by Quinn, Lucy
I didn’t blame her. Love really was blind.
But I hadn’t been in love with Henry Savage. I wasn’t trying to explain away his bizarre behavior because I couldn’t let myself believe that he’d done something horrible. I had been ready to break confidence, last night, to help the sheriff keep him behind bars.
Even so, I couldn’t get over the fact that suicide just didn’t make sense. Sure, he had been down—there was no denying it—but suicidal?
Over the years I’d spent doing urban ministry in churches in Raleigh and Durham, both during Seminary and before, I’d seen my fair share of suicidal people. Some successful, some not, but they all shared that same bone-deep despair that seemed to come off them like it had a texture, taste, and smell.
Henry hadn’t been like that. Sad? Yes, deeply. Afraid? Yes. But, suicidal?
No. I just didn’t see it. “No,” I said aloud, shaking my head. “I don’t see it.”
“So, let me get this straight,” Emma said, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms. Her short blonde curls bounced on her shoulders when she made contact. “You think that because he was excited about getting a clean suit, his suicide wasn’t a suicide?”
“That’s not exactly what I’m saying.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, trying to clear my thoughts, “I could just tell.”
“How?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but I couldn’t exactly pinpoint how I knew. The lack of extreme emotion. The verbalized assumption that we would see each other again. Heck, he’d made a pass at me! The first time he’d been aggressively romantic.
All rolled together, the little signs seemed so minuscule, and explaining them out loud would make it seem like I was pretending to be psychic. But I did have a knack for picking up on subtleties like that, and she knew it. Heck, she was always the one who pushed me to do the Matchbaker thing.
“I can’t explain exactly how I know, Em. I just do.”
The door opened and a couple of people wandered in. Strangers. Emma stood to greet them, but I stayed in my seat, still a little dumbfounded. It didn’t feel real. It was like talking about the death of a character I’d really cared about in a TV show or book. Like I could still just go down to the jail to see Henry.
Maybe it would help me accept the truth if I asked the coroner to see his body. Not to examine anything, just to know he was dead.
A huge crash startled me to my feet and I looked around. It had sounded so close, like it was next to my head, but nothing in the store appeared to have been toppled or ruined. One of the tourists ran to the door of the shop, and I followed him. Nothing could be seen out of the window, which was painted with the same impenetrable mural as mine.
We all rushed into the parking lot. As soon as I stepped outside, I could hear a woman screaming. I pushed past the tourist and found Scarlet, in black yoga pants and a purple puffy coat, launching another giant rock at the window of my bakery. It bounced off the white wood below the window and plopped harmlessly onto the sidewalk. The glass had already shattered from the first stone.
At least it was the one with the mural. Tiny favors.
I ran at her with my hands out, but she turned on me and swung as soon as I was within swinging distance. She missed, but she wasn’t done.
“You!” she wailed, taking another swing. “This is all your fault!”
I finally managed to get my hands on her arms and settle her. Emma called out that she’d get the police on the line, but I waved her off.
“Just go back inside, Emma. I’ve got this.” I didn’t want to get Scarlet in any more trouble than she was already in with the Saint Agnes police. “I’ll handle her.”
The tourists were reluctant to leave, watching Scarlet with wary, worried glances. Emma pulled her cell phone out of her pocket as they all went back inside, but I wasn’t going to press charges. They could send all the deputies they wanted.
Scarlet had every right to be angry.
“This is your fault,” she repeated, chest heaving. “If we hadn’t stopped at this stupid bakery, we never would have gone to that stupid gas station and that stupid girl wouldn’t have cornered Henry for more money and he would still be alive right now.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her whole face was red. She stared at me with such hatred in her eyes, it took my breath away.
I knew it wasn’t my fault. Claire had been following him around, and she would have confronted him regardless of where he’d gone. But I hated that I’d played a roll in this. Of course, none of that would matter to Scarlet. She was just angry, and that was okay.
“I’m so sorry, Scarlet,” I said, reaching for her shoulder, but she yanked away from me so fast, I lost my balance a little.
“Like that makes anything better.” She sniffed and ran her jacket sleeve across her nose. “You can’t just apologize and then, poof, Henry is back.”
“I know.”
“I hate you.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“And don’t try to pull the cutesy pastor thing on me.” She pointed a long, skinny finger at me. “That crap might have worked on Henry. You sweet-talked him into thinking you’re a good person, but I see you. You are evil.”
Those words struck the core of my being. I took a long breath, holding back tears. She knew how to push my buttons, all right.
“I really am sorry about Henry. I know you cared about him—”
“Cared about him?” she scoffed, walking toward the shattered window with her hands on her hips. “I was the only one who really loved him.” Her words had such a caustic edge, I was afraid she might pick up another rock and hurl it at me. I could tell that was what she really wanted to do. Hurt me.
“I’m sure he knew that,” I offered, trying to give comfort.
“Of course he knew that. Idiot.” She rolled her eyes skyward. “And if you think he really killed himself, you’re dumber than I thought.”
