by Lara Lacombe
She rode the elevator up to the top floor with her escort, taking the opportunity to study her reflection in the closed doors. She’d opted for a casual look today, just jeans and a sweater. She smiled to herself, knowing her father would take offense to her wardrobe. Fenwick thought proper ladies wore skirts, which was why Colton Energy had a strict dress code for its employees. Women were free to wear whatever professional clothing they liked, but the smart ones quickly figured out their fortunes improved when they donned skirts in favor of pants.
Just one more way he tries to control people, Bea thought to herself.
The elevator stopped and she stepped into the lobby of the executive floor. A large mahogany desk sat at the far side of the room, and behind the desk was the entrance to her father’s office.
Bea walked forward, her feet sinking into the thick nap of the carpet. A middle-aged blonde woman sat behind the secretary’s desk and smiled as Bea approached.
“Miss Colton, what a pleasure. Your father is currently in a meeting, but if you’d like to have a seat—” the secretary gestured to a row of padded chairs lined up along the wall “—I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Bea smiled and nodded, not surprised the woman had recognized her even though they’d never met before. Her father had a large family portrait hanging in his office to lend credence to his claim of being a family man. It stood to reason his secretary had learned the names of Bea and her siblings, knowing she might one day be called upon to use them.
Bea sat in one of the chairs and crossed her legs, pretending to relax. The secretary stood and walked over. “May I offer you something to drink?” she asked politely.
“Coffee would be lovely,” Bea replied. The woman nodded and set off down the hall, presumably toward a break room. Bea waited until she was gone, then stood and walked into her father’s office.
He was in a meeting, that much was true. Fenwick sat at the head of a conference table, listening to a man in a suit drone on about capital investment strategies. Bea closed his office door with a thud, and every head in the room swiveled toward her at the interruption.
If Fenwick was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it. His eyes flicked over her appearance, and even from this distance she could see the corners of his mouth turn down in disapproval. She met his gaze and raised one eyebrow in challenge. Her father turned back to the table and took command of the meeting once more.
“Gentlemen, I appreciate your counsel. I apologize for the interruption, but let’s pick this back up again later.”
There were murmurs of agreement, coupled with the sound of shuffling papers as everyone gathered their supplies and stood. One by one, the men in suits filed out of the office. Several of them cast curious glances in Bea’s direction as they walked past, but she ignored them.
The secretary burst into the room, her expression panicked. “Mr. Colton, I do apologize,” she said, sounding breathless. “I asked her to wait—”
Fenwick waved her off. “It’s fine,” he said, forcing a smile. “I always have time for my daughter.”
He waited until everyone had left, then walked over to his desk and sat in the padded leather throne. “That was quite an entrance you made,” he said, dropping all pretense of affection. “What the hell gives you the right to barge into my office and disrupt one of my meetings?”
Bea stalked forward, rounding his desk until she stood next to him. Her father’s eyes widened slightly at the intrusion into his personal space. He had thought she would stay on the other side of his desk like a good little girl, giving him the advantage. Little did he know she was done being predictable.
She pulled the letters out of her purse and flung them in his lap. “What the hell gives you the right to interfere in my life?”
Fenwick picked up the pages and scanned them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said in a bored tone.
“Yes, you do. You orchestrated this whole thing. Tell me, how long did it take you to find someone to forge my handwriting and Micah’s?”
Her father narrowed his eyes, clearly calculating his next move. He carefully folded the pages and handed them back to her. “Not long,” he finally said. “It pays to have connections.”
His confession made her sick to her stomach. When she had seen Micah’s letter and realized it was a forgery, she’d immediately thought her father was responsible. Still, a small part of her had held out hope that he wasn’t behind this deception. She’d wanted to believe her dad wasn’t capable of hurting her like that, but his casual admission was like a knife to her heart, cutting through any remaining affection she had for the man.
She schooled her features, determined not to let him see her pain. “Why did you do it?”
Fenwick rolled his eyes. “Why do you think? He’s not right for you. He never was.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make,” she said levelly. Her throat ached to scream at him, and she was proud of herself for keeping her temper under control. If she showed any kind of emotion, her father would consider it a victory.
“Of course it was!” He shoved to his feet, forcing Bea to take a step back. “Micah Shaw is nothing but a low-class boy who could never give you the kind of life you need. I saved you from making a huge mistake. Just look at his father—the man drank away his paychecks in the Pour House every other Friday night. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, trust me.”
Bea shook her head, amazed at the venom in her father’s voice. “How dare you,” she said softly. “Micah put on a uniform and served his country with honor. Now he’s back, protecting the people of this city from danger. He’s a better man than you could ever hope to be.”
“Oh, please. He signed up for the army because he didn’t have any other prospects. And he came back here because he inherited his aunt’s house. Do you honestly think he could afford his own home otherwise?”
She took a step back, needing to distance herself from this man. She’d thought she’d known her father, but now she realized he was a complete stranger. “It all comes down to money with you, doesn’t it?”
“How do you think this world works, little girl?” Fenwick snapped. “You’ve never wanted for anything a day in your life. Did you think your needs were magically met? No! I provided you with everything, and I did it with money. I would have thought you’d have figured that out by now, since you’re playing at being a businesswoman. But you never did have a head for numbers.”
