by Nancy Naigle
“He’s definitely not watching you unless it’s in his dreams. I checked in with Calvin. Keith isn’t going anywhere for a while, and when he does we’ll know.”
“Thanks. That does make me feel better.” She limped back into the living room and sat down on the couch.
“Good. What else can I do to cheer you up and put that smile back on your face?”
“I’m fine.” She forced an extra-wide grin. “See?”
“Not convinced.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let him win. No man is worth that.”
“We aren’t all alike.” He nudged the big paper sack with the toe of his shoe. “There’s something else in there.”
“More?” After the soup and water, she had no idea what to expect. She opened the bag, and then her mouth dropped open. “My shoes? How?”
“I had the strap fixed.”
“From the accident? They’re fixed?” She pulled them to her chest and this time the smile was genuine. “How did you get them?”
Mike nodded. “I’m good.”
“No way.” She examined the straps; sure enough, they were like brand-new. “I saw one of the cops throw them in a trash bag.”
“That wasn’t a trash bag. They put all the stuff from the crime scene in paper bags.”
“Crime scene. That makes it sound worse.”
“It was pretty bad.”
She held his gaze and took in a breath. “I know.”
“I don’t have a one-rescue-per-night limit. That’s why I get paid—”
“—the big bucks,” they both said at the same time.
Brooke laughed. “I can’t believe this. How’d you get them fixed so fast? No one does anything fast in this town.”
“One of my Marine buddies comes from a long line of boot makers in Texas. He married a Virginia girl about a year ago and they opened a shop up in Richmond. It took all of about ten minutes to put them back in shape. He was done before I finished my coffee.”
“A boot maker messing around with New York designer shoes? I bet that’s a first.”
“Careful now. He’s not just any boot maker. This guy’s family has made custom boots for the last three presidents. He could probably teach that high-dollar girly shoemaker a thing or two.”
She held the snarky comments. It wasn’t the time to tease. “I don’t know how to thank you. You are too nice.”
“Well, I didn’t want you to think I didn’t understand the relationship between a girl and her shoes.”
“Your wife? She loved shoes?”
“Yeah. She probably had a hundred pairs of them I had to get rid of. Funny thing is, I never much paid attention to them, but they obviously meant something to her.”
She could almost picture the memory in his mind.
“I bet those memories are precious,” she said softly.
“It’s been a long time since I allowed myself to remember them. But it’s okay…now.”
She lifted the shoes. “Thanks for sharing that with me. That means a lot to me that you would.”
“Things are easy with you.” He shrugged modestly. “Anyway, I just hoped this might make you feel better. Something little I could do. Not business.”
“Better? Are you kidding? I’m cured!” She jumped from the couch with shoes in hand and arms splayed for a hug.
Mike stood and looked down on her. “You’re a short shit without those shoes on, aren’t you?”
She slapped at him with the strappy heels. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you great things come in small packages?” She lifted a hand to her hip, causing her robe to gape, which she pulled closed immediately.
“Get better soon, will ya?” His hands slid from her arms to her waist.
“Yeah, I will,” she said quietly up at him. He towered over her. She could feel a dampness that had nothing to do with the tub.
He dropped a playful kiss on her nose, but pulled away quickly and was halfway to the door before she realized he had moved on.
Do you have to leave? She found herself wishing silently. Please, please stay. She raced to catch up with him at the door, leaning easily against it, watching him walk against the dusk. Those tall, sturdy legs took him to his black truck in just a few strides. “Don’t be a stranger.”
Mike didn’t turn around. “I’ll be back,” he called over his shoulder.
“Soon?”
“Count on it.”
“I will,” she said, still wishing he’d turn around and come back now.
“Take care of you,” he called from the door of his pickup, then slid behind the wheel.
Brooke put the shoes down and picked up Stitches. Raising the dog’s paw in one of her hands, they waved goodbye.
She stepped back inside and said to Stitches. “Soon? Not a woman on earth knows what that measurement of time means.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Brooke pushed up the sleeves of her black sweater as she walked to answer the front door. She hoped she was dressed appropriately. What do you wear to plan a party with your best friend’s boyfriend while she’s out of town? People were going to talk. She knew it.
She pulled the front door open and started laughing. “We look like twins!” There he stood wearing a black shirt and khakis. “At least you’re on time. Jenny is always late.”
“Raring to go. You say ‘cake’ and I’m Ricky on the spot.” Rick hooked his arm. “Madam.”
Brooke slipped her arm through his and pulled the door closed behind her as they headed to the truck. He slowed down. “You’re sure you’re up to this, right?”
“Absolutely,” she said.
“Good. So, where are we off to?” Rick asked as he held the door for Brooke.
She clicked the seat belt into place. “You’re in luck,” she said, as he climbed behind the wheel. “Because of our short timeline, we only have two bakeries that do theme cakes that can accommodate us. We have appointments with both.”
“Where to first?”
