The Detective's Secret Daughter

by Rachelle Mccalla

  “What do you think?” Victoria’s eyes stayed on the cookie crumbs filling her dustpan. “Will you be able to recover the money that was stolen?”

  Owen hated giving her a grim prognosis. “We have Paige’s description—” which fit plenty of men in Fitzgerald Bay, his own three brothers included. “We’ll see what we can do.”

  “So in the meantime, what am I supposed to do?” She seemed to be forcing her words to stay steady, but Owen could hear a rising note of panic underneath.

  “Do you have cash reserves? A fund set aside in case of emergency?”

  “I did. But the break-in last month caused extensive damage. The repair bill was huge—new windows, a new door. I still haven’t replaced the bedding and pillows that were ruined.”

  She didn’t come right out and say it, but Owen understood. The Fitzgerald Bay police were failing her. She’d experienced far more than her fair share of trouble, and it was getting expensive.

  “We’ll find this guy,” he told her, wondering how he could ever keep his promise. The solve rate on a theft like this one wasn’t good, especially considering the circumstances. But what else could he do? At the very least, he had to keep Paige safe. “And we caught the guy who broke into Detective Delfino’s room last month. He’ll have to make restitution for the damages.”

  “I know.” Victoria dumped the colorful crumbs into the trash. “It’s just taking a while. And it was so nice to finally have a strong weekend.”

  “You know, my grandfather set up a community foundation years ago. They have grants available. You might try applying for one.”

  He watched, waiting for a response, as Victoria put away her broom and dustpan. Then she turned her back on him and entered the walk-in refrigerator without so much as acknowledging what he’d said.

  Owen stared at the stainless steel door through which Victoria had disappeared. For a second, he thought about going into the fridge after her. If anyone had a right to walk out on the conversation, he did. But he was at least trying. She was the one who’d wronged him by hiding his daughter from him all these years. What gave her the right to walk out on a conversation with him?

  Granted, the woman was shaken. She’d been robbed. He’d seen plenty of folks get upset over a lot less than three thousand dollars, so he figured she was entitled to react however she wanted. She was holding together pretty well, all things considered.

  But the woman had a thing for leaving, for walking out. She’d left town with Hank Monroe right after graduation, never even properly breaking up with him first, or telling him goodbye. And now she wouldn’t even stick around when he was trying to help her?

  The stainless steel fridge door didn’t budge, its mirrorlike surface distorting the confusion on his face as it reflected back his image. Did Victoria hate him? If anyone had a right to hate anybody, he figured he was the one who’d been wronged. If anything, Victoria ought to be begging his forgiveness.

  He snapped his notebook closed and headed for the back door. If the perpetrator had left any footprints, he’d find them. He’d stick to the things he could control—the steps of the investigation. And somehow he’d sort out what he needed to do about Paige and Victoria.

  Victoria retreated to the back of the walk-in fridge and slumped against the silvery door that led to the freezer. Her knees weak, she slid to the floor, unable to hold back her tears any longer.

  She’d done it. She’d admitted the truth to Owen.

  Now she needed to pull herself together so she could check on Paige and make sure she wasn’t too shaken up by what she’d seen. If her little girl saw her like this, she’d only be frightened more.

  Wiping back her tears, Victoria sniffled and looked at the refrigerator magnet she’d inherited from her mother, which she kept in the fridge as a daily reminder of her mother’s faith.

  The truth will set you free.

  “I told him the truth,” Victoria whispered, trusting God to hear her. “I finally told Owen the truth.” She took a deep breath, waiting for the exhilarating feeling of freedom to rush upon her.

  No feeling came, except nausea as she thought about the injured look in Owen’s eyes. She had never meant to hurt him. Never in a million years would she have purposely hurt him. But there was no way to take back what had happened, Patrick’s death or the past ten years.

  On the night of her father’s accident, when her aunt had taken her away, Victoria hadn’t yet learned she was pregnant. She wouldn’t have left without telling Owen, if she’d known. But her father’s offense stood like an impenetrable wall between her and the Fitzgeralds. There was no way she could face any of them after that.

  Her hands trembled as she pulled herself to standing and contemplated all that had happened. Her safe had been robbed. Her daughter was frightened, and Owen…

  Owen had looked mad enough to tear the countertop right off the island. Bless his heart, he’d always been so determined to prove that he didn’t have an Irish temper. But she had once known him well, as well as she’d ever known anyone, and she could see the fury brewing just below the surface.

  Sniffing back the last of her tears, Victoria put on a brave face. She’d comfort her daughter, bake some more cookies and make back the money that had been taken. She had a business to keep afloat and a daughter who depended on her. She didn’t have time for tears.

  Owen checked the property thoroughly before heading back across the street to the police station. He rounded the corner to the office he shared with his fellow police officers, and stared at Hank Monroe’s desk.

  Hank, of course, wasn’t there. His shift had ended as Owen’s began. But Owen glowered at the desk just the same.

  Had Hank been lying all this time about Paige being his daughter? Or worse yet, did Hank not know Paige wasn’t his?

  The realization churned in Owen’s gut. Of course, that made more sense. Hank was an officer of the law, sworn to uphold the truth. He wouldn’t knowingly spread false rumors.

