by Julie Chase
Mom steadied her gaze on me. “He can’t kill her during a consultation. That would ruin his practice. Still, what do you hope to accomplish? It’s not as if you can walk in and ask him about Wallace’s death directly. He’d send you out on your backside.” She dragged discerning eyes over me from top to bottom. “What can you get fixed?”
Dad kicked back in his chair, frustrated, disgusted, outnumbered.
I peered down at the slightly bulging button holes on my blouse. Everything was in order there. A little exercise would do wonders for anything in need of a trim or tightening. “I don’t know.” Aside from my height, trapped somewhere between a true petite and regular women’s, I had very few complaints. “Maybe I can get that laser hair removal surgery on my legs.” Never shaving again seemed like a solid time saver.
“You can always ask him about your nose,” Mom suggested.
My hand flew to my face. “Hey!”
She smiled sweetly and fixed her attention on her watch.
“Got somewhere to be?” I asked.
“Imogene’s picking me up for book club.”
A tinge of jealousy pinched my chest. I would’ve loved book club. She knew that and didn’t invite me. “Oh.”
Someone pounded on the back door.
“Heavens!” Mom jumped.
A man’s voice piped through a speaker in her kitchen. “Miss Imogene to see you, Mrs. Crocker.”
She murmured about the late warning and went to open the door.
Dad turned to face me. “First of all, I don’t condone you seeing this Dr. Hawkins. Second, you should know I spoke with Jack today, and he advised me to be ready for an arrest. My prints were found on the reception hall door and one of my hairs was on Wallace’s shirt. It probably transferred when I hugged him in greeting.”
A rock of dread formed in my gut, threatening to expel the tea. “Jack told you he might arrest you? He said that today?” I’d spoken with him twice, and he hadn’t said a word. His peculiar statement flitted into mind. Whatever comes . . . know that I’m on your side. I gripped the teacup tighter. He’d known he might arrest my father, and he’d said nothing to me. I was running out of time, and it had only been three days since Mr. Becker’s death.
“Lacy?” Imogene rumbled into the room. “I pulled this off your car window. I thought it was a parking ticket, but it looks more like a love note.”
“A love note?” I highly doubted anyone would send me a love note in a nine-by-twelve manila envelope, but I took it anyway. More likely Chase had crept over from his house next door to tease me. I slid my finger under the flap and pulled the contents free. “Oh.” My face and neck burned with shock and embarrassment. I flipped through the thin pile of photographs from a weekend I’d spent in New York during graduate school. Heat pooled in my gut as I raised them for closer inspection. Each picture had been sliced through at my throat, not enough to make two pieces of one page, but enough to temporarily sever my head when I lifted the photo into my hands.
Dad was on his feet with a sharp intake of breath. He marched from the room. The kitchen door snapped shut a moment later.
I stared at the baffling photos. “These were taken almost five years ago.”
Mom and Imogene closed in on me, hands extended.
I passed the pictures out. “I visited New York during Fashion Week.”
Imogene pinched a photo between two fingers and stretched it away from her for a better look. “What are you wearing? Are those your underpants?”
Mom gasped. “Oh, dear.”
“It’s a bikini.”
“Who would do this?” Mom examined the careful cut across my image’s throat. “It’s sick.”
My head swam as I sifted through the final three photos. “That swimsuit won a national competition and was featured in an article about American design schools. I wore it on a catwalk and stood for photos. These were taken at the after party.” I scrambled mentally to recall details about the other guests that night. Who was there and also here? No one. “The event was invitation-only, but the photos were published online later. Anyone could’ve found and printed them if they dug long and deep enough.”
I traced a fingertip over my slightly younger figure, covered in silver glitter and the perfect vintage-inspired white bikini. The tips of two shimmery angel wings framed my bottom. Why choose these photos?
Mom groaned at each new photo. Me on Pete’s lap. The two of us canoodling in a corner.
“Pete had just proposed,” I said by way of explanation. “I won the competition. I was on top of the world. It was a huge deal. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I swear.”