Rage filled her chest, making it hard to breathe. She stood frozen in place, her anger locking her muscles into rigidity so that she couldn’t move. For the first time in her life, Bea felt the urge to strike someone.
“Why are you bringing this up now, years later?” her father asked. “Don’t tell me Shaw is playing at your heartstrings, trying to convince you to take him back.”
Bea shook her head. “No, he’s not. Because I didn’t willingly leave him in the first place. That was your doing, you manipulative bastard.”
Fenwick’s head snapped back and he sucked in a breath. “Now, see here—”
“Let me guess,” she interrupted. “All the letters I wrote to Micah never actually made it to the post office, did they?”
Her father’s face had grown red and he didn’t respond. But he didn’t need to. Bea recalled all too well the silver tray in the foyer where the family had placed outgoing mail. She shook her head, realizing how naive she’d been to trust that her letters had been dropped in the mailbox. Had her father combed through the mail himself, or had he entrusted one of the staff with the distasteful job of extracting her letters before they were sent off?
She stared at the man in front of her, her heart breaking anew as all her childhood illusions shattered into pieces. It was one thing to realize her father was human, with his own foibles and faults. It was quite another to know he had deliberately sabotaged her life, imposing his va
lues over her choices. He’d resorted to lying because he’d known Bea had made up her mind about Micah. And he hadn’t cared. Her father, the man who was supposed to value her happiness above all things, had purposefully broken her heart because she hadn’t toed the line like a dutiful daughter.
“You disgust me,” she said softly. Fenwick continued to sputter, but she rounded on her heel and headed for the door.
“Come back here!” he shouted. “I’m not through with you yet!”
She paused, her hand on the knob. “I’m done with you,” she said firmly. “As of this moment, I no longer consider myself your daughter. Don’t try to contact me—I won’t respond.” She yanked open the door and walked into the foyer, closing the door on Fenwick’s answering bellow. With a nod at the secretary, Bea strode to the elevators, her head held high. The security guard scampered after her, jumping into the elevator just as the doors closed.
She felt strangely light, almost as if the argument had hollowed out her insides, draining her emotions and leaving nothing but empty space behind. It was an odd sensation, and for a moment Bea wondered if she was simply numb. Perhaps the regret and pain would hit later, after the enormity of what she’d done had sunk in.
I’m sorry, Micah. I tried.
She left the building and stepped into the sun, turning her face up toward the warmth. It really was a beautiful day, too pretty to spend indoors. There was a coffee shop across the street with several empty tables on the patio. The scene was too enticing to pass up, and a few minutes later, Bea sat in one of the black metal café chairs sipping a latte and enjoying the warm spring breeze.
Her emotions began to return, like new flowers opening their petals to the world. She waited, expecting a painful blow. But it never came. Instead, her chest filled with happiness as she imagined her life stretching out before her like a smooth, even path. Gone were the brambles and weeds of her worries and hurts, the shadowy overgrowth of her father’s attempts to control her. The road ahead was clear and filled with promise, and she had Micah to walk beside her again.
She smiled into her cup, feeling luckier than any woman had a right to be. They would face difficulties, she knew. Life was far from perfect. But as long as she and Micah were together, Bea felt like they could take on the world.
She couldn’t wait to get started.
* * *
Micah watched Bea enter the building and saw the security guard greet her. Satisfied she was as safe as possible under the circumstances, he pulled away from Colton Energy, resisting the temptation to circle the block and park in front of the building again. He knew Bea was more than capable of standing up to her father, but he hated the idea of her confronting him alone. Still, he had to respect her wishes in this, and it was probably for the best. Micah’s presence would only anger her father, making it impossible for them to have a conversation.
“What do you say we get a little work done?” he asked Chunk. He needed to talk to Joey’s fiancée, Angelina Cooper. From his search yesterday, he knew she lived in an apartment complex nearby. Hopefully she was home and he could interview her before Bea finished talking to her father. He didn’t think Angelina would have much information regarding Joey’s murder, but it wouldn’t hurt to hear her take on things and find out if Joey had any enemies who might wish him harm. The police had spoken to her soon after discovering Joey’s body, but Micah wanted to talk to her personally. As an added bonus, talking to Angelina would occupy his thoughts and keep him from worrying about Bea until she called.
A few minutes later, he parked in front of a strip of apartments in the older part of Red Ridge. The building showed signs of wear and tear, and the small yard in front held more weeds than flowers. He glanced around the lot, noting the preponderance of older-model cars, many of them sporting rust and damage from past accidents. It all painted a picture of a lower-middle-class neighborhood, and Micah wondered if Angelina had money troubles that had extended to Joey.
He clipped the leash to Chunk’s collar and helped the dog out of the truck. Normally, Chunk wore a vest that identified him as a police dog, but Micah decided to leave it off so that they didn’t look so official. Although Chunk wasn’t trained as a therapy dog, Micah had found that sometimes the mere presence of the animal was enough to help witnesses relax as they told their stories. Hopefully he would have the same effect on Angelina.
