“I’m looking for my daughter.”
“What’s Vivian got to do with her?” Her eyes lit up. “Oh! Is your daughter a wayward girl?” Eve laughed and sauntered back to her stool. She picked up her book. “Out of the running for Father of the Year, Mr. Fox? Feel free to stay till Viv calls, but keep your mouth shut and stay out of the way.”
Jack removed the lens cap and walked toward Laura. He snapped a burst of pics.
“Who is he?” the photographer said.
“Just do your job, Jerry,” Eve said.
The interviewer scowled, “I thought we had an exclusive?”
“You do,” Eve said.
Jack took a burst of photos of the scowling group. “An exposé,” Jack said. “I guess I don’t need to tell you folks what I’m investigating.”
The interviewer’s mouth went slack with surprise, he stepped back.
“Give me a moment,” Eve said to the group. She pulled Jack to the front door. “You want Vivian – you can wait outside.”
Jack snapped a picture of Eve’s face.
“What the hell is your problem?” Eve said.
Jack turned and took another burst of photos of Laura, who was sitting tensely on the stool.
The interviewer shoved past him and out the front door.
“Where are you going?” Eve said.
Once on the street, the interviewer broke into a run toward his car.
Jack couldn’t resist the urge to snap a shot of Eve’s startled face.
“Are you mental?” she said, trying to shove him out the front door.
Jack planted himself in the door, so that Eve couldn’t budge him. “I know an Italian place – I want to see what you look like there – with me.”
“In your dreams.”
He grabbed her waist and pulled her close. “Eve Marie Alexandria Hargrove,” he buried his face in her hair, spoke softly in her ear, “you’re the best damned thing I ever seen.”
She stood frozen as his lips moved toward hers, lingering.
Her lips parted and she leaned into him.
“Eve,” Laura said.
Eve pulled away from Jack.
Disconcerted, Eve said to Jack, “You’re out of your league.”
“I know,” he said.
“Not interested,” Eve said.
“Sure you are.”
Eve eyed him. “Aren’t you looking for your daughter?”
“You’re chicken-shit scared.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Go out with me,” Jack said. “If you’re still not interested, you’ll never hear of me no more.”
“Is that a promise?”
Jack grinned, made a “don’t count on it” face.
“Eve!” Laura said.
Eve’s head snapped in her direction.
The photographer had an iPhone camera on Laura. “What about the rumors that it was you and your sister who murdered your stepfather?”
“We had a deal, Jerry,” Eve said.
Jerry pushed closer to Laura, “They say it was you that cut his heart out and mailed it to that detective. Why’d you do it?”
Laura staggered past Jerry as Eve bounded to her side, supporting her.
“Give me that,” Eve said, making a snatch for Jerry’s iPhone even as she still held Laura around the waist.
Jerry held the phone over his head and behind him, grinning.
Jack came up behind him, took the iPhone, grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm back and put him facedown on the floor.
Jerry gasped in pain.
“You can get up nice and quiet and leave or I break your arm. What is it?” Jack said, pocketing the iPhone.
“Leave,” Jerry said.
Jack eased off his arm and watched as Jerry got to his feet and beat it to the door.
Eve rushed to the door and locked it behind him. Laura burst into tears and fell to the floor in a heap of teal.
Eve stared at Jack with hard eyes. “How much do you want for it?”
“Not even a thank-you,” Jack said to Eve. He looked at Laura. “You okay down there?”
Laura attempted to pull herself together, gulped down a sob with a nod.
“Get your stuff, Laura. I’m taking you home,” Eve said.
Reluctantly, Laura got up and came to Eve.
Eve put her arm around Laura’s waist, pulled her close as Laura cried on her shoulder.
“They’ll never leave us alone,” Laura said.
Jack’s eyes lingered on Eve, admiring her fingers as they gently caressed Laura’s hair. Eve whispered something to Laura.
Laura’s eyes softened. She nodded.
“Get your purse,” Eve said to Laura.
Laura nodded and disappeared to the back.
“I want that iPhone,” Eve said to Jack.
“I want you. Doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.”
“I don’t go out with losers,” she said.
“Eight o’clock?”
“Five. Dress nice.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
–Isaac Newton
“With a father like you, the kid doesn’t need enemies,” Bud said to Jack with a withering look.
Jack’s lips tightened.
Bud felt the satisfaction of knowing he hit a nerve.
Jack Fox is a louse.
“Any other questions, Detective?” Jack said.
“Not till the victim wakes up.”
Jack’s face clouded and Bud felt a twinge of regret.
“Enid’s not a victim,” Jack said.
Bud looked at Enid, who was sleeping. She looked like a twelve- year-old in bulky hand bandages.
Bud said, “Whatever happened to her, she got lucky.”
“I want to be alone with my daughter,” Jack said.
Bud nodded. He retreated to the hallway, where he gave the nurse his number, asking her to call him when Enid was alert.