  Owen quickly put the facts together. Six months before, when Victoria had returned to Fitzgerald Bay more than nine years after she’d left, Hank had told Owen that he was hoping to work things out with Victoria. Hank had gone so far as to imply that he also hoped he and Victoria would be getting married and living together as a family.

  But Victoria said she wanted Owen to be the first to know that Paige was his, not Hank’s.

  Which meant Hank didn’t know.

  With an ominous feeling in his gut, Owen looked at the picture on Hank’s desk, of Hank and his father, Ronald Monroe, an esteemed retired judge. Though Hank wasn’t the nicest guy, he valued family just as much as any of the Fitzgeralds. Had he hung his hopes for a family on Victoria and Paige?

  What would happen when he learned the truth? Would he hate Owen?

  One thing was certain: though he wasn’t looking forward to Hank’s disappointment, Owen had to make sure his fellow police officer wasn’t kept in the dark any longer. He’d have to confront Victoria and make sure she let Hank know the whole truth.

  As she chopped her way through the lunch specials the next day, Victoria couldn’t help taking out some of her frustrations with every slice of the knife, mincing shredded lettuce extra thin and slamming down her cleaver on sandwiches with enough force to rattle the butcher-block surface of her sandwich prep counter.

  It wasn’t just the shadowy figure who haunted her store, or the robbery and the knowledge that she’d have to put in a banner week just to make payroll. Victoria couldn’t help chafing at Owen’s reaction to her confession.

  She’d known he’d likely be upset. That was why it had taken her so long to work up the courage to tell him the truth. But he’d been so closed-mouthed about it. Didn’t he believe her?

  Sure she’d heard the rumors circulating around town that Paige was Hank Monroe’s
daughter, and the wild claim that she and Hank had run off together after high school. The idea was absurd! She couldn’t stand Hank Monroe—never could. Surely Owen knew her better than to think she’d let Hank get that close to her.

  But now what? She’d told him the truth. She felt as if she was waiting for the gavel to drop.

  Slam! Slam! She sliced through a red onion with her favorite knife, slid two rings onto a bed of lettuce and added a pickle. “Order’s up!”

  Britney, her fresh-out-of-high-school waitress, picked up the plate. “I’m off early today,” she reminded Victoria. “I have that appointment at one-thirty.”

  “Five more minutes?” Victoria had to make six more sandwiches before she could leave the kitchen and cover Britney’s half of the café. By then the lunch crowd would be easing, and even if it didn’t, Victoria wasn’t about to complain. She needed the business. God knew how much she needed it. If she made enough to cover payroll this week, it would be an answer to her prayer, bordering on a miracle.

  But God had seen her through plenty of tough times in the past. God had gotten her through single motherhood with a colicky infant, through car troubles and money troubles until she’d turned twenty-five and received the money from her parents’ life insurance. And then God had shown her to use the money to buy the Sugar Plum Café, just as her mother had always wanted to do.

  Victoria held tight to the hope that God would see her through her latest trials, though she couldn’t see how.

  Six sandwiches later, Victoria washed her hands and took over ringing up the tickets Britney had been sure to distribute before she’d left. Fighting to open a roll of quarters, she didn’t even look up as the next customer approached. “Can I help you?”

  “I’d like a Reuben sandwich.” Deep voice. Broad shoulders.

  Victoria glanced up and immediately wished she had a good excuse to run back to the kitchen. At least it wasn’t Owen Fitzgerald this time.

  No, it was Hank Monroe, one of Owen’s fellow police officers, the other name at the top of her list of people she didn’t want to see. When she’d rejected Hank back in high school, he’d gotten his revenge by telling everyone that they’d slept together. It seemed he’d let rumors of Paige’s paternity persist as a way of backing up his juvenile story.

  But she wouldn’t let him bother her. Not today. She was leaning on God alone today.

  Victoria totaled his order and reached for the money he held out to her, hesitating when she saw the number in the corner. “Our policy is not to break hundred-dollar bills.”

  “Keep the change.”

  Victoria looked at Hank. She tried to shake her head, but it ended up as more of a tremble.

  Hank leaned on the oak edging that bordered the large glass pastry case. “I heard you could use the money.”

  It took a moment for Victoria to sort out what Hank must mean. Right. She’d told Owen she needed the money that was in the safe. Hank and Owen both worked for the FBPD, but not on the same shift, obviously, since Hank was in uniform right now, probably on his lunch break, and Owen had been working the evening before.

  Had Owen been talking to Hank? What else had Owen told him?

  “I’m sorry.” Victoria took the bill and quickly counted out Hank’s change, slapping twenty-dollar bills on the counter emphatically. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She scooted his change toward him.

  He pushed it back. “Victoria.” His voice rumbled with something. Impatience? Warning?

  She didn’t like it. “Let me get your sandwich.” Leaving the money on the counter for him to take, she spun around to the kitchen, washed her hands and quickly assembled the Reuben he’d ordered.

  “To go?” she asked as she slid the wrapped sandwich into a small sack, hoping he’d take the hint and go.

  A glance at the money on the counter told her their conversation wasn’t over.

