by J. S. Marlo
His little sister tossed a dishtowel at him. “You can admire their handiwork as you dry the dishes.”
“If you put me to work every time I show up, I may stop visiting you.”
“Sure.” Unfazed by his empty threat, she handed him a dripping coffee pot. “What brings you here?”
He often visited during the weekend to take the boys to hockey or baseball, but he was usually too busy to come on weeknights.
“Doctor Salinski broached the life-support subject again this morning while Claire’s parents were at the hospital. Her mother—she can’t handle the reality of losing her daughter.” He set the pot on the counter and grabbed a plastic tumbler with Noah’s name on it. “There won’t be any more talks about disconnecting Claire, not for the next few months, unless a drastic change occurs in her condition.”
“And you agreed to this?” Water splashed on her shirt as she dropped a plate in the sink. “Don’t you have the final say when it comes to her treatment?”
“Yes, but it’s complicated.” His attention was divided between the bowl he picked from the dish rack and his sister. “I talked to Riley about Claire tonight. It helped me figure things out. I know I’ve lost Claire, and I know delaying the inevitable serves no purpose, but like her parents, I’m not ready to let her go, not yet.”
Beth nodded in understanding. “Is Riley your shrink?”
For weeks his sister had pushed him to see a psychologist, but Riley was better than any professional. “Riley is a new writer on the show. When she’s in town, we go out for dinner and talk. Her first husband died in the line of duty. She’s remarried, but she understands what I’m going through.”
Her hands stilled over the sink. “Have I met her at the studio?”
“No. And the crew doesn’t know about us, so I’d appreciate if you kept it quiet.”
“Why?” A frown creased his sister’s forehead, and the look he received shrunk the ten-year gap between them to zilch. “Is her husband in the dark?”
“No.” The bowl slipped from his grip. That he managed to catch it before it shattered on the floor was pure agility. “But Paul has her on his radar.”
“Paul? Not the writer who—”
“Yes,” he snapped. “Riley works with him. If Paul learns she accepts my invitations while refusing his, he won’t like it.”
“Oh boy…” As she spoke, a grin slowly emerged. “She’s invoked your protective streak, hasn’t she?”
“She’s a friend, Beth. That’s all.” His cell phone rang in the back pocket of his pants. “Excuse me a moment.” He walked into the living room to take the call. “Hello.”
“Good evening, Mr. Huxley. It’s Detective Jackson speaking.”
A mix of hope and dread coiled Blythe’s insides. Jackson was the lead investigator in Claire’s shooting, but the detective hadn’t called him in months. “Is it about Claire? Has there been any new development?”
“Yes, and I wanted to tell you in person before his death made the news.”
Background noises at the other end of the line made it hard for Blythe to understand. “Whose death?”
“Roswell is dead. We busted him tonight in a drug raid, and he was shot resisting arrest.”
Roswell, the abusive stepfather of the boy Claire saved, was the prime suspect in her shooting, but the police had never been able to gather enough evidence to charge him with the crime.
And now he was dead. He wouldn’t face justice. He wouldn’t spend the rest of his life in prison, and he wouldn’t suffer like Claire suffered…like Blythe suffered.
By killing him, the police had spared Roswell a worse fate. His death left a bittersweet taste in Blythe’s mouth.
Chapter Seven
The idea of eating one of Paul’s chocolates sickened Riley, but she couldn’t bring herself to throw the fancy box of candy in the garbage can. Hoping the hotel maid liked dark chocolate, Riley scribbled a thank you note and tucked it under the corner of the box before leaving her suite.
After stepping out of the elevator, she approached Oscar at the front desk. “I’d like a taxi, please.”
With a silent tip of his head, the manager on duty indicated the lobby. She spun around, and her eyes widened in surprise. Seated in the leather chair closest to the aquarium, Blythe read the newspaper while sipping from a cup of coffee.