Her face turned scarlet and then eggplant.
I turned the envelope over and shook it. A scrap of paper fell onto my lap. The top was torn away, probably to remove a telltale logo or insignia. A curlicue border in hot pink lined the sides. It was probably nothing, but the sticker on the freezer floor came to mind.
Imogene crept closer. “What does it say?”
“Stop looking into Wallace Becker’s death, or your past won’t be the only thing that catches up with you.”
Mom pressed a hand to her chest. Imogene hugged her.
Every muscle in my body tightened to the point of pain.
The back door banged open, and we all screamed.
Dad blew into the parlor with a murderous expression. “That rent-a-guard didn’t see anything, and there’s no one on the street to ask.” He scanned our stricken expressions. “Now what?”
I passed him the note. His lips moved silently as he read. “Call Jack.”
“Dad.” Emotion weighted my chest. I’d wanted to help him. And I’d made it worse. The bewildered look on his face was enough to shatter my aching heart. “I’m so sorry.”
He set the note on the tea tray and pulled a phone from his pocket.
Jack would be here soon.
Imogene replaced the tea with hot toddies. I helped myself to a refill or two.
Mom blew gently over the steaming amber liquid in her cup. “You never told me,” she said.
“What?” I looked to Dad for translation. He stared at his shoes, utterly lost in his thoughts.
Imogene shook her head.
Mom pointed to the stack of discarded photos. “That was a huge victory for you. And you kept me out of it.”
I’d carved myself out of her life the day I left for college, and I’d continued to add bricks to the wall between us for a decade, determined to find my own way, without her money, without her rules. All I’d managed to do was break her heart and make a fool of myself. Of course everyone was too polite to say the latter to my face, but it was still true. I’d gone off on an adolescent mission to find myself, and it had taken me years longer than it should have. I was a Crocker. I was part of this district. A product of my city. I was New Orleans, and this was where I’d belonged all along. “I’m sorry.”
“I wanted to know these things,” she said. The words broke on her tongue. She jerked onto her feet. “I’m going to call my book club and cancel.” She turned on her heels and left.
Imogene waved. “She’ll be okay. I’ll keep her company.” She furrowed her brow. “Can I get you anything before I go?”
“No. It’s okay.” I closed my eyes against the urge to cry. Where would that get anyone?
Warm arms encircled me. Imogene pulled me to her chest and kissed my head. “It’s not okay,” she whispered, “but it will be.” She gave me one more squeeze before going after Mom.
An upstairs door thumped shut as I wiped a stubborn tear from my cheek. My mother had gone to her room.
Dad paced in front of the windows, watching the street. “She’ll be all right. We’ve just gotten you back, and you keep getting death threats. Not exactly the homecoming she’d dreamed of.”
I walked to his side and leaned my head on his arm.
He wound his hand behind my back and tugged me closer. “We worry.”
Jack’s truck swung into view at the sto
p sign.
“I won’t let him arrest you,” I promised.
Dad kissed my head. “Whatever happens, everything will be fine in the end.”
I wasn’t so sure about that anymore.
Jack and Dad spoke privately in the dining room while I stewed in the parlor, fixing a mental list of anyone who knew I was looking into Mr. Becker’s death. Outside of my immediate circle, there was only Mrs. Becker and Robbie, the Cuddle Brigade worker and volunteer firefighter from the crime scene. Of course, a myriad of bystanders had borne witness to Mrs. Becker confronting me at the Cuddle Brigade, and she’d probably told all her friends what a pest I was.
Eventually Jack shook Dad’s hand. “I’ll be in touch when I know more. Lacy”—he refocused on me—“can I walk you to your car? Maybe see you home and give the house a quick check?”
“Um . . .” I looked to Dad, not quite ready to leave him.
“Go on,” he encouraged. “I’m safe here. I have an excellent home security system and a useless rent-a-guard to keep watch over me.”