  Hank grinned at her.

  Victoria grabbed the cash and stuck it in the sack with his lunch. “I appreciate your concern, but the rumor you heard is incorrect.” It didn’t matter how tight things got. She wasn’t going to sink to taking handouts, especially not from Hank Monroe, a guy who never did anything nice without expecting something in return.

  She shoved his lunch toward him, wishing she could as easily shove him out the door.

  Instead of taking the bag from her, he placed one gloved hand over hers.

  She tried to let go, but his grip was surprisingly strong. Customers sat just beyond them in the first dining room. They could see everything that was happening—could even overhear their conversation if they listened closely enough.

  Embarrassment worked its way up the back of her neck. “Hank.” She tried to infuse warning in her tone. What was Hank up to? Had Owen upset him?

  “I’ll keep the change if you let me take you out to dinner,” Hank countered.

  Memories surged up—memories that had been buried even deeper than her long-ago relationship with Owen. She’d gone out to dinner with Hank once, eleven years before. Never again. No dinner, no matter how nice, was worth what Hank had wanted for dessert.

  Wriggling her fingers from his grip, she managed to yank her hand away. The sack went flying and money spilled out.

  At the same moment, the bell on the front door jingled and a customer walked in.

  Hank’s wrapped sandwich hit the floor, along with several large bills and a clatter of coins spilling from the sack.

  Victoria’s stomach plummeted. How many people had seen? She dared to glance up at the customer who’d entered.

  Owen Fitzgerald.

  He’d seen the money.

  “Is that your lunch, Monroe?”

  Hank Monroe scooped it up. “It is.”

  “That’s awful rich eating for lunch.”

  Victoria wanted to reach behind her and pull the oak pocket doors closed, to block the view of the scene from her customers in the dining room. But she couldn’t turn around. Couldn’t face them.

  “Victoria and I were just making plans,” Hank said. “Dinner. Somewhere nice.”

  “That sounds good. I’m sure the two of you have plenty to talk about.” Owen glared at Victoria as he spoke. Though his tone was soft enough on the outside, probably for the sake of all the customers within earshot, his words were shot through with icy shards of pure spite.

  Mad enough to throw both of them out of her store, Victoria explained in a low voice, “Hank heard somewhere that I was low on cash. He kindly offered to increase my reserves. But I’m not that desperate.”

  As she spoke, Hank turned and headed out the door.

  Victoria wished that Owen would follow him, but instead the off-duty officer addressed her softly. “You need to tell him.”

  “Tell him what?” Victoria spoke softly through gritted teeth. “You already told him I needed money.”

  Owen held up his hands. “I haven’t talked to Hank—”

  “Then who did he hear it from? How many people have you told?” She stomped back around the glass pastry case.

  “No one.”

  Victoria shook her head. “I’m not that stupid.”

  “Neither am I. How long do you think I’d make it on the police force if I blabbed the details of every case to everybody?”

  Her frustration boiled over. “I didn’t realize the Fitzgerald Bay Police Department had performance standards.”

  Owen gave her a look that was pure malice. “We do our jobs.”

  “Do you? I’m located right across the street from the police department, and I’ve had two terrible break-ins less than a month apart. Why can’t you keep me safe?”

  “You do your job and I’ll do mine.” Owen planted his hands on the counter. “I want a turkey melt with
extra avocado. And a cinnamon roll.”

  “Anything to drink?” Anger seethed just under her words.

  “Milk.”

  While Victoria rang up his purchases, Owen leaned toward her, his voice quiet. “Look, I’m just here to talk to you about your robbery. I’m not going to discuss…”

  Victoria gave him his total, waiting as he pulled out some cash. “You’re not going to discuss what?” Her heart slammed inside her chest, but she was upset enough she didn’t care.

  “Paige,” he whispered.

  Almost as though he couldn’t bring himself to speak his daughter’s name out loud.

  A horrid sense of guilt washed over Victoria, the same shameful feeling she’d so resented when strangers had looked down upon her as an unwed teenage mother. She’d hated that feeling, but it was worse when Owen was the one making her feel that way. “Okay.” She counted out his change. “The robbery, then. What about it?”

  “I was thinking about the narrow window of opportunity the perpetrator had to commit his crime. Who knew you were going to be stepping out?”

  “Just Paige and Charlotte.”

  Owen’s low tone was almost conspiratorial. “You mentioned delivering the cookies to the Hennessy law firm. Who was there at that hour?”

  “Cooper. I think he must work late a lot. They have a standing delivery of cookies on Sunday nights, and whenever I call over to arrange the delivery after we close up at eight or nine, Cooper’s usually still there.”

  “What about Burke?” Burke Hennessy was Cooper’s father, the patriarch of the Hennessy clan and the founder of the Hennessy Law Office.

  Victoria shook her head. “I’ve never seen him there in the evening. You don’t consider him a suspect, do you?”

  “They knew you’d call before bringing over the cookies.”

  “But he’s a lawyer. I’m not saying that makes him honest or dishonest, but you don’t think he’d stoop to stealing, do you?” As she spoke, Victoria opened the back of the glass case to fetch the cinnamon roll Owen had ordered.