More Than a Lawman

by Anna J. Stewart

  “Hey, Kyla.”

  “Look who’s out and about.” Kyla smiled up at her. “You doing okay? All thawed out?”

  “Peachy keen, according to one doctor,” Eden said, appreciating Kyla’s joke while hopefully bypassing any subsequent conversation about her ordeal. “I hear you’re going to take the bar exam next month. How goes the studying?”

  “Torturous,” Kyla groaned and tightened the colorful scarf that kept her springy ebony curls off her face. Warm, sepia skin glowed under the office lights, and those dark eyes of hers didn’t miss a trick. She might look young and innocent, but Kyla had become a ferocious guardian of the gate when it came to Simone. “And your friend in there isn’t helping.” She jerked a thumb toward Simone’s open door.

  “I heard that!” Simone called from inside the glass room.

  “She keeps dropping tests on my desk,” Kyla leaned forward and whispered. “Over the weekend she had me write a five-thousand-word essay on MacClaren versus Taurus Construction.”

  “Oh, hey, I covered that case.” Eden snapped her fingers. “The plaintiffs sued over the fact the sewer lines in the housing complex were never hooked up properly. Caused constant backups. Sexy stuff.” Gag-worthy stuff.

  “As were the plethora of subsequent health issues. Did I mention I had to write this over the weekend?” Kyla sighed.

  “I’m surprised Simone’s working so hard to help you pass,” Eden said. “She won’t be able to survive without you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Kyla insisted. “Not as long as I have student loans to pay. Besides, who better to learn the ropes from?”

  “More like you’re going to push me out of a job,” Simone said from the doorway. “Not bad, kiddo. I made some notes, but I think you’re going to do just fine.”

  “Does that mean you’ll stop with the homework assignments?”

  “Not a chance.” Simone clicked her tongue and turned her bright-eyed attention to Eden. “This is a surprise. I hear you’ve recently had a change in address and picked up a roommate. You’d better come in and spill.”

  “How do you not have a hangover?” Eden closed the door behind her as Simone returned to her desk. Her friend perched daintily on the edge of her chair as she scribbled on a legal pad. “Allie told me it took her over a half hour to get you into bed last night.”

  “It wouldn’t have taken her half that time if she’d been naked and male.” Simone flipped the page over. Typical Simone. Old-school dedication to the job.

  Eden reached across the desk and poked her friend in the forehead. “Seriously? No headache?”

  Simone swatted her hand away without batting a perfectly outlined eye. “I hydrate. And I worked out this morning. Got rid of the toxins. Give me a second.” She carried her notepad out to Kyla. Eden glanced around Simone’s office, thinking how if ever a place evoked someone’s personality, this managed it. No dark woods or color in here. Pale yellow coated the walls, and an interspersing of brass and glass shelves kept her books, awards and certificates neatly displayed.

  Eden’s furniture had at least an inch of dust covering it, while the very idea of dust probably hadn’t even crossed this office’s mind. Simone wasn’t a sentimentalist. At least, not here. Here was where her friend displayed her accomplishments, which had multiplied exponentially over the years.

  The few personal photographs she did display were of herself, Eden and Allie from various adventures during their lives, including one from Simone’s wedding day in Napa four years ago. That Simone and Vince separated almost before the ink was dry on their license was evident by the lack of husband-like mementos. Or images.

  “I thought Cole had you under house arrest at his place,” Simone said as she returned to her desk.

  “He had some work to do and I got to tag along.” Like a pet puppy. Eden pointed to the photo of Simone and her parents. “You hear from them lately?”

  “Mother is enjoying a cruise on the French Riviera for the next six weeks,” Simone said in that perfect “whatever makes her happy” tone. “Dad’s working on some kind of deal in Hong Kong. Probably has to do with wife number four.”

  “The deal or the trip?”

  “Hmm.” Simone simply smiled. “I’m sure I’ll be reading about it in his company’s press release. Why are you asking about them?”