A pretty twenty-something nurse with strawberry blond hair was flirting with Chip. Bud motioned for Chip to follow and continued down the hall. Chip fell in step with him.
Bud nodded toward the nurse. “Vegas odds she’s got her heart set on marrying a doctor.”
“She’s not my type.”
“You prefer brunette homicidal degenerates,” Bud said.
“Yup,” Chip said.
In the car, Bud told Chip to drive to the station.
Chip shot him a startled look. “We’ve been up all night.”
“Take your pick – the station or the veterinarian.”
Chip made the turn that took them to the station – and away from the vet. “If you’re going to work me like a slave, you need to at least feed me.”
Ten minutes later, they were sitting at a booth in the diner where Bud knew Sam Waterstone was a regular.
“How you feel?” Chip said.
Bud scratched at one of the sticky pads that pulled at his skin. “Like a trussed turkey.”
Chip’s phone rang and he flipped it open. His face lit up and he signaled that he would be outside.
Breakfast came and Bud watched as Chip paced the sidewalk, his eyes bright and a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.
It’s her.
Bud felt a heaviness descend on him. It was inevitable. Chip was going to be stupid and in a big way.
Chip returned and dug into his scrambled eggs and toast.
Bud sighed. His food tasted like chalk. He wiped his mouth and leaned back, examining Chip, trying to remember what it was like to be that young. When the whole world seemed like it was there for your taking and anything was possible. Sex was mysterious – exciting.
Where does it go?
Bud tried to remember when the change happened between him and Bunnie. After Chip was born? After twenty years of marriage? One moment they were in love and making love – the next – she was talking divorce.
“You look weird,” Chip said. “You wa
nna go home?”
“So I can nap?” Bud said.
“You did have a heart attack.”
The bell on the diner’s front door tinkled. Bud looked up to see Sam Waterstone walk in and take a seat at the counter.
“Wait here.” Bud slid out of the booth and made his way to Sam, who was already engrossed in his newspaper. “Sam Waterstone?”
Sam looked up, questioningly.
Bud held out his hand. “Detective Bud Orlean. I’m working your niece’s case.”
Sam’s forehead wrinkled. “My niece?”
“Jack Fox’s daughter, Enid.”
Sam’s eyebrows went up. “What case?”
“She’s at John C. – she’ll be okay. Hit-and-run.”
“Jesus.” Sam threw the newspaper on the counter.
“Can I ask you some questions?” Bud inwardly smiled at Sam’s wary expression. Cops are the ultimate skeptics.
“Sure. Did she…?”
“We’re waiting for her to wake up. She’s on meds, making her story garbled. Has Enid ever been involved in drugs?”
Sam shook his head, “Not that I know. Of course, I’ve only known her for a day.”
“Any reason she would have a gun?”
Sam’s eyebrows furrowed. He hesitated. “Did Jack tell you – how I met her?”
A waitress set down his coffee and Sam said, “Thanks, Mona.”
Bud listened with interest as Sam related the story of how he’d responded to a call for a disturbance and found Enid babysitting for a woman whose boyfriend had tried to break in. They arrested the boyfriend and when he questioned Enid, she told him she came to Phoenix to find her real father, Jack Fox.
“How’d you know she was telling the truth?” Bud said.
“She had names, dates – it fit.” Sam shrugged, “I called my wife, we brought her home, then I called Jack.”
“How’d he respond to the news?”
“I told you what I know. For the rest, ask Jack.”
“I will. Thank you.” Bud held out his hand and they shook.
“Who’s that?” Sam said.
Bud followed his gaze to Chip. “My son.”
“He a cop?”
“He’s writing a book. Shadowing me for research.”
“Must be nice working with your son,” Sam said.
Bud made a face, nodded goodbye and returned to his table.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.
–Mahatma Gandhi
“I’m not lying,” Enid said, her face burning with anger.
“I didn’t say you were,” Jack said. “The cops are canvassing the neighborhood. You don’t know where the house was or how far you ran?”
Enid shook her head. “Orange flowers. I remember orange flowers.”
Jack remained silent, thinking.
“You think I’m a big fat liar, don’t you?” Enid said.
“Look. I, uh – I shouldn’t have put you in that situation.”
“You should have been there to pick me up – like you promised.”
“I’m trying to apologize,” Jack said. “Jesus, you don’t make anything easy, do you?”
Enid flushed, remembering the promise she made when she thought she was going to die.
I’ll be nicer to mom and Jack.
Jack said, “What I’m trying to say is that it was a total asshole move on my part – sending you undercover. I should have never done it. I apologize.”
She stared at him in surprise. She felt the anger seep out of her, and she opened her mouth to tell him that she was sorry for being so mean and tell him how she was going to be nicer and…
“You’re not bullshitting about the whole strangling thing, right?”
Enid sat bolt upright in bed, anger flooding back. “Why would I make up something like that?”
“To get attention. Put it to me. I don’t know. All I know is if you’re exaggerating – ”
“You mean lying.”
“I’ve heard you tell some whoppers.”
