True Vision

by Joyce Lamb

  As she circled a few city blocks, she kept a close watch on the rearview to make sure no one followed. She knew she was taking a chance by going out, but this was something she had to do. Lucy Sheridan might be dead, and she couldn’t ask anyone else to check on her without revealing that Lucy was the source on the Dick’s story. She’d promised to protect Lucy’s identity. Not that that mattered if she was dead, but still.

  Charlie had already tried to call her home, cell and work numbers and got no answer. Unusual for Lucy, who had been at one of those numbers every time Charlie had needed to reach her about the story.

  Her stomach knotted as she pulled into Lake Avalon dinner traffic. The thought of what she might find at Lucy’s terrified her. She imagined a bloody hammer and the smell of fresh paint. A crushed skull.

  A few minutes later, she parked the Sebring in front of Lucy’s modest, blue stucco house. She got out of the car and walked across the yard, taking in Lucy’s Mazda in the driveway and the lamp glowing through the curtains of the front window. On the porch, the light shining in her face, she pushed the doorbell and listened to it chime behind the door.

  Nothing.

  No movement beyond the curtains.

  But Lucy’s car was in the driveway. She had to be here.

  Anxiety tightened the back of Charlie’s neck as she rang the bell again, picturing drop cloths and a blood-clotted hammer on the other side of the door.

  Please, God. Let me be wrong.

  Still nothing.

  “Are you looking for Lucy?”

  Charlie started and turned, surprised to see the slightly overweight woman in baggy, faded jeans and a pink T-shirt spotted with blue paint standing at the end of the driveway. She held the leash of a large German shepherd that sniffed at the roots of a tree next to the road. A black-with-teal-accents Marlins baseball cap sat on top of shoulder-length dirty-blond hair.

  “Hi,” Charlie said. “Yes, I’m looking for Lucy. Do you know her?”

  “We were supposed to go to a movie tonight.”

  Charlie had to concentrate to keep breathing as she felt again the crunch-thud of the hammer striking bone. “Do you know how to reach her? I haven’t been able to get an answer anywhere.”

  “Me neither.” The woman walked halfway up the driveway, the dog following, nose firmly to the ground. “She hasn’t answered her door, and usually the only time she’s gone and her car is here is when she goes on vacation. I always take her to the airport.”

  “So she’s not on vacation,” Charlie said.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” the woman said. “And I would think she’d tell me. I water her plants and get her mail while she’s gone.”

  Charlie inspected the flower bed, hoping to spot one of those fake rocks that held a house key. “I don’t suppose you know if she keeps an extra key anywhere.”

  The woman traversed the rest of the way up the walk, making kissing noises to get the dog to follow. “Who are you, exactly? I’ve never seen you around with Lucy.”

  Charlie put on her friendliest smile. Think fast. “I’m a real estate agent.” She thrust out her hand. “Samantha Truman. You are?”

  “Sandra Stuart.” She clasped Charlie’s hand—

  “No!” Cherokee races for the road, the traffic, and I race after him. “Cherokee! Stop!” The ball bounces into the street, and the mutt bounces right after it. My heart slams into my throat while the sound of squealing tires echoes in my head. And then Cherokee’s running back toward me, the red rubber ball clasped between his teeth, ears happily flapping.

  “Miss Truman?”

  Charlie blinked at Sandra Stuart and felt her fake smile turn genuine. Finally, a happy ending. She glanced down at the German shepherd. “Who’s this guy?”

  “Cherokee.”

  Charlie scratched the dog’s ears. “Hello, Cherokee.”

  “You’re a real estate agent? I didn’t know Lucy was thinking about selling.”

  “She’s only exploring her options at this point. The thing is, she owes me some paperwork. She must have forgotten to drop it off before she left.”

  “Oh.” Sandra cast an uncertain look at the front of Lucy’s house.