  For once Eden didn’t hedge. This was, partially anyway, why she’d come. “I was at the hospital earlier. With Cole. Brought things back.” That heaviness had returned, but not with its familiar intensity. “About Mom and Dad.” No wonder she was out of sorts.

  “Oh, Eden.” Simone held out her hands and, as Eden always did when Simone made the infrequent gesture, she took them. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Eden squeezed her fingers around Simone’s. “For the first time, I think I am. It’s still there. The panic. The fear. But something was different.”

  “That something being Cole, I’m betting.” There was that sly look Eden had been waiting for. “Is that what’s brought you to my office? Need a little of that advice you avoided last night?”

  “He’s...confusing.” Eden wished she had Simone’s talent for speaking. “Everything’s getting so jumbled up. I need to pick your brain. Not that I don’t love Allie to bits...” But what she didn’t need was a therapy session. She also didn’t need Allie telling her why she had commitment issues.

  “Understood.” Simone nodded. “She’s testifying in that custody case today anyway. How about Giraldi’s for lunch?”

  “Really?” Eden whined and sounded like the eight-year-old brat Cole sometimes accused her of being. “They practically have a dress code and they look at me weird when I slurp my soup. How about Marvin’s Burgers?”

  “Not on a bet.” Simone retrieved her purse—white and gold, of course—from her desk. “Let’s make it Cavanaugh’s. I can get a salad and you can scarf down one of those double-decker sandwiches you’re so fond of.”

  “And wine?” Eden asked hopefully as Simone linked her arm through Eden’s.

  “Always wine. Kyla, we’re headed out. I’ll be back in time for that meeting with Jason at two thirty.” Simone skidded to a halt in front of her assistant’s desk. “What’s that?”

  “Oh, this was just delivered for you.” Kyla picked up the basket of flowers and twirled it around. “Aren’t they pretty?”

  Eden felt the color drain from her face as she stared at the clusters of wild violets.

  “Something wrong?” Kyla’s brow furrowed.

  “What does the card say?” Simone trembled as she gripped Eden’s arm. “Who are they from?”

  “I didn’t read it.” Kyla plucked at the envelope and pulled out a folded piece of petal-pink stationery. “It doesn’t say. It just says ‘happy anniversary.’ Why would your ex-husband send you flowers now that you’re divorced?”

  “Vince never sent me flowers, anniversary or not. They’re from someone else. Eden?” It took a lot to shake Simone, and right now, as she looked at the note card, it was as if she’d been cracked to her core. “Tell me not to think what I’m thinking, please.”

  “Maybe it’s been delivered to the wrong person.” Eden’s fingers felt like they were burning as she touched the basket handle. “Kyla, would you call Woodnymph Florist to confirm and let us know? If that’s the case, I’ll drop them off after lunch.” But that wouldn’t be the case. Not with that note. Not with that message.

  And not with those flowers.

  And not with the lit candle in her basement.

  She tucked the letter into the envelope and slipped it into the plastic holder in the basket.

  “Yeah, sure.” Kyla picked up the receiver. “Are you going to tell me—”

  “Later.” They hurried off, not saying a word until they were securely in the elevator. “That has to be a coincide
nce, right? We’re overthinking this?” Simone breathed heavily as she braced a hand on the wall and looked at Eden, who swung the basket behind her. “A wrong delivery, or just—something else?”

  “Maybe,” Eden lied. An hour ago, even a half hour ago, she might have believed it. But now? “It could be one of those mistakes—”

  “So close to...?” The grief Eden had seen in the mirror so frequently was reflected back at her in the face of her friend. “And that note card looks like... Oh, no.” Simone sagged against the elevator wall. “It’s been twenty years.”

  “Next month.” Eden had to remember to breathe. First the candle, then the perfume, now the flowers. “Twenty years since Chloe’s murder.”

  “I don’t know how you say that so casually,” Simone snapped, then blinked back a sudden rush of tears. “I’m sorry. Sometimes your ability to disconnect really infuriates me.”

  “Don’t apologize, Simone. I’m me, remember? I compartmentalize and lock things up. I don’t feel anything.” Except Eden did feel. She felt everything. She remembered everything.