Enid sat up. “My jeans. Where are my jeans?” She spotted the bag and pointed. “There.”
Jack held it out for her to take.
She gave him a look, held up her bandaged hands. “Duh.”
Jack frowned, dug around the bag and pulled out her jeans.
“Check the front pocket.”
Jack pulled out a dirty Kleenex. “Jesus,” he said, dropping it.
“The key,” Enid said as he pulled out a key. “That’s the key to the room I was locked in.”
Jack cursed, dropping the key. “So much for fingerprints.”
“That’s a clue, right?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Jack slid the key into a medical glove.
“What kind of crap detective are you?” Enid said. “I’m handing you a big old honkin’ clue and you’re like – ” She imitated him acting like a doofus, “Dum, dum, dumm-di-dum.”
“I’ll check it out,” Jack said.
“Give it to the detective – Chip’s dad,” Enid said.
“That’s another thing,” Jack said. “It’s not ladylike for you to go chasing some guy around. He’s too old for you anyway. I’d expect a daughter of mine to have a little more pride.”
“Look who’s talking?” Enid said, even as she felt a burst of happiness at the way he said “a daughter of mine.”
“It’s unseemly,” Jack said.
“You wanna talk unseemly…?”
“That’s different.”
“Why? ‘Cause you’re a guy?”
“Yeah.”
“It wasn’t different for my mother.”
Jack glared at Enid.
“I’m just sayin’...” Enid said, shrugging in mock innocence.
Jack headed to the door. “I need to give Detective Blowhard the key. Why don’t you get some rest.”
Jack left and a nurse came in. “How is everything?”
Enid held up her bandaged hands, “I gotta go to the bathroom. How does that happen?”
CHAPTER FIFTY
Love is a serious mental disease.
–Plato
Jack drove to the office, irritably eyeing Frank Ficus’s car in his rearview mirror.
Dogs aren’t this faithful.
Jack wanted nothing more than a hot shower and some shut-eye. He parked and headed to his office, which was unlocked and no sign of Rachel.
He closed the door to his office and stretched out on the couch. He set his alarm for one hour. He listened to the clicking of Rachel’s heels returning to her desk and the sounds of traffic and the occasional siren.
The alarm blared, he hit snooze. He closed his eyes and listened as the door opened and softly closed. Rachel checking on him, maybe surprised that he’d been in his office.
His mind drifted and his dream came wafting back.
Eve.
She was flying through the night skies. He was behind her, struggling to get near her, but she was always just out of reach.
He frowned.
There’d been something else.
What was it?
He strained to remember, but it slipped away – elusive as Eve.
The alarm rang again. He slapped it into silence and swung his legs so that his feet landed on the floor.
Rachel opened the door and flipped on the lights, messages in hand.
They spent the next ten minutes going over the messages and arranging his schedule. When they were done, Jack stood up.
“Where are you off to?” Rachel said.
“Too embarrassed to tell you,” Jack said, thinking about his date with Eve.
“Sounds promising,” she said.
Within the hour, Jack found himself in the Biltmore Macy’s, nervously eyeing new suits. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been shopping and cared.
I’m turning into a girl.
George, an older man who looked more like a business financier than a sal
es clerk, glided over and examined him with fond indulgence over his heavily rimmed glasses.
“Hmmm,” George said. He rocked back on his heels, hands clasped behind his back as he examined the rack of suits Jack was looking at. “I think not.” George deftly replaced the suit Jack had picked and gestured for Jack to follow him.
George walked briskly toward another section of the store with better lighting and plusher carpets. George stopped at a rack with a flourish.
“I’m on a budget,” Jack said.
“You are in love?” George said.
Jack grimaced.
“First date with a special woman, eh?” George rubbed his hands gleefully and pulled an elegant suit off the rack, displaying it for Jack to admire.
Jack smiled politely.
“Exactly. You are right – the brown is not for you.” George wrinkled his nose as if hit by an unpleasant odor. His eyes landed on another rack and he hurried over.
Jack hesitated and followed him.
George held out an elegant black suit made of lightweight material.
Jack touched it. It felt like cash slipping through his fingers.
George’s eyes glowed in triumph. He guided Jack toward a counter, selected a lavender shirt. “Nice, no?”
“Purple?” Jack said.
“Barney is purple, this is lavender. On a man such as yourself – it will be…” George kissed his fingers with a flourish.
Once in the dressing room, Jack looked at his reflection in surprise. It made him look like a better version of himself – a version that might be able to get someplace with Eve Hargrove.
George tapped on the door. “Sir?”
Jack stepped out.
“Perfecto,” George said.
Jack looked at the price tag. “I’ve paid less for a car.”
George waved his hand as if waving away a fly. “We have a sale, the real price is – ” George adjusted his glasses, squinted at the price tag, calculating. “Five hundred eighty for the suit, shirt is sixty. And this,” he ran his hand along the lapel, “does not need a tie – unless you are going formal?”
Jack shook his head, reluctantly took off the jacket.
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