  “If you know where there’s a key, I could slip in and grab the paperwork. Lucy will be so disappointed when she realizes she forgot to get it to me, and, well, it’d save my bacon, too. I kind of promised my boss . . .” She shrugged in her best I’m-a-screwup-please-save-me imitation.

  Sandra nodded at the potted ficus on the corner of the porch. “There’s a key under there.”

  Score! Charlie had to resist the urge to tell the woman not to trust strangers so easily. Especially lying ones. “Oh, thank you,” she gushed instead. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.” She tipped up the pot and slid the key out from underneath. Her fingers started to tremble as she straightened. The prospect of finding Lucy with her skull smashed in twisted in her stomach.

  Sandra clicked her tongue at Cherokee. “Good luck,” she said as she started backing away with the dog. “If you hear from Lucy, could you ask her to give me a call? I’m worried about her.”

  Charlie nodded and waved. She waited until Sandra was half a block up before she turned to Lucy’s front door and slid the key into the lock. Her hands shook in earnest now, her knees joining in. Please, God, no blood and guts.

  Opening the door, she stepped inside, holding her breath, dreading that first whiff of wet paint. Or death.

  But when she finally allowed herself a breath, she smelled vanilla air freshener.

  A walk through the house told her nothing about where Lucy had gone or when she planned to be back. Her plants had been watered recently, and mail with today’s postmark sat unopened on the kitchen table. A check under the sink in the kitchen revealed an empty garbage can.

  It appeared that Lucy had indeed gone on vacation.

  Or, at least, someone had made it look that way.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Charlie squeezed the lime wedge into her Tanqueray and tonic, then tucked it down into the ice before taking a sip. The first zing of crisp, piney flavor sent a shiver through her taste buds. She figured it was probably not cool that she was at a bar alone, but she hadn’t been able to handle the absolute solitude of the hotel room. There were other people in the lounge of the Royal Palm Inn, so she wasn’t being a twit. Safety in numbers, after all.

  The indoor bar where she sat had been made to look like a tiki hut. A thatch roof hung over the display of liquor bottles like an awning, and tiki torches with flickering lamps instead of flames dotted the lounge and the patio outside. A Bob Marley tune played low and rhythmic, while the scents of tanning oil and fried food hung in heavy, almost electric air.

  Before she’d come down to the bar, Logan had told her over the phone that Dick Sr. and Dick Jr. both had solid alibis for the break-in and the car accident. She’d pointed out that that didn’t mean they couldn’t have hired someone to take her out.

  “Hey, darlin’, what’s your sign?”

  She glanced sideways, startled out of her thoughts by the deep, resonant voice. Noah leaned against the bar with a wide smile. He wore new khaki safari shorts and an olive green “Save the Florida Panther” T-shirt. He smelled of soap and rain, his hair swept back from his face as though he’d finger-combed it after a shower rather than using an actual comb. A bottle of Bud Light dangled from one hand.

  When she didn’t say anything, he arched a questioning brow, his green eyes glittering in the dim light.

  “Do Not Enter,” she said, and turned her attention back to her ice-cold drink, so like reality. Why was he even talking to her? He should hate her for causing Laurette’s death. Just looking at him made her ache for what had been lost because of her.

  With a chuckle, he plopped onto the stool next to her. “I was hoping for Yield.”

  “Wrong Way,” she countered, though she had a feeling this man could rub her the right way.

  She sensed him considerin
g her and suddenly felt self-conscious in her shorts and tank top. “Soft Shoulders,” he murmured.

  She looked at him, careful to keep her expression neutral despite the bemusement threatening to quirk her lips. That apparently wasn’t his first Bud Light. “Gator Crossing.”

  He laughed at that then tipped up his beer for a long swallow. She couldn’t help but notice the way his throat worked. Kind of sexy, really. As was the day’s growth of beard that shadowed his jaw, making him look slightly, chill-inducingly, dangerous. A bad boy. She’d never understood women who went for his type . . . until now.