As Riley approached him, two young women gawked from across the lobby. They were about Rowan’s age, and they didn’t seem to care that the actor was old enough to be their father.
Not once in her presence had Blythe interacted with fans, and how he dealt with that aspect of his job intrigued her. At the moment, he showed no sign he’d noticed the two girls, unless his tactic was to ignore them. If that was the case, it worked. With a flick of their wrists, the girls swept their long hair over their shoulders and exited onto the street.
The synchronized sweep amused Riley. If only their mothers—
“Hello, Riley.” Absorbed by the girls’ behavior, she hadn’t realized she’d reached the aquarium until he greeted her.
“Blythe? What are you doing here?”
“You need to work on your morning greetings.” He tossed the paper on the table and stood. “Shall we go?”
Puzzled by his presence at her doorstep—hotel doorstep—on a Tuesday morning, she remained immobile on the burgundy rug lying in front of the aquarium. “Are you being paid to chauffeur me around?”
“No, but I enjoy the aggravation.” He took a step toward the door. “Come on, or we’ll be late.”
“Aggravation? You need to work on your compliments,” she teased back, as she followed him outside. “How much of a detour did you make? Or do you happen to live on this side of town?”
He pulled a pair of dark shades from the inside pocket of his jacket and slid them over his eyes. “I live in the suburbs, but I was at the hospital. It’s a dozen or so blocks from here. Not a huge detour.”
The dedication he showed toward his wife was commendable and heartrending.
“That’s very kind of you.” She meant it in every sense of the word.
“Believe it or not, I truly enjoy the aggravation.”
***
“Why did Mrs. Kendrick ride with you this morning?”
Cornered in the staircase by Bella as he walked down to the set, Blythe swallowed the nasty response seeking freedom from his throat. “Why is this any of your business?”
“With your wife in the hospital, people could get the wrong impression.” Her sultry tone screeched in his ears. “I care about your reputation.”
No doubt as much as a skunk cares about spraying unsuspecting dogs.
“Have you noticed the road construction and detours lately?” As he pondered a way to escape that didn’t involve rubbing body parts against the actress or showing excessive rudeness, he vented his frustration on his briefcase, clicking the clasp open and shut. “Taxis cost a bundle, and I’m trying to save the show some money.”
“You worry about cost?” Exaggerated sighs were her specialty, and she served him an extra long one. “The budget is Martin’s problem, honey, not yours. Let him deal with her. He’s the one who concocted that stupid contest and hired her.”
“After my showdown with him last week, I’m hoping it’ll keep me in his good graces.” The lie should appease her qualms about Riley.
She swayed her hips sideways, and the rhythmic motion widened the space between her and the handrail. “You rattle Martin’s chain every time you’re late. Don’t count on him to notice your little good deed toward the writer.”
Feigning indifference, he shrugged. “Her hotel is near the hospital. It’s no big deal.”
“You mean you still visit Claire every morning and every night?” Amazement filled her voice.
“Yes.” The gap looked big enough for him to squeeze through. He took a cautious step down. “Are we done?”
Pushing a curly blonde lock of hair behind her ear, she leaned toward him, exposing some d
ark roots. “Are the police closing the case now that Roswell is dead?”
To ward off her approach, he tucked his briefcase high under his arm, using it as a shield. “Who told you about the boy’s stepdad?” In the morning news, Roswell’s name had been withheld pending notification of next of kin.
“In the paper, it says the man killed in the drug bust was under investigation for child abuse and a suspect in the attempted murder of a social worker. I connected the dots. Am I wrong?”
“No. The cops shot him. Case closed.” With any luck, she’d connect those dots too, stop asking questions, and leave him alone.
“You must be upset he won’t face justice.” She drew nearer and brushed his arm. “I’m here if you need to talk about it.”
At the touch, his patience flew out the emergency exit. He elbowed his way out of the unpleasant situation. “Go dye your hair, Bella. Your roots are showing.”