“To the oceanfront. Susie T’s Bakery on Atlantic. Our appointment is at ten. We should be right on time.”
Rick started the diesel truck, and they rumbled out of the driveway.
Brooke pulled out a pink piece of paper from her purse, tracing a manicured nail down the list. “After we get done at Susie T’s, we’ll stop by the florist and pay the deposits. I think we’ve got everything picked out from our phone call, but I want to see what you think. Then we’ll have time for a quick lunch before we meet with the folks at A Cake to Remember.”
“Jenny wasn’t kidding. You really are into planning. Do I have time to stop and get fuel?”
“Do you need to stop?”
He laughed. “No. I just wondered if it would screw up your whole system.”
“Real funny. I’m flexible.”
“Sure you are.” He gave her a sideways glance, and she knew he was right to be skeptical.
She was relieved when he merged into the HOV lane to make good time down to the beach.
When they walked into Susie T’s Bakery, Rick’s eyes lit up. Like a kid in a candy shop, he rubbed his hands together and took in a breath. “I hope this is what heaven smells like.”
“Susie T,” a short, heavyset, smiling woman, swished into the front wearing a crisp white apron with bright-pink rickrack and a swirling S on the pocket. “You must be Brooke and Rick. I’m Susie.” She reached toward Rick to shake his hand. “Congratulations on the racehorse. I’ve never done a Kentucky Derby cake.”
“Thanks.” Brooke jumped in. “We’re on a tight schedule. The derby is the first weekend in May.”
“I have some samples ready for you. Follow me.” The woman scurried through two swinging doors, motioning them to follow her. Three round tables were set with white tablecloths and silver-tiered trays adorned the middle of e
ach table in a small dining area. “I do a lot of weddings too.” The woman motioned them to take a seat and then rushed through another set of doors.
“This is awesome,” Brooke whispered to Rick.
“Nice.” He picked up a fork and pretended he was going to pound on the table. “Cake. Cake. Cake,” he mouthed to Brooke.
Susie breezed back into the room carrying two platters covered with silver domes. She placed them in the center on the raised display. “Okay. So before we get started, how many guests are we talking? That’ll help me know how big a cake we’ll have.”
“About a hundred and fifty. Max.”
“Okay. And do you have an idea of the style of cake you’d like?”
Rick looked dumbfounded. “Big?”
Susie laughed. “You know, stacked tiers, or raised tiers with columns between—kind of like a wedding cake—or those topsy-turvy cakes that are kind of contemporary? Square layers or round layers? Or one giant sheet cake? Some folks like those or some people even prefer mini-cakes, like a cupcake size for each individual. Lot more work, but it’s quite trendy right now.”
“Holy shit,” said Rick. “I thought cake was the easy part.”
“Told you there was a lot to do.” Brooke cleared her throat and jumped in to rescue him. “Jenny is set on letting Rick have his way with the flavors, but as for style the only thing she specifically asked was that it not be topsy-turvy layers. She doesn’t like that look.”
Susie pulled the silver dome from a platter, revealing an assortment of cake slivers.
“If I knew I’d get to do this, I might have done more than buy a horse with a girl. We’ll be back when I ask her to marry me,” teased Rick.
An hour later they had a theme, colors, and the whole cake planned out.
Brooke liked what she saw and Rick seemed like he was pretty happy too. “Rick, I think if we’re happy with this, we can cancel the meeting at the other shop. Can we seal a deal right here and now?”
“Works for me.”
Rick and Brooke practically skipped out of Susie T’s Bakery happy with the cake, and the extra free time they’d just earned back.
“I don’t know if it’s Susie or the sugar from all that cake we just ate, but I’m tickled pink with this decision,” Brooke said.
“This party planning is a piece of cake,” Rick said as he climbed behind the wheel.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Brooke was pleased with all she and Rick had accomplished today. She’d asked Rick to stop at a convenience store so she could grab a local paper while they were in Virginia Beach. She missed the big, thick, newsy paper. The paper in Adams Grove was only four to six pages long and most of that was news that was already two weeks old.
Once she’d e-mailed Jenny the updated project plan and reordered the remaining tasks, she settled on the sofa with a glass of iced tea and the newspaper. Stitches jumped up on the couch and nestled with Brooke as she read under the light of the lamp.
She poured through her favorite sections. The “Beacon” was the little section of the paper that came out only a couple times a week, but she always recognized a few people that she’d connected with over the years. It made her a little homesick, but she was starting to prefer Adams Grove. It was becoming more like home every day.
Saving the news for last, she opened the front page and the headline caught her eye. She set down her tea and sat straight up.
GOTO HELL MURDERER RELEASED:
Franklin Gotorow Paroled After 8 Years
She shifted to her knees on the couch and folded the paper back. He’d been out of jail for nearly two months. There was no way Mike knew about this. How could they let someone like that out of prison?
If his reaction was worse than hers, Goto would be the one who needed to worry.