  Tamping down a rush of something that tweaked her tension, she went back to her drink. Couldn’t be lust. She didn’t do lust.

  “Gator Crossing,” he repeated, and chuckled again. “We don’t have that one where I’m from.”

  She sipped from her drink and hoped the liquor would ease the tense knot at the base of her skull soon. She was tired of the steady throb of the headache and unanswered questions that whirled in her head like a cyclone.

  “Dollar-fifty for your thoughts.”

  She looked sideways at Noah, saw from the look on his face that he’d been lame on purpose. Trying to charm her. But why? In his shoes, she’d be angry. Hell, she was angry in her own shoes. She never should have tried to defy the status quo. If she’d been the good little journalist and done what she was told, everything would be so different. No one would be dead. No one would want to kill her. The LAG would go on publishing next week.

  She wouldn’t be super empathic.

  Draining what was left of the alcohol in her glass, she put it down. “Sorry, but dollar-fifty’s not going to cover it.”

  “Those are some pricey thoughts.” He signaled the bartender to set them both up with fresh drinks then grabbed a handful of nuts from the bowl on the bar. “I don’t suppose you came to the bar looking for me.”

  She laughed at that. “Wow, that’s . . . well, that’s just . . . wow.”

  “You’re flustered. I’ll take that as a good sign.”

  “A good sign of what?”

  “You like me,” he said, grinning as he popped a peanut into his mouth.

  She felt her face flush warm. “You’re a flirt.”

  “I don’t flirt. I’m naturally charming.”

  She snorted. “Right.” But he kind of was, damn him. And sexy. The facial hair that darkened his jaw and eyes made her mouth water.

  “While you were out, I did some exploring.”

  She shot a glance at him. “While I was out?”

  He grinned. “Thought you’d pull a fast one, huh? You forget who you’re dealing with. Big-city cops aren’t so easy to fool.”

  She knew for a fact that no one had followed her to Lucy’s. “So where’d I go?”

  “I didn’t say I followed you. I just know you went out.”

  “Ah. You knocked on my door.”

  “Yep, no answer. So where’d you go?”

  “Maybe I’m a sound sleeper.”

  “I don’t think so. Where’d you go?” Same tone, same dogged question.

  She shrugged. “An errand.”

  “Logan’d be pissed.”

  “Yeah? How’s he going to find out?”

  “I’m going to tell him.”

  “Big-city cops are big on tattling, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah.” His teeth flashed white. “So?”

  “Let’s just say I visited a friend.”

  He leaned an elbow on the bar. “A boyfriend?”

  She let her lips quirk, foolishly pleased at the rasp in his voice and that he was asking. “No.”

  His grin returned. “Good.” He reached for the fresh beer left by the bartender. “I visited an old restaurant up the block that the front desk recommended. Mama Mo’s. Fried chicken, collard greens and mac-and-cheese. I’m still feeling like I should go to confession.”

  The image of him in a confessional amused her for some reason. Maybe because he struck her as so . . . sinful.

  “You can’t picture me in a church, can you?”

  She blinked at him, and started to smile. “Nope.”

  “That’s okay. Before today, I couldn’t picture you going to a psychic.”

  Damn it, that’s right. Then, he had been following her. “You must have been so disappointed.”

  “Intrigued is more like it. What do you ask your psychic when you visit her?”

  “Why do you assume my psychic is a woman?”

  “Right, don’t pull that gender-bias crap on me.”

  “I’m not. His name is George.”

  He finished swallowing a gulp of beer before he laughed. “No shit.”

  “Today I asked him what he saw in my future with a shaggy-haired Chicago cop who can’t seem to leave me alone.”

  “And what did George say?”

  “He told me to come to this bar tonight at this time and wait for Shaggy to show.”

  “Ah, so this meeting was predestined.”

  She shrugged and sipped her drink. “According to George.”

  Noah leaned in close and lowered his voice. “Did George mention what would happen after the bar?”

  She shivered, unable to resist the urge to shift back from him.

