Wallflowers:Three of a Kind

by CP Smith

  “No idea,” he lied.

  She turned back and looked at him, raising a brow. “You’re paid to pay attention to details, and even I recognize that top. The robin’s egg blue is hard to forget, and paired with that hair, she’s hard to miss.”

  “What’s your point, Megan?” Devin asked on a sigh.

  She smiled and raised her hand, patting the side of his face. “You’ll figure it out,” she giggled, then leaned in and brushed a kiss across his cheek.

  Devin scoffed in amusement as she left, then glanced once more at shop girl before turning back to the bar.

  She’s got a man, and you’ve got a life to sort out.

  Nate popped the cap off another beer and slid it down the smooth wood before he grabbed Devin’s empty and threw it in the recycling bin.

  “I’ve got a client for you,” Nate muttered low, leaning into the polished wood.

  “What’s the job?” Devin asked, raising his fresh beer to his lips.

  “My housekeeper’s daughter went missin’ less than a week ago, and I want you to find out what happened to her.”

  Swallowing, Devin placed his beer down and reached for his phone. He pulled out the stylus, opened his S-notes, and began writing. “Has a missin’ persons report been filed?”

  “Yeah, but the police haven’t done jack.”

  “When can I meet with her mother?”

  “She’s scheduled to come in Monday at ten. Just so you know, I’m payin’ your fees, so don’t worry about your expenses. Just find out what happened to her.”

  Devin looked up at Nate and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t piss me off. I’m not takin’ a dime from anyone.”

  A slow grin pulled across Nate’s mouth, and he clapped Devin on the shoulder. “You always did have a soft spot for injustice. If you’re not careful, though, you’ll end up broke and on the streets if you work pro bono for every sob story that walks through your door.”

  “Consider it a family discount,” Devin grumbled.

  “All right. This time I’ll let you. I’ve got a picture of Maria in my office. Let me get these customers situated, then I’ll grab it.”

  Devin followed Nate with his eyes, remembering a time when they both had worked together to uncover the truth about a stolen chemistry test. Devin had followed the leads to an underclassman. Nate had distracted the kid while Devin searched his room. They’d worked well together, and Devin had no doubt he could count on Nate again in any situation he found himself, in the future.

  Laughter from above broke through his thoughts and he looked up. Shop girl and her friends were standing, grabbing their purses to leave as one of Nate’s waitresses was laughing with the women. Shop girl arched her back as she laughed, thrusting her chest out, and his body immediately reacted to the sight.

  Hissing, “Fuck,” Devin turned back to the bar. He didn’t have time for the distraction. And even if he did, she already had a man.

  Attempting to clear his head, Devin focused on his notes until a conversation between a waitress and bartender caught his attention.

  “Table forty-two gave us a great tip, Jackson.”

  “The swans?”

  “Yeah. Alcohol loosened their wallets.”

  “They celebratin’ somethin’?”

  “Hardly. One got punched by her dickhead boyfriend. They were havin’ a girls’ night out to cheer her up.”

  “Jesus, one of those swans was punched?”

  “Yep. She’s got a huge bruise on her cheek to prove it. She’s not feelin’ it, though, not after the fifth round of shots.”

  Slowly, the conversation filtered through Devin’s brain and he looked up from his phone. He recognized the waitress immediately. Turning in his seat, he watched as shop girl and her friends descended the stairs. One looked sober, but shop girl and a dark-haired beauty were giggling and hanging on to the rails as they took each step slowly. The closer they got to the bottom, the more furious Devin became. On shop girl’s left cheek he could see the beginning of a bruise, along with swelling. His fist clenched involuntarily as he envisioned wrapping his hands around the throat of the spit-shined playboy he’d seen her with earlier.

  When she reached the third step from the bottom, he stood, his jaw ticking as he tried to control his anger. As if she knew he was watching her, shop girl directed her eyes at him on the last step and gasped, missing the tread completely.

  Moving quickly, Devin reached out and plucked her into his arms before she fell, crushing her to his body. With her hands pinned to his chest, she looked up with glassy, searching eyes. When they finally locked with his and held, they widened in surprise.