***
No one in the office. No flowers on her desk. No chocolates in her drawer. And no pins or needles on her chair.
Riley pulled a memory stick from her purse. This was the start of a good day.
“That’s your solution?”
Her heart rate spiked, and she jolted, dropping the stick on the floor. Had it been her laptop, she would have clobbered Paul for startling her. “I didn’t hear you coming. You think you could yell any louder?”
“Don’t be a smart aleck, Ryle.” Paul slammed the door shut behind him. “It doesn’t suit you.”
If he called her Ryle one more time, she’d bust his eardrums. “I’m working.” She sat at her desk and retrieved her laptop from her bag. “What do you want?”
“This.” He waved a sheet of paper in front of her eyes. “Eight years after Carson’s ex-wife loses her unborn child, her former lover takes revenge on Carson. Does that ring a bell?”
Where did he get a copy of the e-mail she sent Andy? “Are you Andy’s messenger?”
“No, but coffee spurted out of his nose when he read it.”
“Really?” Not that she gave much credence to Paul’s tale. “Glad to know I made an impression.”
“Didn’t Andy tell you no convenient miscarriage?”
“The ex-wife underwent prenatal testing and lost the baby as a result of the invasive procedure. It wasn’t a convenient miscarriage. She wanted to establish paternity before the divorce was finalized. There was a risk, but she ignored it.” Explaining the difference to Paul was useless, and she didn’t know why she bothered.
“Rubbish.” He scrunched the sheet of paper into a ball and dunked it into the garbage can. “The lover wasn’t the father. He had no reason to blame Carson. Andy will never approve the story line.”
While the decision belonged to Andy, she worried that Paul might wield enough influence to shatter her dreams of becoming a professional writer.
The door opened abruptly, and she jolted, again. Can’t people stop startling me?
A man in charcoal overalls stepped in. “Sorry, folks, but I’ll be in your hair for a few minutes.”
Warily eyeing the visitor, Paul walked to his desk. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like, junior?” The maintenance man squatted by the door and unscrewed the doorknob, like she’d done. “Never seen anyone change a lock?”
As Paul grumbled some unintelligible reply, Riley chewed on her top lip to stop herself from grinning at his bemused expression.
“Was there something wrong with our door?” she asked once she managed to bottle up her amusement.
“I don’t know, but after a cleaning lady got trapped in an office over the weekend, we were told to replace all the old locks. With this new one, no one can lock himself inside.”
The predicament of the cleaning lady sounded familiar, too familiar to be dismissed as a coincidence.
***
Cell phone against her left ear, Riley kept watch on the office door in case Andy or Paul returned from their respective meetings.
The sharp edge in Ollie’s voice betrayed his frustration. “I can’t believe you told him that.”
“I’m ready to leave work, Ollie. Could we discuss this in my hotel room after your training session is over?”
“You were supposed to talk some sense into him, not feed his fantasy.”
So much for later. If her dear son had waited until she flew back home to tell his dad, it would have saved her an unpleasant argument over the phone. “Hunter isn’t acting impulsively. He’s given his decision a lot of consideration.”
“He obliviously hasn’t been thinking with his head. This is about playing the hero like Chad did.”
“This isn’t about Chad.” To drag her first husband into the equation was unfair, and she resented the comparison. As intrepid as Chad had been in his youth, dying a hero wasn’t what had prompted him to keep searching for the little boy, and Ollie knew it. “Hunter is your son, Ollie. You raised him, and you know he’s cautious and levelheaded.” Duty was the driving force behind their son’s decision, not heroism. “Show some faith in his judgment.” A heavy silence clogged the line. “Ollie?”
“I should get going. See you tomorrow at the airport. Love you.” And he hung up before she had a chance to add anything.
Exasperated over the situation, she tossed the phone into her purse. Lately, Ollie and Hunter seemed to disagree on everything. While her son physically resembled Chad, he’d grown into a younger version of Ollie. Maybe that was the reason they kept clashing. They were too much alike.