I shook my head. “I don’t believe he did. Unless something changed after I saw him last night.”
“When did you see him?”
“While you were talking to the deputy with your lawyer.”
Scarlet crossed her arms, turning away from me and facing the broken window. “I saw him after that.” Her voice shook. “He didn’t tell me you’d been there.”
“I wasn’t there long.”
“But he tells me everything.” A sudden tremor went through her, and she straightened her neck. “Told. He told me everything.”
I crossed the space between us and put my palm, tentatively, on her shoulder. I half expected her to pull away, but she dropped her head into her hands and began to cry in earnest. We stood there like that for a long while before she pulled her Miss Georgia persona firmly back into place.
“I had just signed a contract to represent Henry when Heath Ledger died, you know. We watched the academy awards together that year, and he made a comment to me about how great I’d look accepting an award on his behalf.” She sniffed, not looking at me, wiping at her cheek quickly. “And I told him that I would never accept an award on his behalf—that he would have to be there, or the podium would stand empty, and he promised me…promised me, that it would never be empty.”
She finally pulled away from me. Apparently, the time for comfort had passed. I was at least mildly certain that he wasn’t up for an Academy Award this year. At least Scarlet would be saved that moment.
“Do you need anything?” I asked, taking a step toward the bakery and pulling the keys from my pocket. “I could put on some coffee.”
“I don’t particularly want to talk to you.”
Coming around to the front door, I could finally see her face, and she was a red, puffy, swollen mess. She needed not to be alone right now.
“You don’t have to talk to me at all,” I said, pulling the door open. That stupid bell jingled out a painful memory of the first time I’d met Henry, so handsome and full of life, but I tried to push it down. “I’ll just make the coffee.”
> She reluctantly agreed and came inside, taking a seat in front of the bake case, near the coffee stand. I put on the pot to brew, and while I waited for it to finish, I got out the big broom and brushed all the glass into one pile. The floor-to-ceiling window would need to be completely replaced. Most of the mural was gone, although there were bits of paint on the jagged glass that remained.
I poured Scarlet a cup of coffee, doctored it up for her with cream and sugar, and set it on the table in front of her. She was staring off into space, but I knew she’d eventually come around and drink the coffee. I tore some garbage bags open and taped them, one at a time, over the gaping hole left by the broken window. By the time I’d finished, Scarlet was done with her coffee, and I poured her another cup.
“You would have been his next wife,” she said in a hollow voice, as I brought over the cream and sugar. I froze with my mouth open, ready to deny that whole notion, but she waved off my reply. “You don’t know him like I do. I saw the look in his eyes when he saw you. He would have pursued you until you said yes. He has a thing for cherubic girls.”
I choked out a laugh and put the cream carafe and the sugar shaker on the table. “Is that a fat joke?”
Scarlet shook her head. “No. That was… You have a fresh face, an unspoiled look. You could practically pass for Mandy Moore with short hair. He always had a thing for her. Those big, innocent eyes.”
Subconsciously, I pulled at my hair. I didn’t like being described to my face. Especially by someone like Scarlet, who could so easily turn a compliment into a slice-and-dice.
She poured cream and sugar into the cup and stirred it with the little red straw I’d left in there. “That’s part of what made me so mad about having to stay here. He’s still not divorced from Dara and he’s already picked out his new target.” Scarlet’s stirring hand paused. “Or, had.”
I sat down in the chair across from her and tried to come up with a way to respond to that. I was at a loss. I don’t know that I’d liked Henry that way, even before I heard about the assault, although there was no doubt he was attractive, and flirty. But his next wife? Definitely not. Still, it seemed best not to argue with her.
“The sheriff is convinced he killed himself,” she said, sipping at the coffee. “But you and I know he didn’t.”
“And if he didn’t, then that means he was murdered,” I supplied for her. “And whoever killed Claire probably killed him.”
“That was my thought, too.” She took a long drink, like it was alcohol or oxygen. “I need to find out who did it, before anyone gets wind of this and it hits social media or TMZ or something. That sheriff sure isn’t going to investigate. Not when he thinks the case is finally closed.”
That was a problem. That meant it would be up to us, for sure.
Us. I had never imagined being grouped into a category with Scarlet. Until about half a second ago, I would have said she wasn’t even on the same side as me. But apparently, we were slated to be allies.
“Where should we start?” she asked, finishing her coffee and setting the cup down. She looked determined, which made me like her a little more than I had before.
“I should close, anyway, and call the window guy to come and replace this. So I’ll have some time today.” I gestured around the bakery. “I wonder if you can get us in to talk to the banker. It sounded like he knew something about the situation, and I haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet.”
“What banker?”
“The one you were using to open the account for Claire and Derek.”
Scarlet scoffed at me, with a little shake of her head. “What account?”
“That’s why you were at the bank. To open a secret account, to give money to Claire and Derek so they’d keep quiet about Henry’s kid.”
“Well, that’s a lie.” She smacked her hand lightly on the table for emphasis. “Henry was in town to settle his mother’s estate and sign the final paperwork to transfer her house loan so we could sell that eyesore. There was no secret account, and I don’t know what banker you’re talking about.”