  His breathing halted when he got his first up-close look at his shop girl. Her eyes weren’t light blue like he’d thought; they were a light shade of purple. A hue he’d never seen before in his life, and doubted he’d see again.

  A moment passed before he pried his eyes from hers and scanned her face, focusing on the bruise forming just below the skin. “I want the name of the man who did this to you,” he bit out between clenched teeth.

  Her booze-soaked eyes turned confused, then they moved to his mouth. Prying her hand free from his chest, she placed a single finger on his lips, tracing the shape as she whispered, “You really are the devil himself.” The air trapped in his lungs rushed out as she seemed intent on memorizing his mouth. “You’re dangerous to someone like me. I think I better leave now,” she explained in all seriousness.

  When she tried to push away, Devin tightened his hold. Lust flooded his system when her soft curves molded to his hard lines, fighting for dominance over the anger swirling like a storm through his veins.

  “Give me the name of the man who punched you,” he ordered again.

  “This?” she asked, raising her free hand to her cheek. Her breath was warm against his face, scented with alcohol and a hint of something sweet. “I think it was Paul who swung the bat,” she finally answered, then pushed out of his arms as her friends grabbed hold of her. “See ya, Devil. Try not to play your music too loud tonight. I need my sleep.”

  Three

  The Devil’s in the Details

  “MY MUSIC?” DEVIN QUESTIONED, confused. “How the hell do you know how loud I play my music?”

  She shook her head as her friends took hold of her arms. Raising her finger to her mouth, she puckered her perfect lips and “Shhd” him.

  Damn, but she was a cute drunk.

  His mouth pulled into a grin as he watched her stumble where she stood. Then he caught sight of her bruised face again, and his grin fell.

  “What’s your name?” Devin asked.

  An impish smile pulled across her mouth. “Oh, no,” she answered, backing up further. “I’m not tellin’ you my name is, is,” she scowled in concentration for a moment, then said, “Calla Lily’s such an embarrassin’ name.”

  “Like a vault, this one,” the taller blonde chuckled.

  The dark-haired woman took a step forward and scanned Devin from head to toe.

  “All you need to know is we’re all Wallflowers. We don’t trust men. They shit all over you and leave you when you’re only a baby. And you,” she pointed directly at Devin, narrowing her eyes, “you’re Devil Cynster. But she’s not Honoria, so move along, Duke of St. Ives.”

  Devin’s brows shot to his forehead. “I’m who?”

  The taller blonde slapped her hand over the woman’s mouth, hissing, “Poppy, you’re not supposed to repeat that.”

  Confused and a little entertained, Devin turned his attention to the sober beauty. He could wait until tomorrow to find this Paul who’d struck Calla, but there was no time like the present to teach a man some manners. “I want the name of the man who hit Calla.”

  “She wasn’t hit by a man; she was hit by a baseball at our company picnic.”

  “It wasn’t her man?” Devin questioned again.

  Calla guffawed and stepped forward. “I already told you it was Paul who swung the bat,” she slurred, poking him i
n the chest. She looked down at her finger with wide eyes and ran her hand across his pecs. “Whoa. Your muscles are bigger than they looked this mornin’.” She looked up in amazement, her eyes sparkling in the muted light, and he felt himself being dragged under by their pull.

  Feeling a presence beside him, Devin turned his head to break the spell she was casting. Of its own accord, his hand came up and took hold of Calla’s, anchoring it to his chest to keep her close.

  “You work fast,” Nate chuckled, taking in the scene. Then he looked harder at Calla. “Isn’t that one of the Armstrongs? You sure you should be flirtin’ with your landlord’s niece?”

  “Niece?”

  Devin looked back at Calla and knew instantly Nate was right. That’s why she’d looked familiar to him. She had the same innocent beauty as Bernice and Eunice.

  “You can move along, too,” Poppy interrupted, pointing at Nate. “You’re one of those men.”

  “I’m one of what men, gorgeous?” Nate chuckled.

  “Oh, you know,” Poppy replied, her finger drawing circles in the air around his face. “You’re one of those men who promise forever with your sexy hair and dark brown eyes, but you’re like all the rest.”

