Doing It Over (A Most Likely to Novel Book 1)

by Catherine Bybee

  “Your friends thought you were married.”

  “I was young, William. I was embarrassed. The lie was easier than the truth. But I promise you . . . I never married Nathan. A girl doesn’t forget that.”

  William patted her hand and winked. “I understand. We’ll see what he has to say about the order to stay tomorrow. If he really wants custody, he won’t wait to strike back.”

  “What I don’t understand is why. Why now? What does he have to gain by taking Hope away from me? He doesn’t want her.”

  “I have to agree with Mel on this, Dad. The man’s about as sincere as a devil offering three wishes.”

  “He keeps saying things like I finally found you, and now that I found you. I was never hiding. He always knew where I was, or could have gotten ahold of my friends here if he didn’t have my address.”

  William jotted down a few notes on his legal pad of paper. “He’s going to try and say you hid Hope from him. That he couldn’t pay you because he didn’t know where you were. That’s simple to see coming.”

  She thought as much.

  “Why? I keep asking myself why?”

  William put his pen down and started to tuck the notebook into his briefcase. “I don’t know. I have enough to get started on. I’ll have my people track down the alleged marriage certificate, if we can prove it fraudulent, or forged, we might be able to negate all of this. I’ve also got a team working on Nathan Stone the Third, the Second, and the First. We might find something motivating this whole movement. You need to be patient.”

  They all stood, and Wyatt shook his father’s hand. “Thanks again, Dad.”

  William sighed, “Yeah, yeah . . . so.” He lifted his chin. “You gonna tell me how you managed that shiner?”

  Melanie hardly noticed the healing bruise over Wyatt’s eye.

  Wyatt huffed a laugh. “A fist.”

  William closed his eyes. “Son!”

  “Not Nathan’s. It was in the bar.”

  “Oh, ho, ho . . . it just gets better.”

  “No one was arrested,” Wyatt explained.

  William snapped shut his briefcase and grasped the handle. “Well that’s a good thing. I don’t rescue sons from bar fights.”

  They were all laughing.

  “Thanks again, William.” Melanie gave him a brief hug.

  He smiled. “Damsels in distress call, I’ll come runnin’. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “I like your dad,” she said as they watched him walk out of the cafeteria.

  “He’s ruthless in the courtroom.”

  “Yet he raised such a kind and considerate son.”

  Wyatt nudged her with his arm. “You haven’t met my sister or mother.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The day they drove Hope home, Nathan struck back.

  “You must be Hope.”

  Melanie was holding her daughter’s hand as she walked up the steps to the inn. Behind her, Wyatt was removing an armful of get well gifts from his truck that Hope had accumulated over the past week.

  Miss Gina stood behind the woman who greeted Hope before acknowledging Melanie. She had slicked back brown hair that was pulled into a tight bun and a pinched face that looked anything but inviting. The woman had to be in her sixties, with plenty of wrinkles that would do better with a little Botox.

  Melanie hesitated on the top step and glanced at Miss Gina.

  With hesitation, Miss Gina introduced the scowl-faced woman. “This is Ms. Pensky with Child Protective Services.”

  Damn you, Nathan!

  “I’m here to assess the living arrangement for your daughter, Mrs. Stone.”

  Melanie cringed and offered a tight smile. “I go by Ms. Bartlett.” Arguing the fact she wasn’t a Mrs. and explaining she was still a Miss was useless when Nathan was spewing to the world that she was his wife.

  Ms. Pensky attempted to win a staring contest before snapping her gaze to Hope. The forced smile had Hope stepping behind Melanie and gripping her hand tighter. Why CPS would hire a woman who looked like the witch from The Wizard of Oz before the green makeup was beyond her.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions, Hope.”

  Melanie was getting tired of playing nice. “Can we get into the house first?”

  Ms. Pensky stepped aside and let them pass.

  Wyatt jogged in behind them, eyeing the stranger. “Who is she?” he whispered in Melanie’s ear as he walked past her.

  “Child Protective Services. Damn Nathan,” she gritted out in a voice only he could hear.

  “Stall her. I’ll call my dad.”

  Even through her building anger, Wyatt’s instant support made her wonder how she’d lived without him.

  Wyatt set a bouquet of flowers on the hall table and a bag on the floor before going back outside.

  Melanie all but ignored the stranger in the room while she gently helped her daughter out of her sweater. “She looks mean,” Hope whispered in her ear.

  Amen to that, honey.

  “I guess we’ll find out, huh?”

  “Do I have to talk to her?”

  Good question . . . Melanie didn’t really know her rights. Chances were, Wild Bill Gibson did and she’d find out soon enough.

  “Should we get comfortable in the sitting room?” Ms. Pensky interrupted their private conversation.

  Play nice, play nice, play nice.

  Her internal chant wasn’t working. “It’s a long drive from Eugene, Ms. Pensky. Hope needs to use the bathroom.”

  The woman wasn’t convinced.

  “Mommy, I—”

  “I know, sweetie, let me help you.” Melanie didn’t let Hope finish her sentence before taking her by the hand to the downstairs bathroom.

  “But I don’t have to go.”