They took the stairs to the second floor and set off down the hall. A faded welcome mat sat in front of Angelina’s door, the once-colorful floral pattern now muted shades of brown and gray. Micah gingerly used the scratched brass knocker, half expecting it to come off in his hand.
He heard footsteps from within the apartment, then a pause as Angelina likely looked through the peephole. There was the rattle of a safety chain and then the door was pulled open a crack. “Yeah?”
Micah smiled at the woman. “My name is Micah Shaw. I’m with the Red Ridge police department.” He showed her his badge, then clipped it back onto his belt. “I’m investigating the murder of Joey McBurn, and I was hoping to talk to his fiancée, Angelina Cooper.”
The woman shifted, her wary expression softening. “That’s me.”
“May I come in?”
She eyed Chunk. “You brought your dog?”
“In a manner of speaking. He’s my partner.”
She smiled faintly. “That’s cool. I have a cat, though...” She trailed off, her doubt clear.
“Chunk is a perfect gentleman,” Micah said. “He won’t bother your cat at all.”
“If you’re sure...” She stepped back and pulled the door open wide, gesturing for them to come inside.
Micah glanced around as Angelina locked up behind them. Chunk vigorously sniffed at her legs, and to Micah’s shock, the dog let out a low growl that he felt more than heard. He frowned, then saw the white cat at the end of the hall, who sat idly licking a paw. The cat spied Chunk and froze, his tongue still extended. Micah tightened his grip on Chunk’s leash, hoping the dog wouldn’t make a liar out of him. Normally, he was pretty calm around other animals, but there was always a first time...
Chunk sniffed the air, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the cat. His growl subsided, but the tension in his muscles remained. What was going on with him?
“It’s okay, Casper,” Angelina said soothingly. “The puppy isn’t going to bother you.”
The cat didn’t seem impressed by his mistress’s assurance. He took one last look at Chunk and sprinted away, presumably to the safety of the bedroom. Chunk sniffed again, but otherwise didn’t respond to the feline’s hasty retreat.
Angelina breathed out a sigh of relief, and Micah relaxed his hold on the leash. “We can talk in here,” she said, leading him down the hall and into the living room. She took a seat on the couch and Micah settled into a nearby recliner, Chunk sitting stiffly at his feet. He placed a hand on Chunk’s head, hoping to convince him to relax. He made a mental note to increase the dog’s exposure to cats...
Her apartment was small but clean, the furniture on the older side with mismatched upholstery and spots of wear. Probably hand-me-downs from relatives or friends. Still, it was clear Angelina had worked to give the place a homey feel despite limited resources.
“How are you holding up?” Micah asked. He noted a small pile of crumpled tissues on the side table, next to an empty wine glass. He hadn’t smelled alcohol on her as he’d walked past, so the glass was probably from last night. Maybe the wine had given her a few moments of peace.
Angelina shrugged, the motion jerky. “Okay, I guess. I’ve never lost anyone before. I don’t really know how to handle this.” Tears welled in her eyes, but she kept her head high. Micah leaned over and grabbed the box of tissues off the table, extending them toward her. She pulled out a few and dabbed at her eyes. “Thanks,” she said.
“No problem.” He shifted in the chair, trying to decide the best approach for this
conversation. Talking to the families of victims was never easy, and he had to walk a fine line. If he was too sympathetic, Angelina would end up crying on his shoulder. But if he was too by-the-book, she might be put off by his formality and shut down. Either way, he wouldn’t get the answers he needed.
In the end, he tried to strike a balance. “I know this is hard for you,” he said. “But I need to ask you some questions about Joey and your life with him. Do you think you feel up to talking with me now?”
She nodded. “Might as well. I don’t have anything else to do today.”
“Is it your day off?”
She sniffed. “They gave me the week after they heard about Joey.”
“Who’s ‘they’?” Micah retrieved the small notebook he kept in his pocket and flipped to a blank page.
“I work at The Ranch House,” she said, naming the ritzy steak restaurant located in the well-to-do part of Red Ridge. “That’s actually how I met Joey. I waited on his table one night, and he came back the next day. He asked me out, but I said no. I had dated a customer before, and it didn’t go well. But Joey was persistent. He ate there every night for a week until I agreed to give him a shot.” She smiled at the memory and Micah nodded encouragingly. It sounded like Joey was a bit of a creep, but he wasn’t about to say that to Angelina.
“Do you know if anyone was upset with Joey for any reason? Someone from his work, or maybe he had a falling-out with a friend?” Micah already knew Joey had worked as a surgical tech at the local hospital. He’d spoken with Joey’s boss but hadn’t gotten any leads from that conversation.
Angelina shook her head. “No. Everyone loved Joey.”
“Everyone?” In Micah’s experience, no one was universally loved. Even the most saint-like person was disliked by someone. It was just a matter of finding out who. And from what he’d gleaned in his investigation, Joey was a bit of a blowhard. A nice guy, by all accounts, but one with a loud mouth and a tendency to brag. His murder matched the MO of the Groom Killer, but maybe Joey’s murderer had just made it look that way to throw off police. Had he picked a fight with the wrong guy?