  “You don’t know that, Poppy,” Calla admonished. “And you promised not to judge a man by his looks from this day forward.”

  Confused, Nate turned to Devin. “I’m missin’ somethin’.”

  “They’re Wallflowers,” Devin answered, his lips twitching as he spoke. “And I’m thinkin’ not all women love your hair like you think.”

  “Ha. His hair says it all. Nothin’. But. Trouble,” Poppy answered.

  “Sugar, you don’t know me well enough to make that assumption,” Nate responded with a bite in his tone.

  “Dilligaf,” Poppy snorted.

  “Pardon?”

  “Do. I. Look. Like. I. Give. A. Fuck,” she slurred, crossing her arms for emphasis, but losing her balance in the process.

  The taller blonde stepped forward and grabbed her by the arm, laughing nervously. “On that note, we’re gonna leave, I think. I’m Sienna, by the way. Nice to meet you both, but it’s time to get these Wallflowers home.”

  Devin hadn’t let go of Calla’s hand, so when she tugged to free it, he looked down at her.

  “Hold on a minute, Calla. How did you know I played my music loud?”

  “Cali,” she corrected snippily, causing Devin to grin.

  “Calla.” He drew out her name, long and slow, letting her know he didn’t give a shit what she wanted him to call her. Calla fit, in his opinion. She was a strong, beautiful, yet delicate bloom. “How’d you know about my music?”

  Pursing her lips together, annoyed by his defiance, she finally answered. “’Cause you’re 2B, and I’m 2A.”

  “Are you sayin’ I’m your neighbor?”

  “Yes, Devil man, I am. The walls are thin and I can hear everything, and vice a, vice a, the same for you,” she stumbled out, unable to come up with the right words in her drunken state. “So you and your Miss Fancy Pants girlfriend better keep it down, ‘cause I like to sleep in on Sundays.” With that bombshell, she tugged her hand free and stepped back into Sienna, who caught her.

  All three women turned and staggered out while both men watched with varying degrees of incongruity.

  “Poppy’s a ballbreaker, not a Wallflower,” Nate grumbled, following the beauty with his eyes. “Dilligaf, my ass.”

  “Fuckin’ hell,” was Devin’s response. Temptation was on the other side of his bedroom walls. Walls that were thin, according to Calla. Thin enough to hear his music, and no doubt, thin enough for him to hear her moaning with pleasure while she made love to her man. “I’ve landed in hell.”

  A picture of a young Hispanic woman blocked his view of Calla exiting the bar. Devin focused on the picture and then took it from Nate.

  “You’re not in hell, Devin. You’re in Savannah, where the ghosts of the past come out on Friday night. Hell is what Carmella is goin’ through wonderin’ what’s happened to Maria.”

  “Where did she work?” Devin asked, Calla all but forgotten in the face of the missing woman.

  “She worked as a housekeeper as well. She and her mother ran their own cleanin’ service.”

  “You got an address or phone number on either the mother or Maria?”

  Nate jerked his head toward his office, so Devin followed. After shutting the door, Nate moved to a filing cabinet and pulled out a file with Carmella’s information. Grabbing a pen and paper, he copied down the information.

  “As I said before, the police have done nothin’. They keep askin’ Carmella if Maria may have gone home to Mexico. Considerin’ she was born in the States, it’s highly unlikely she would go there without tellin’ her mother first. She’s barely had contact with their family that stayed behind.”

  Devin took the sheet of paper and glanced at the information. “Did she have a man?”

  “Not that Carmella knew about. Accordin’ to her, Maria sent her a text sayin’ to meet her at her apartment after she got off work. Carmella pressed her about why, but Maria said she’d have to show her or she wouldn’t believe it. So she went to her apartment around seven p.m. and waited, but Maria never showed. The next mornin’, Carmella went lookin’ for her, but she wasn’t home, and when she didn’t show up for work, she went to the police. They told her to wait the requisite forty-eight hours before filin’ a police report, which she did, but Maria hasn’t called or texted since that day.”

  “What about other family?”