  From the last time she heard Chloe laugh during their campout that night, to how Eden had whined when Chloe had asked Eden to go with her to the bathroom.

  Eden had pouted, said no and gone back to sleep. Two days later they found Chloe’s body.

  In a field of violets.

  Chapter 13

  “Boy, you just don’t realize how dreary a day is until you see something like that.” Jack McTavish’s chair squeaked as he let out a huff of approval. “Like an angel from heaven, I tell you. Brightens my day every time I lay eyes on her.”

  “Who?” Cole busily arranged the additional files Mona had sent over, the techno-medical jargon boggling his brain. The buzz of activity from his fellow officers and detectives was the white noise he needed to focus. He’d compile a list of doctors and see what, if any, commonalities the victims’ blood had. Then, maybe, he’d bring Agent Simmons up to date. And throw him a bone by having him do a quick check on all those who’d commented on Eden’s blog.

  When Jack let out a low whistle, Cole glanced up. Eden and Simone were headed his way, Simone in one of her attention-grabbing white outfits, wearing a tasteful thin gold chain and heels sharp enough to pierce a man’s heart. “Trust me, my friend. She’s way out of your league. Did you two decide to take me to lunch?” Cole’s teasing grin faltered when he noticed Simone’s pallor rivaled her clothes, and still she had more color in her cheeks than Eden.

  “What’s wrong?” He looked down at the wicker basket of flowers Eden dropped on his desk. “What,” he finally asked, “are those?”

  “Those are flowers, man. Get with it.” Jack joined them and reached for the card. “Secret admirer, Ms. Assistant DA?”

  “I hope not,” Simone muttered.

  “Leave it be, Jack.” Eden smacked his hand away. “It’s evidence.”

  “Whoa, easy, Eden.”

  “Evidence of what?” Cole asked. What was she up to now? “What do you want me to do, send them down to the lab for fingerprint and DNA analysis? What’s the deal, Simone?”

  “Those were delivered to Simone’s office a little while ago.” Eden’s voice sounded overly controlled, as if she couldn’t trust herself to speak. “They’re violets, Cole.”

  “Violets.” Silence rang in his ears. He scrubbed his fingers across his forehead as if he could scrub away the past.

  “And before you ask,” Eden plowed on, “Kyla just texted us to let us know they didn’t come from the florist listed on the envelope.”

  It took a long moment for the information to sink in. When it did, he looked at the basket, at the flowers. He shook his head, not wanting to think, not wanting to believe... “That could just be a—”

  “Coincidence?” Eden interrupted. “We’ve been down that road and we aren’t buying it. Not when it’s almost twenty years to the day. And not when the card—on stationery that looks like the type Simone used as a kid—says ‘happy anniversary.’”

  Eden crossed her arms over her chest, jaw set in that stubborn “no one is going to convince me I’m wrong” stance of hers. “It’s him.”

  “Right now, it’s a basket of flowers,” Cole said even as a cold, sick feeling washed over him. He’d finally gotten through to her where the Iceman was concerned, or as much as he was going to. Adding this to the mix would only stir up an entirely new tempest. “And flowers don’t prove anything other than someone has either a sick sense of humor or a bad sense of direction.”

  “We just told you they weren’t delivered by mistake. What are you going to do about it?” Eden demanded.

  “Someone want to fill me in?” Jack shifted from one foot to the other, the pretense and humor fading from his face. “Who’s this Chloe you’re talking about?”

  “Chloe Evans.” Cole kept his eyes on Eden as he answered his partner. “Nine-year-old girl found strangled in a field...”

  “In a field of wild violets,” Eden finished in a voice so tight he thought she might shatter. “Nice summary of the crime, Cole. Simple and succinct.”

  “Eden, don’t.” Simone placed that motherly hand of hers on Eden’s arm.