“What about the money for Claire and Derek? For the kid?”
“He’s been sending money for that kid for years, long before I ever became his agent.” Scarlet pushed up from the table, grabbing her cup and walking over to the trash can. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
All the air seemed to suck out of the room. Derek had lied to me, about all of it. But he had seemed so certain. Was it possible that Claire had lied to him?
I needed to talk to Derek Hobson before he skipped town. If he hadn’t left already.
Chapter 19
Scarlet dropped her car at the bed and breakfast, and I picked her up in front so we could find Derek. The address he’d given me brought us to a rundown shack in a row of other rundown shacks on the north side of town.
The roof of the place was low and flat, and seemed to have some sort of metal or shine to it. This did not seem like the house someone would rent or buy if they had a bunch of money from blackmailing.
I almost said as much aloud to Scarlet, but decided against it. She was in a fighting mood. I needed her cooperation—if I could get the two of them in a room, I might actually have a chance of figuring out exactly what was going on with the blackmail and the money.
“His bike is here,” I said, pointing to the Harley sitting in the driveway. There was no other vehicle. “Let’s go inside. Follow my lead.”
She made a disagreeable noise in the back of her throat, but she didn’t argue. Scarlet was unpredictable, and I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect of her behavior today. So far, it had vacillated between destructive and depressive. I wasn’t sure how Derek would respond to either one.
I knocked on the door and heard someone call out from inside. In a matter of seconds, a shirtless, surprisingly ripped man with long hair was standing in the doorway. I had to look up from the abs to see that it was Derek.
“Vangie?” he said, a little stunned.
Scarlet pushed past him. “Why did you lie to her?” She disappeared into the dark room, and I could do nothing but stare at Derek, a little shell-shocked by her direct approach.
“Uh. Come in?” He stepped aside, a little sarcasm in his tone. “You could have called. I would have dressed.”
The sweatpants look worked on him. The house smelled faintly of dude, but it appeared clean. Spare on the furniture end, with only a couple of pieces in the room we entered, but there was no garbage. No messes. I was impressed. Not a lot of guys were this clean.
But not a lot of guys had cleaned up after a drug addict most of their lives, either. That probably had something to do with it.
“You haven’t heard yet?” I asked, ignoring Scarlet’s tapping foot.
“Heard what?” Derek lumbered down the hallway and came back with a shirt, which he pulled over his head. “I only just woke up.”
“Henry was killed last night.” I let the words tumble out, fast, and watched them land on Derek’s face. The stunned look on his face read as genuine, but I wasn’t sure if I could trust my instincts anymore.
Derek paced across the room, passing a still-angry Scarlet, and plopped onto the green sofa. “What happened?” he finally managed.
“They found him hanging in his jail cell,” Scarlet snapped at him. “But Henry wouldn’t have killed himself.”
“Wait. Who are you?” Derek asked, looking at her with his head cocked to one side.
“I’m Scarlet Jakes. Henry’s agent.” She looked down at her hands, pausing. “And his friend.”
Derek offered his hand and introduced himself. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for two days. I even came by your hotel.”
“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve been busy being questioned by the police,” she said with a snarky scowl. “Sorry if that got in the way of your cash grab.”
“It wasn’t a cash grab.” He put his hands on the couch like he wanted to push himself up, but then gave h
is head a little shake instead. “I was just trying to save Claire from having to do the dirty work.”
I came around the green couch and took a seat on the blue couch that lined the opposite wall of the narrow room. It had the feel of a dorm room or a bachelor pad, with the distinct garage sale look.
“What you told me yesterday in the car,” I said, leaning forward. “Why did you lie to me?”
“Lie?” he said, face wrinkling in frustration. “I didn’t lie to you.”
“You said Henry was going to set up an account for you two.” Scarlet came to stand directly in front of him, arms crossed, legs wide. “That’s an outright lie.”
“That was what Claire told me.” Derek launched himself off the couch and went down the hallway again, returning with a piece of paper. “Read it yourself if you don’t believe me.”
Scarlet took the letter and read through it. Her shoulders relaxed and she looked up at Derek. “So, you’ve got the kid here? Or is he at school?”
His brows drew together. “Why would I have him here?”
“You’ve got to have him with you. How else could she expect to get even more money out of Henry?”
“More money?” Derek asked, his tone getting a little harder.
“Hang on, now.” I came off the couch and stepped between them, trying to diffuse the situation, but it just left the three of us in close proximity, everyone on edge. This was a recipe for disaster.
“She was getting money already,” Scarlet said, dropping her shoulders and facing off against Derek, through me.
“That’s not possible. I have access to all her accounts.” Derek shook his head, leaning forward just enough to be intimidating. “She was broke all the time.”
“Well, he was sending her money, constantly. When he told me about the kid the first time, he showed me the transactions. Said if anything ever happened to him, he’d leave everything to his son.” She narrowed her eyes, looking between Derek and me. “That’s confidential.”