  Melanie glanced behind her, saw Ms. Pensky watching them.

  “Try, and take your time. So I can talk to the mean-looking lady.”

  Hope peeked around and then shrank into the small room and shut the door.

  Melanie pulled in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Play nice, play nice . . .

  Ms. Pensky met her in the doorway to the sitting room; Miss Gina glaring at her side. “I really don’t have that many questions, Ms. Bartlett.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s been a very long week, and putting my daughter through anything more is asking too much.”

  “As a public servant, I’m obligated to investigate every report.”

  “And who requested you to question my daughter?”

  Ms. Pensky did that staring thing again. “I can’t reveal that information.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you can’t.”

  Ms. Pensky lifted her nose to the air and sniffed. “Who smokes?”

  Miss Gina sat forward. “I do on occasion. Outside, away from Hope.”

  Oz Lady didn’t change her stare.

  The sound of the toilet flushing down the hall brought their attention to the door as Hope left the bathroom.

  “Ladies?” Ms. Pensky spread an arm wide to encourage them to sit.

  Hope was practically crawling into Melanie’s lap when Wyatt hustled into the room.

  He wore a wicked grin as he strode past Oz Lady and stood in front of her. “Hello, Miss . . . ?”

  Her thin smile stayed firmly in place.

  “Pensky.”

  Wyatt held out his hand, palm up. “Can I see your paperwork?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “From the court?” Wyatt waited, did the staring thing with the woman, before she broke.

  “I don’t have a court order. This is a preliminary investigation.”

  Wyatt dropped his hand. “As you can see, Hope is in no grave danger at this moment, and without a court order, no one is obligated to answer any of your questions.”
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  Ms. Pensky’s jaw tightened. She obviously didn’t appreciate being denied an audience.

  “The child has a broken arm and bruises all over her face.”

  “From a highly publicized fall.” Wyatt’s smile slid. “Now, if you don’t mind.” It was his turn to spread his arm wide and indicate she should leave the room.

  Miss Gina huffed as she walked in front of the woman and opened the front door.

  Ms. Pensky glared over her shoulder. “I’ll be back.”

  “You do that.”

  As she left, Melanie let her shoulders fall.

  “So I don’t have to talk to her?” Hope asked.

  “Not today.”

  “Good.” She popped off Melanie’s lap and started to leave.

  “Where are you going?”

  Hope shrugged. “I have to pee now.”

  Wyatt and Miss Gina entered the room as Hope left.

  “What kind of crap is he trying to pull?” Melanie asked the question running in her head.

  Wyatt pulled her into his arms and held her. “Whatever he can.”

  “She’s coming back, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah, probably.”

  Melanie rested her head against Wyatt’s shoulder and closed her eyes.

  Melanie was napping alongside Hope after a much-deserved shower and hot meal. Miss Gina was researching what CPS looked for in order to find a home unsafe for a child, and Wyatt was on the back porch, talking to Luke on the phone.

  “Who is the pinched-faced woman going around town asking about you and Mel?”

  Wyatt explained the situation. “Where did she go?”

  “Sam’s. Then I heard she was at R&B’s asking a thousand questions.”

  “This ex of Melanie’s is a real piece of work,” Wyatt said.

  “From all the stories we heard, none of us understood what she saw in him. You’re sure he’s the one who called Child Protective Services?”

  “Is there any other suspect?”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “Any more word from Jo about Mr. Lewis?”

  “I haven’t seen Jo in two days. Zoe told me she’s done nothing but beat herself up for letting Mr. Lewis leave.”

  “She couldn’t have known. None of us suspected a thing.” It ate Wyatt up that he’d smiled at the man and shaken his hand when he expressed his concern for Hope’s welfare.

  “How is our little patient?”

  Wyatt felt a smile on his face. “She’s a trouper. Keeping her down might prove difficult.”

  “Hard to climb trees with a broken arm,” Luke said with a laugh.

  “Doesn’t mean she won’t try.”

  “Well, she’s getting a hero’s welcome tomorrow afternoon. Zoe is coordinating a huge barbeque. Her way of thanking all the volunteers who stepped up.”

  The effort had been huge. “You know, Luke . . . we live in a great town.”

  “Yeah . . . we do. Well, bud, if you need something, I’m a phone call away.”

  “Thanks.”

  He no sooner hung up the phone when it rang.

  “Hey, Wyatt.”

  It was Josie.

  “What’s up?”

  “Just wondering who this uptight bitch is asking questions about you and Mel.”

  River Bend needed a small newspaper, then he could just put out word on the front page and eliminate the calls.

  Her head was splitting and her neck was so stiff that looking in the rearview mirror took effort. Sleep was something for the weak, and Jo wasn’t giving in.

  The FBI had taken over the investigation, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t dig into the criminal mind of a sleazebag who lured a child into the woods and pushed her off a cliff. Because the case was personal to her, Agent Burton did a fair job of keeping Jo informed of their progress.

  Not that they’d gotten very far.