  “Carmella’s husband died a few years back, and her son lives up near Atlanta. He hasn’t heard from Maria either.”

  “I’ll need a list of all their customers. Specifically those she worked for the last night she texted her mother.”

  “Are you thinkin’ she heard or saw somethin’?”

  “I’m thinkin’ a lot of things and none of them are good,” Devin explained. “Did they try to locate her through the GPS on her phone?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “I’ll check just in case,” Devin answered.

  “You think they’ll give you professional courtesy?”

  “No idea. If they don’t, I’ll just get it off their system.”

  “Backdoor?” Nate asked, referring to the method hackers used to bypass normal authentication.

  “Yep. I busted a guy who’d hacked into APD, and I had him thoroughly detail how he got in.”

  “Won’t they be able to tell you were there?”

  “They will. That’s why I’ll bounce it back to APD.”

  “How’d a homicide detective come by that skill?”

  “Remember Parker?”

  “From U of G?”

  “Yeah, he’s with the FBI. He had a case in Tulsa a year or so ago where the unsub hacked their system and bounced it back to a homicide detective.”

  “And he shared?” Nate asked, surprised.

  Devin shrugged. “I asked, he shared, and I took notes.”

  “Jesus. You’re gonna fit in here like a glove.” Nate chuckled low, reaching for the doorknob to leave.

  When they entered the bar area, Nate grabbed a plastic cup and filled it from the tap for Devin to take with him. Open container laws within Savannah were some of the laxest in the country. As long as Devin stayed in the historic district and kept his alcohol in a plastic cup, he could drink on the street without reprisal.

  Nate handed off the foaming brew, and Devin took it, raising the cup in thanks. “Another pro to add to the list of reasons to move here.”

  “You gonna head back to your thin-walled apartment?”

  “Thanks for the reminder,” Devin gruffed. “I do my best thinkin’ with music playin’, so I’ll wait an hour or so and hope she’s asleep by the time I get back. In the meantime, I’m gonna try out a new listenin’ device.” Devin pulled out a portable unit from his back pocket and turned it on, inserting the single earbud into his right ear.

  “
Take notes.” Nate chuckled, putting out his hand.

  Grinning, Devin shook it.

  “Later,” he said and then turned to leave. He’d made it two steps before he turned back to Nate and asked the one question that had been bouncing around his head since Calla left. “Who the hell is the Duke of St. Ives?”

  ✿✿✿

  My aunts were sitting in the courtyard when I arrived home with Poppy and Sienna in tow. My head was still muddled, but the walk, along with stopping at every little shop between here and the bar, along with coffee and a hamburger, had helped to sober me. And by sober I mean I needed more coffee, but after years of playing it safe, being a wee bit tipsy and a little out of control felt exhilarating.

  The twinkle lights wrapped around the pergola slats lit the area in a soft glow when we arrived. Tyler Farr’s Better in Boots played softly through the outside speakers as my aunts lounged with what looked suspiciously like midnight mojitos. They had gotten the idea from the movie Practical Magic. They loved that movie, because they said it reminded them of our relationship. Minus the witchcraft, of course. However, instead of midnight margaritas like they drank in the movie, my aunts preferred mojitos.

  “Calla Lily?” Bernice asked when I stumbled through the gate giggling. “Butterbean, are you tipsy?”

  “I am,” I replied proudly, as I walked toward them. “Aunties, meet Poppy and Sienna.”

  I plopped into one of the cushioned chairs next to Aunt Eunice then grabbed her glass and took a sip.

  Yep, midnight mojitos.

  “Our niece’s manners seem to have disappeared with a few of the brain cells she killed off tonight,” Eunice chuckled, snatching her glass back. “Sit a spell and tell us about—Calla Lily, is that a bruise on your face?” she blurted out in shock, concern and disbelief mixed equally in her question.

  “Yep. I tried to catch a fly ball at the picnic, and all I got for my troubles was this here bruise.”

  Poppy fell into the chair next to me, and Sienna sat across from us. Aunt Bernice stood instantly as we settled in and went inside, mumbling, “We need another pitcher and an ice pack,” as she went.