Steps sounded in the hallway, and moments later, Blythe’s head peeked around the doorway. “Hi. You look preoccupied. Something wrong?”
“A stubborn husband.” Once she got home, she’d beat some sense into him. “I’m sure your wife would understand.”
“That’s an unfair comparison.” The wounded look he gave her appeared anything but genuine. “Though I do feel sorry for Oliver. What did he do?”
“Nothing he can’t undo.” Nothing he won’t undo. “On a different note, someone fixed the lock on the door. Did you impersonate a cleaning lady in distress by any chance?”
“Moi?” He stepped into the room, his hand over his heart. “You wouldn’t want me to incriminate myself by answering, would you?”
That he managed the feat was impressive. “Does that mean I owe you dinner for eradicating my fears of being trapped in the office again?”
“Fears?” A glint of amusement flicked passed his intense stare. “You looked anything but scared that day. You want Italian?”
***
As she exited her hotel suite on Wednesday morning, Riley bumped into a supply cart stationed in front of her door. Three glasses tipped over the ledge. She caught one, but the other two shattered on the floor. A young maid with pink glasses rushed out of the room next to hers.
“Sorry, ma’am. I shouldn’t have left the cart there.” Her glasses slid to the tip of her nose as she bent to retrieve the bigger shards.
Riley should be the one cleaning up the mess for not paying attention. “It’s my fault. I didn’t mean to add to your workload.”
“As long as you’re not hurt, ma’am, it’s okay. It’s been one of those days anyway. I wasn’t scheduled to work, you know, but Carmen called in sick with the stomach flu.” The maid’s blonde ponytail swung back and forth. “If you ask me, it’s that whole box of chocolates she ate by herself yesterday. That’ll teach her not to share.”
Carmen was the young woman who cleaned Riley’s suite, and the ridiculous notion that Paul tainted the chocolates crossed Riley’s mind, but she immediately rejected it. Eating an entire box of chocolates would make anyone sick.
The roaring of the vacuum cleaner halted Riley’s musings, and she hurried toward the elevator.
She’d met lots of people since she began working at the studio, but Blythe was the only one she called a friend. His companionship filled her lonely downtime, and a part of her wished for him to be in the lobby drinking coffee and reading the newspap
er.
When the door of the elevator parted in the middle, her wish materialized. Blythe was reading the newspaper near the aquarium, except this time, he didn’t have a cup of coffee to drink.
“Mrs. Kendrick?” Oscar, the manager on duty, gestured for her to approach the front desk. “Someone delivered this for you early this morning.” The small package he presented to her was wrapped in shiny purple paper with a white bow on top.
Blythe joined her near the counter. “A secret admirer?” he teased.
“No clue.” Her husband had better ways to seek forgiveness than sending her gifts at the hotel, though he did owe her a big apology for yesterday’s call. She’d open it later, in the privacy of her office.
The gift tucked under her arm, she walked toward the exit with Blythe on her heels.
***
The office was deserted when Riley entered. Taking advantage of Andy’s and Paul’s absence, she opened the package and smiled. The label on the bottle of perfume said Forever Lavender, and lavender was her favorite fragrance. “Ollie…” While he could have waited until she got home tonight, she was touched he’d taken the time to send it to her. A note was in the box.
The content shattered her romantic illusions.
I talked Andy into giving your miscarriage idea a second thought. He agreed. Congratulations!
We need to discuss Carson’s profile over lunch. Please wear the perfume as a token of my admiration.
Paul
“Hello, Ryle. You look tired.”
Startled, she dropped the note on the floor. Paul had managed to sneak into the room without alerting her of his presence, and she didn’t like it.
“Can’t you leave me alone?” Having run out of patience, she didn’t try to keep the exasperation from her tone as she glared at the sly coworker standing in front of her desk.