  A sketch artist had drawn a picture based on the collective recall of everyone who’d seen Mr. Lewis. The image had been aired all over national television without any real hits. “It’s easy to change your appearance,” Agent Burton had told her. She’d gone on and shown Jo just how easy it would be to make their so-called Mr. Lewis into a balding thug with fake tattoos on his face and neck that would distract most people from really looking into his eyes to see the color. Mr. Lewis might have worn a wig once he left River Bend, donned a pair of shorts, and jumped on a party bus to Vegas. The possibilities were truly endless.

  Between Jo and the FBI, they’d sat through countless hours of airport security cameras out of Eugene and come up empty-handed. The man either disguised himself as a woman, which wouldn’t have been all that easy with the body scans and pat downs, or he didn’t bother with the airport at all.

  The rental car company had been given the same information that Miss Gina had received when booking Mr. Lewis’s room. The car had been returned at the airport rental location, and by the time they’d tracked it down, it had already been released to another customer.

  The room he’d used at the inn had a forensics team dissecting it for the better part of twelve hours. It was apparent that some surfaces had been wiped down before Mr. Lewis left the inn. Because he’d taken time to do that simple task, Agent Burton and Jo were convinced he’d had a prior that put him in the database. They both agreed that Mr. Lewis had used the back stairs from the kitchen up into his room unnoticed, and the front stairs when he faked concern for Hope’s disappearance. An unusual amount of dirt was found on the back staircase, laying evidence to their claim, along with a couple of prints that partially matched those in his room. They just needed a break from the many prints they’d lifted to get the man’s real name.

  So far, the only print that lifted clean and had a match was Zane’s. And it had come from the kitchen, where he’d been in and out the night of Zoe’s going-away party.

  Jo was clicking through mug shot after mug shot when she was told she had a visitor waiting to speak to her.

  Instead of inviting them into her office, Jo left her desk and came to the front of the station.

  Her clerk offered the briefest of introductions. “Sheriff, this is Ms. Pensky.”

  Jo’s first thought was Doesn’t that hairstyle hurt? From the pinched face, she imagined it did.

  “How can I be of assistance, Ms. Pensky?”

  The woman tapped a card she had been holding and handed it over. “I’m with Child Protective Services, investigating a case I believe you’re familiar with.”

  Jo glanced at the card briefly and hid all the emotion from her face. Much as she’d love to tell the woman to leave, she didn’t think that would bode well for Mel and Hope. “Perhaps we should talk in my office.”

  Ms. Pensky followed her inside and sat on the very edge of the seat.

  “I don’t think this will take long,” Ms. Pensky told her.

  The woman stared at her for a long minute before continuing. “I’m investigating the welfare and living conditions of Hope Bartlett.”

  One of the things Jo had learned in the academy, and from her father, was the art of silence when she truly wanted information. “Oh?”

  “A complaint came through our office stating that she’s in physical danger in her current living situation.”

  Oh, Nathan . . . when I get my hands on you.

  “That’s absurd.”

  Ms. Pensky had a flatline smile. “How can you say that? Aren’t you searching for a recent guest of the inn in which Hope lives?”

  “I am. So is the FBI.”

  “Didn’t the man walk in, ask for a room, sleep under the same roof as Hope Bartlett, yet no one knows who he is?”

  Jo felt herself being led down a rabbit hole. It was time to hide behind the law.

  “The details of the investigation are not for public knowledge.�
��

  Ms. Pensky did that staring thing.

  Jo matched her.

  “Are you not personal friends with Melanie Bartlett?”

  “I am.”

  “Has Hope ever slept in your home, Sheriff?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  Ms. Pensky let her eyes sweep up and down Jo’s frame. “Do you leave your weapons at the station when you go home, Sheriff?”

  Jo’s back teeth started to hurt for all the grinding she was putting them through. “You’re wasting your time, Ms. Pensky.” She stood and indicated that Ms. Pensky do the same.

  “One more thing, Sheriff. Did you recently respond to a disturbance call at R&B’s?”

  Jo pulled a slow breath, replied with a hiss she wished she could control. “Yes.”

  “And did you not bring into your station Wyatt Gibson, Ms. Bartlett’s current lover? The man she was with the night before Hope’s disappearance?”

  “Mr. Gibson wasn’t charged with anything.”

  “But he was involved in a bar fight, was he not? Indicating a propensity for violence. Something the office of Child Protective Services is very interested in since he is in close contact with that poor child.”

  “Wyatt Gibson is a well respected and law-abiding citizen of River Bend, Ms. Pensky. You won’t find one person in this town who will disagree with me.”

  Ms. Pensky stood and cracked the line of her lips with a sneer. “I do believe you might be a little too close to the victim’s mother to be objective, Sheriff.”

  “It’s a small town, Ms. Pensky. I’ve known most of the residents all of my life. Safe to say I’m close to all of them. That doesn’t stop me from doing my job.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” She dripped with insincerity.

  Jo followed her out.

  Her clerk offered a smile and instantly dropped it when she noticed Jo’s pained expression.

  They’d just about made it out the door when Ms. Pensky fired her last shot. “Oh, Sheriff, one more thing.”

  “What might that be?”

  “Isn’t the suspect who put poor Hope Bartlett in the hospital still on the loose?”