She pulled the article up on her computer and got ready to e-mail it to Mike, but really, was that the kind of news you blasted through an e-mail? A phone call would be better. Maybe he already knew. Her heart ached at the notion that creep would be out on the streets, and how that would make Mike feel. She walked over to the desk and pulled out a pair of scissors. She snipped out the article and tucked it aside so she could give it to Mike.
How do you even start a conversation to break that news to someone?
The story weighed heavy on her mind. At nine o’clock she picked up the phone and called Mike.
“Everything okay?” he answered with a tone of urgency.
“Yes.” She felt bad for waiting until so late to call now. She’d worried him for no reason. But her heart warmed a little to know that there was someone out there who did. “I’ve got something I need to tell you.”
There was a pause, then Mike said, “Okay. I’m listening.”
“I was in Virginia Beach today with Rick.” Her throat felt dry. “I picked up a newspaper while we were there and I was just reading it tonight. Mike, there was an article about the guy who killed your wife in the paper.”
“What kind of article?”
“You might already know. I didn’t…” She wished she wasn’t the one giving him this news. Didn’t victims get notified when people got out of jail? It seemed only fair, but then he’d done his time. “Goto is out of prison. He made parole a couple of months ago. Mike, he’s living in Virginia.”
She heard the slam. It could have been the desk, or it could have been the wall, but the cursing that followed was a mixture of angst, fury, and pain. “Are you sure?”
She pressed both hands over her eyes, wishing she could block out what he must be feeling right now. “I…I just thought you should know.”
“Damn right I should know. Which paper?”
“The Pilot.”
His voice was steady, almost eerily so. “I’ll get it online. Thanks for letting me know. Does Rick know?”
“I don’t know. I wanted to talk to you first.”
There was a cold edge in his voice. “I’ll call him. I gotta run.”
“Yeah. I understand. Mike. I’m sorry.” But he’d already hung up.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Brooke and Mike hadn’t seen much of each other all week. She missed him, and she hoped it was just a matter of circumstance—them both being busy—and not that it had something to do with the information about Goto. She knew that hurt him, and whatever glitch there was in the system that should have alerted them as victim family members, it didn’t change the fact that Rick and Mike were probably both reliving those painful memories.
We both have scars to heal. His words were still clear. Hers were easier to overcome.
She hoped he was okay, because she needed him. Thinking about him was making it impossible to concentrate on work.
The phone rang, breaking the semi-trance she’d fallen into.
It was her attorney. He had the signed divorce papers from Keith.
Finally. Brooke glanced at the time in the bottom right hand of her computer screen. 5:40 p.m. She gloried briefly in the moment. Tears tickled her eyelashes and her mood buoyed. There had been times when she’d wondered if she’d live to see this day.
That terrible night had triggered events in her favor. What a relief. Keith’s attorney had talked him into signing the papers to help with the pending charges against him for abducting her that night. He’d spend only a few days in jail with a prolonged probation and counseling, but the end to this mistake was at least in sight, and she wouldn’t have to worry about him bothering her anymore. That part of her life would be behind her as soon as her attorney could get a court date.
She picked up the phone to call Jenny and then placed it back down. If Jenny were in town, this would be their night to do dinner. Maybe she’d call her at seven during their regular get-together time like a virtual girls’ night.
Brooke cleared her desk, and jotted a couple items on a grocery list while he
r computer took its own sweet time to shut down. Finally, the fan silenced and she slid the warm machine into her briefcase. She hiked her purse and laptop over her shoulder, and she was on her way.
Brooke stopped at Spratt’s Market in town square. With her basket nearly full, she drew a line through the last thing on her list. She stopped and pulled out a bouquet of fresh flowers with lots of daisies in it. She laid them across her purse in the front of the cart, and headed for the cashier.
She pulled the plastic sacks over her wrists and headed for her car parallel-parked along the curb just outside. Just as she tried to twist and shuffle the bags and her keys, a man in a red baseball cap stepped up next to her.
“Let me help you with that.” He smiled. “You’ve got your hands full.”
She hesitated, but only for a moment. “That’s really nice of you. Thanks.” She handed off two of the slippery plastic bags, freeing her hand to unlock the car. “I appreciate the help.”
Brooke opened the car door, then turned when she heard her name called from down the street. She spun to look over her other shoulder. It was Connor Buckham, waving and walking in her direction.
The man shoved the bags onto the seat of the car, but when she turned back around to say thanks, he was already gone.
“Hey, girl,” Connor said.
“Good to see you. It’s been a while,” Brooke said.
“Who was that guy?”
“Good Samaritan. He offered to hold my stuff while I was trying to get into the car. Wasn’t that nice?” Brooke leaned in and placed her remaining bags on the passenger seat, and then stood by the open door. “Oh, and here’s some news you’ll appreciate.”
“Good news, I hope.”
“Great news. Keith signed the divorce papers.”
“I know you’re thankful for that,” Connor said. “I take it you got good service from our new investigator.”