted from me. I’d just as soon not talk to him again.”
“I saw Alina on my way up. She said she was on her way over to Lucas’s house.”
“Yes. She’s going to have dinner with him. Aiden is working at the Last Dollar after he gets out of basketball practice.”
“Why don’t you come over to my place for dinner? I’ll make pasta or something simple.”
He’d made several of his simple—but delicious—dinners for her over the past few weeks. “This is getting to be a habit.”
He covered her hand with his. “I hope you think it’s a good habit.”
“It’s growing on me.” She turned her palm up to twine her fingers with his. “Thanks for being patient with me.” Josh had stood by her and helped her in the aftermath of her divorce, and those weeks when Aiden was missing. She knew he wanted more than the platonic friendship she’d allowed so far, but after years at the beck and call of controlling men—first her father, then Joe—she was savoring the opportunity to learn how to stand on her own feet. But the more time she spent with Josh, the less attractive a life alone seemed to be.
“I understand why you don’t want to rush into anything.” He traced one finger along her jaw, sending a warm shiver of awareness up her spine. “Just remember, I’m a very patient man. And a stubborn one.”
She smiled, then stood and tugged him to his feet. Arm in arm, they walked across the hall to his apartment. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to take the next step with him yet, but she was definitely getting closer.
Chapter 11
“So, tell me what Art in the Park is all about.” Maggie switched on her pocket recorder and began her interview for the next edition of the Eureka Miner. Olivia Gruber, all blond and pink elfin delicacy, five months pregnant, yet still glowing and stylish in a way Maggie was sure she had never been, stared at the device as if it were a wild animal, one that might bite at any moment.
“Pretend the recorder isn’t here,” Maggie coaxed. “You’re just talking to me, as a friend.”
“All right.” Olivia tucked her straight blond hair behind one ear, revealing two tiny diamond studs and a silver ear cuff. “Art in the Park is a new program offered by the Eureka Recreational League, to provide free art classes for kids. Anybody between the ages of four and fourteen can participate, and older kids can come help out if they want.”
“What kind of art will you be doing?” Maggie asked.
Olivia glanced toward the row of easels set up near the park entrance. “Today we’re painting with watercolors. Next week we’re going to do nature collages. We’re going to do sun prints on T-shirts one week, and maybe play around with sculpture.” She relaxed a little, getting into her subject. “This is the first year, so we’re only doing four weeks, on Wednesday afternoons, but I hope next year we can do more—maybe separate the kids into different age groups. It’s a good time for it—school has just started, but everyone’s calendar isn’t too crowded, and the weather is good.”
Maggie nodded encouragingly. “Tell everybody where they can find your artwork.”
“Oh, everybody knows that already,” she said.
“Some of the people who read the paper are visitors here, and they might want to know.”
Olivia flushed. “Oh. Okay. Well, my mom’s shop, Lacy’s, sells my T-shirts and jewelry, and there are some at Nona’s Gifts. And I have a few paintings hanging in the Last Dollar and they’re for sale.”
“You also did the mural that’s on the back wall of the café, didn’t you?”
“Maggie, you know I did.”
“So tell me something interesting about the mural that I can put in my article.”
“Like what?”
“Like anything I can quote. I have to fill eight inches with this piece, so help me out here.”
“Well . . . it was my first big art project. And it made me think maybe I really could be an artist.”
“How many children are signed up for Art in the Park?” Maggie asked.
Olivia looked again at the easels. “Ten, so far, but anybody can walk up and join, so we’ll probably get more.” She glanced toward the back of the park, where Daisy Mott’s herd grazed, Alice the dog watching from the shade of a lilac bush. “I hope they aren’t too distracted by the animals. If they are, I can always ask them to paint them.”
Maggie switched off the recorder. “That ought to be enough. I can always fill in with information about the rec league.” She dropped the gadget into her purse. “Now, tell me how you’re doing. You look great.”
“I feel good. The worst of the morning sickness is over and I have a little more energy. The doctor says everything is going according to schedule.”
“I know this is a nosy question, but I’m going to ask anyway. Do you know if you’re having a boy or girl?”
“A girl.” Olivia’s smile brightened her face. “D. J. is thrilled and Lucas is excited, too. She’s probably going to be the most spoiled little girl ever.”
“A playmate for Angela. They’ll only be a few months apart.”
“Where is that little angel today?”
“With her dad at the B and B.”
“Jameso sure has settled down. When I first went to work at the Dirty Sally, I heard so many stories about his wild escapades that I never would have believed he could be domesticated, but you did it.”
Maggie couldn’t keep back a frown. “How domesticated is open to debate,” she said. “He still spends four nights a week tending bar. I can’t get him to give that up. And lately he’s been spending another night with D. J. and Josh Miller. And he won’t tell me what he’s up to.” She couldn’t decide which aspect of this bothered her most—that Jameso was
taking one more night away from their precious time together, or that he wouldn’t reveal what he was doing that was so important.
Olivia shook her head. “D. J. won’t tell me what they’re up to, either. But I’m wondering if it has something to do with Hard Rock Days. Maybe they’re planning to compete.”
“Jameso told me he did that once, with my dad, but that he has no desire to do it again.”
“D. J. didn’t act all that interested when the guys at the County Barn were trying to put together teams,” Olivia said. “Maybe they’re planning some kind of practical joke or something. That would be more their style.”
“Jameso and D. J. maybe, but Josh doesn’t strike me as the joking type.”
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. But D. J. has promised me they won’t be meeting like this much longer.”
“I wish I could say the same about Jameso’s job at the Dirty Sally.”
“The Dirty Sally wouldn’t be the same without Jameso there.”
“Somehow, I like to think the drinkers in town would find a way to carry on without him.” She straightened, trying for a calm expression. “I’m trying to be Zen about it and let him work it out on his own. But I worry he feels trapped. Marriage and fatherhood all happened pretty suddenly.”
“Ha! He was thirty-two. About time he grew up.” She patted Maggie’s hand. “He’ll be fine.”
Maggie opened her mouth to say that Jameso would be fine if women like Mindy Payton stopped throwing themselves at him, when Mindy herself pulled up to the entrance in her faded blue Corolla and climbed out. She was dressed almost conservatively today, in short shorts, platform espadrilles, and a loose, floaty tank top, her impossibly blond mop of curls tamed by a pink headband. Shelly’s two boys, Cameron and Theo, climbed out of the car’s backseat and ran past her through the entrance arch.
“I guess this is the right place for the art classes?” she asked as she walked toward them, doing her runway strut, hips jutted out, stepping along an invisible tightrope.