I kissed his cheek, longing to stay, but eager to hear what Jack thought of the strange new twist in his case. Who knew I was investigating and where to find me? “I’ll call you before bed.”
I loaded Penelope into her carrier, and Dad walked us to the door.
He wrapped a protective arm around my shoulders. “I want you to know I’m not worried about being arrested, and I don’t want you to worry about it either. I want you to stay safe. Jack will figure this out.”
I leaned against him. “You don’t have to try to make me feel better. I can see you’re hurting.”
“Sweetie,” he patted my shoulder. “The pain you see is for Wallace, for his family, and for mine. I hate that I wasn’t there to stop this. I hate that I left when I knew something was wrong. If I’d stayed . . .” Dad’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “If I’d stayed and forced the entire story out of him, I might’ve been there when his killer came by, and my friend might not be dead. Moreover, my dear wife and precious little girl wouldn’t be worried sick, receiving threats or being subjected to the gossips’ spotlight, and all because I walked out on my friend when he needed one most.”
I threw my arms around him and squeezed. Of course he was only worried about everyone else when he was the one in trouble. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He carried Penelope to her side of the car and belted her in. “Take care of my baby,” he told Jack.
“Always,” Jack answered.
Chapter Thirteen
Furry Godmother’s words of wisdom: Don’t like sleeping alone? Get a cat.
Jack made a thorough sweep of my home before collapsing onto my couch. He threw one arm across his eyes and leaned his head over the backrest. “You’re killing me, Crocker.”
I climbed onto the cushion beside him and pulled a pillow into my lap, tucking both feet beneath me. “What do you think the photos mean?”
He rolled his head to glare at me. “Really?”
“Besides ‘butt out.’” I leaned toward him, eager to work through the strange situation. “What was the purpose of choosing those photos? A note attached to a photo from one of the best nights of my life is not very scary.”
He gave me a droll look. “I wouldn’t care if the note came on a candy bar. This is a problem. And how was that the best night of your life? Weren’t you with your ex-fiancé in those pictures?”
“Hey, I didn’t know he was a scheming, two-timing jerk at the time. I’d just won a national design competition and been proposed to. I was high on endorphins and victory. To my younger mind, life had reached the pinnacle of perfection. Why choose a moment like that to slice up?”
“I don’t know.” He rubbed his eyes with one big hand. “I’m tempted to ask about the proposal and how a guy like that convinced you to accept, but I’m going to let it go.”
Good thing, because Pete hadn’t done anything special. I was so glad to be wanted as I was, for eternity, that I agreed to a spontaneous ask. No grand gestures. Just the party around us. I twisted on the cushion to face him. “What do you think of the pictures?”
“I liked the outfit.”
“Ha ha,” I deadpanned. “It was a swimsuit design competition. All the participants looked just like me.”
“No.” His eyes darkened. “They didn’t.”
A different sort of energy pulsed between us and breath caught in my throat.
“I kissed Chase.” The words were no sooner present in my mind than swan diving from my lips. “I traded him a kiss for Penelope’s freedom last summer.”
Jack eased back a fraction of an inch. “You kissed Chase last summer?”
I bit my lip. “No. This week. I was slow on payment.”
He tented his brow. A disarming look of frustration marred his handsome face. “And?”
“I don’t know. We kissed and that was that. I have no idea why I’m telling you this.” I decided against adding the fact Chase had requested a do-over.
Jack seemed to roll the information around. “Is this your way of letting me know you’re seeing Chase?”
“No.”
He narrowed his gaze, watching me so intently I temporarily forgot to breathe. “Why did you tell me you kissed Chase?”
“I don’t know. Chase thinks I’m an oversharer. Plus, I don’t want to lie to you,” I said.
“You lie to me all the time about staying out of my investigation.”
A smile tugged my lips. “Fine. I don’t want to lie about the important stuff.”
“You believe kissing Chase qualifies as important stuff?”
I cringed and tipped over, landing face down away from him, on the sofa.