  “Yeah, Eden, don’t.” Cole’s temper snapped. “You don’t get the monopoly on grief where Chloe’s concerned. She was my friend, too.” To prove it, he yanked open his bottom desk drawer and pulled out the dog-eared file to hand to Jack. “Feel free to catch up.” He rounded on Eden. “You really want to bring all this up again? With everything else going on? You’re going to use a basket of flowers and a pink note card to push that pain to the surface?”

  “You have to ask?” Eden shot back with something akin to hurt in her eyes. “There’s no beneath the surface for us, Cole. The pain is always there. That man...that murderer, is why I do what I do. He made me.”

  “Why would you give Chloe’s killer that much credit?” Cole demanded. “You made you and you did a good job of it, but just to remind you, we’re already buried in one of your cases. You’re good, Eden, but I don’t think even you can juggle two killers at the same time.”

  “You asked me to stop going off on my own. You asked me to trust you,” Eden said, her expression full of confusion. “I could have gone to Tammy, asked her to do it or to put me in contact with someone else who could. But I didn’t. I came to you, Cole. I’m trying here, I really am. So are you going to help us or not?”

  Wow—he’d lost this argument before it had even started.

  “Simone?” Cole looked to his usual voice of reason. “Help me out. You want to dive into the deep end with her?”

  “It’s the absolute last thing I want to do.” Simone fingered the tiny heart pendant she always wore. The pendant that once upon a time had belonged to Chloe. “But if we don’t, I’ll always wonder. If it’ll help, I can have an official request from the DA within the hour.”

  He didn’t need any paperwork. He needed a level head. He was weak enough when it came to Eden. No way could he withstand both of them coming at him. “You’re that sure about this?”

  “No, I’m not,” Simone said. “That’s the point.”

  “We should call Allie.” Eden touched her hand to Simone’s shoulder.

  “And tell her what, exactly?” Cole could feel exhaustion creeping over him. “You don’t know anything for certain at the moment except that your imagination is working overtime. The chance these flowers are connected to Chloe’s murder is remote at best. Don’t let your paranoia get ahead of you.”

  “It’s not paranoia—it’s logic. It’s him, Cole.”

  He should just start naming his headaches Eden. “Why do you always jump to the absolute worst conclusion possible?”

  “Because in my experience it’s usually the right one.”

  “Fine.” Cole snatched up the basket and headed to
ward the elevator. “It’s not like we have anything else going on around here.”

  “I’m coming with you.” Eden raced up behind him.

  “I’ll just stay here, then,” Simone called. Cole glanced over his shoulder as he pushed the elevator button. Jack pulled a chair over to his desk for Simone and said something to her, earning a thin smile. Good. Jack was good with people; he could always put them at ease. Simone looked as if she could use a distraction right about now.

  “I didn’t mean to imply you don’t care about Chloe,” Eden said in that too-tight voice of hers.

  “Could have fooled me.” The elevator doors opened and they got in. “You know as well as I do this is probably some crackpot who’s spent too much time reading your blog.”

  “I don’t blog about Chloe. And who would have known about the stationery?”

  Good to know there were some lines she didn’t cross. “Pink isn’t exactly a unique color, Eden. Maybe it’s someone who’s getting off taunting you and Simone about the anniversary. You’ve been in the headlines these last few days. Your past is bound to be mentioned, as is your friendship with Simone, and she’s certainly made her share of enemies. It isn’t out of the realm of possibility someone’s jabbing at her by using this case.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and glared up at him. “Those flowers are from him. I know it.”

  “And Eden St. Claire is never wrong, is she?”

  “Not about this.” She jutted out her chin in that way that forced him to choose between arguing with her and kissing her. “Never about Chloe.”

  “Why can’t you get panic attacks or a crisis of faith like normal people?” He stepped out of the elevator, Eden right on his heels. “This case, these cases, they’re going to be the end of you, Eden.” Why couldn’t she see how obsessed she’d become? How much damage this did? He turned to face her before he pleaded, “Why can’t you let it go?”

  She didn’t waver, didn’t blink. If anything, her face turned to stone as her eyes hardened. “Are you going to reopen the case or not?”