  He raised his head to look into her eyes. “Oops, I invaded your space. Funny, because I would think this would be invading your space.” He casually trailed his index finger over her forearm, the touch featherlight and startling.

  My fist slams into the wall. Pain explodes, and grief knots in my gut like clenched fingers aching to be unfurled. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong fucking woman. It shouldn’t have been her. It shouldn’t have been Laurette.

  She returned to herself, her head still spinning from the surge of his sorrow and rage, to find Noah looking at her expectantly, waiting for a response. Guilt billowed up inside her. He was right. It shouldn’t have been Laurette. It should have been her.

  He cocked his head. “What?”

  She looked down at his hand, saw his bruised knuckles. Why couldn’t her superpower be the ability to turn back time? She’d go back and change places with Laurette, make things the way they should have been, the way that would spare this man so much grief and pain.

  She raised her gaze to his. “I’m sorry about Laurette. You really loved her.”

  His head jerked back, and he slid back a few inches on the bar stool, putting some extra space between them. “Well, I missed the segue on that one.”

  “How long did you know her?”

  He began to pick at the label on his beer, the teasing in his demeanor fading away. “About a year. She told me a while back that her mother is sick. Cancer.”

  Charlie set down her drink a little harder than she’d intended. Oh, God. “That’s why she came to Lake Avalon?”

  “She wanted to reunite your mothers before her own died.”

  No good deed goes unpunished. F-ing universe. “I know it sounds cold, but it’s probably best that they don’t see each other again. My mother has spent her life denying who she is. I don’t imagine she’ll be willing to let go of that very easily.”

  “Isn’t that a decision that she should make?”

  If he’d been talking about anyone else’s mother, she would have agreed. But this was Elise Trudeau, the glacier of Southwest Florida. Not just frozen but layered with years of grit.

  Noah cleared his throat. “Look, I know this isn’t easy for you, but a good friend of mine died while trying to do this thing for her mother, this thing that was important to her. It would mean a lot to me if we could somehow get it done. For Laurette.”

  Charlie had to blink away the moisture in her eyes. So sweet, so devoted to his friend. And he had no idea who he was dealing with—a coward. A cynic. He was heroic, and she was weak. “I’m sorry, but I think you’re going to have to let it go.”

  His jaw hardened. “If our positions were reversed, if your sister Alex, say, died like Laurette did, trying to do what Laurette was trying to do, would
you let it go?”

  Intensity radiated off of him, out of his eyes, sending a shiver up her spine. In that moment, she couldn’t have lied to him if the fate of the world depended on it. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “Then you’ll help me.”

  “I don’t know how—”

  “Talk to your mother, tell her about Rena being sick. I’ll be there with you.”

  She flinched. That’s right, he knew. “What, to protect me? That’s not—”

  “If you won’t do it, I will. And Mom might not like being blindsided by a cop.”

  He had her cornered. She hated being cornered. Yet she knew in her heart it was the right thing to do, for Laurette. But, oh, God, the fabric holding together her family was already so threadbare. This was going to rip them apart. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  He smiled in a way that hit her in the stomach—or was that lower?—like a firm tap.

  Sliding off the bar stool, she said, “I’m going to turn in for the night.”

  To her surprise, he stood and fell in step beside her. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

  She wanted to refuse but could see no way to do so politely. So they walked side by side in silence to the elevator. They reached for the call button at the same time, and their hands collided. Charlie jerked hers back, shocked by the energy that seemed to arc between them.

  He cast a sidelong look at her. “You need to relax,” he said.

  Yeah, but no way was that going to happen with him standing so close.

  They stepped onto the elevator together, and the doors slid closed. “We’re on the same floor,” he said as he hit the appropriate button.

  This elevator had to be the slowest one on the planet, Charlie thought. It hadn’t even lifted off yet when Noah said, “Thank you, by the way. I appreciate what you’re doing. I know it’s not easy.”