Jack’s wide palm wrapped over my shoulder and hoisted me upright. He turned my back to him and lowered my head against his legs for a pillow. He stared down at me with an unusual level of intensity. “I looked into Pete last summer.”
“You did?” I gripped the pillow more tightly to my chest.
“He’s not terrible on paper, but his social media accounts portray him as a playboy. He’s got a ton of debt. College loans. Credit cards. A mortgage and car he can’t afford, but a good education and no criminal record.”
A bubble of hurt rose in my throat, and my gaze drifted away from his, studying my fidgeting hands instead as they coiled and uncoiled a loose thread from my pillow around one finger. “When we broke up, he told me he’d only asked me out because he knew about my family’s money. He said he hadn’t expected to fall in love with me.” The burn of humiliation and betrayal was dulled but present, even all these months later.
Jack stroked a strand of hair away from my cheek. “I think love’s like that. It sneaks up on us.”
I smiled despite myself. “You think I’m lovable.”
Jack’s frown returned. He lifted me off him, setting me upright at his side once more. The look in his eyes sent shivers through my limbs. “You might as well get comfortable. I’m staying until I’m sure whoever wrote that note isn’t planning on paying you a visit tonight.” He pulled the throw off the couch behind him and fanned it over our legs.
Jack thought I was lovable. The truth of it was in his eyes and undeniably igniting the air around us. I set my hand in his, suddenly, overwhelmingly, thankful for him in my life.
* * *
Jack slipped out at dawn. I’d fallen asleep in front of the television watching The Princess Bride on DVD and slept like the dead until he wiggled me awake so he could leave. It was hard to say if he’d slept too, but part of me doubted Jack ever truly slept. He struck me as more of a persistently one-eye-open kind of guy.
I padded into the kitchen for coffee. Buttercup raced out of her tiny princess castle and swam back and forth along the glass between us. I dropped a few freeze-dried shrimp bits onto the water and blew her a kiss. Buttercup had the life. A doting friend. Fresh food from the sky. Private roomy castle. No stalkers or handsome men to confuse her life.
I
headed for the shower, certain I’d never fall back asleep. I had a big day ahead, starting with an appointment to see a plastic surgeon.
I showered and shampooed while mentally inventorying my closet. I wanted to wear a white pencil skirt and red blouse with matching heels to keep with my valentine theme at Furry Godmother, but I was bound to pastels and florals by the NPP Welcoming Committee ladies.
An hour later, I’d paired my sleeveless daffodil-colored blouse with a pencil skirt and polka-dotted pumps. My knees were in full view, and the keyhole neckline on my blouse was just short of scandalous by Imogene’s standards. I’d buckled a skinny black belt around my middle and dumped the contents of yesterday’s purse into a black patent-leather handbag. The outfit wasn’t bad, but pastels were slim pickings in my closet, and florals were nonexistent. I’d need to shop if I was going to keep Mom happy past tomorrow.
I checked my watch, then smoothed my skirt. Hopefully the trip to Dr. Hawkins’s office wouldn’t be a total bust. I hated to lie about who I was and why I’d made the appointment, but these were desperate times, and any fresh insight into Wallace Becker’s final days would be worth the deceit. Though, I was still uncertain how to get the information without being tossed onto the sidewalk. “You can do this,” I told my reflection. “You’re running out of leads, so make this work.”
I turned for the bedroom door and caught my toe on a box of old things. “Good grief!” I planted my shoulder against the nearest wall with a thud.
Penelope came to see what the fuss was about. She leapt gracefully onto my dresser and meowed.
“Penny, you’re a genius.” Dr. Hawkins wasn’t the only person who might have some information on Mr. Becker. I searched my dresser for the little business card I’d tossed aside several days before. “Found it.” I waved the card at Penelope. “Resplendent, New Orleans’s Premiere Thrift Shop.” I dialed Claudia Post’s number.
“This is Claudia,” a cheerful voice answered.
“Hello, Ms. Post. This is Lacy Crocker. You probably don’t remember me. We met at my mother’s house.”
“I remember you,” she said flatly.