by Ines Saint
Josh was quiet. Last night he’d had the same misgivings Jamar was expressing. He’d heard about her sister Paige’s ex-husband’s indictment and he knew Paige had moved to Spinning Hills to regroup. An accidental shooting there involving her ex-father-in-law had been in the news. Knowing how tight the three sisters and their grandmother were, it made sense that Gracie had come back to support Paige. And maybe having her in town had made her firm look at their region and what bids were available. Except . . . He sighed and shook his head. “You can’t do this job effectively and believe in huge coincidences.”
Helen looked appalled. “The county has a crystal-clear bidding-and-hiring process in place. Facts are facts.”
“But people might still question it,” Jamar pointed out.
“Question what? That we got her the job somehow? Why would we want the subject of an old rumor in our building?” Helen shot back. She was right. The county had actually won awards over how transparent it was. But Josh’s gut told him something was off, he just didn’t know what.
“But dirty minds might think you somehow managed to hire her to buy her silence. Detractors don’t need facts; they only need an imagination.” Jamar shook his head. “I’m going to quietly look into the bidding process to see if anything was off.”
Helen pushed up out of her seat. “Do that. But she’s already here and that won’t change in a day. Talk to her, Josh,” she repeated. “She’s an adult, and you two went through a lot.”
Josh looked down before taking a deep breath. He did want to catch up with her, but he’d never want to treat it as a campaign move. And Helen hadn’t seen how much Gracie had changed. She hadn’t seemed happy to see him. “I’ll try to talk to her this afternoon. I’ll visit her grandmother and cohorts first to find out where she lives.”
“Cohorts?” Jamar repeated.
“You’ll meet them the day of my campaign kickoff; they volunteered to help make appetizers and desserts,” Josh said.
“You’re eating their treats.” Helen motioned to the cookies.
“Did someone say treats?” Rachel Foster, the current Fraud and Economic Crimes Unit chief—and his soon-to-be opponent—poked her head through the door. Josh lifted the tray full of sugar cookies and held it out to her. She walked in and reached for one. “So, today is the day this gets ugly?” she asked with an easy smile.
“Yep. The gloves are coming off,” Josh half-joked back.
“If they are, careful with that rock on her finger.” Jamar nodded toward Rachel’s huge engagement ring. “That looks like it could do some real damage.”
Rachel winked. “Actually, it will do some damage. Voters always prefer candidates in stable relationships. Tough luck, Josh.”
“I am in a stable relationship. I’m married to my job,” he shot back.
“And he’s been looking at houses online. Last week he was looking at a storybook house big enough to fill with ten kids,” Jamar added. “How’s that for stability?”
Rachel rolled her eyes and left. The exchange had been friendly, but Josh knew it wouldn’t remain so for long. Rachel was tough, and he admired that in her, but she had an eye on higher office and being county prosecutor would be an important stepping stone in her political career. Kurt Bosco, Josh’s other opponent, had been in involved in local politics for as far back as he could remember, and he’d been one of Helen’s most vocal critics. Now that Helen, well-liked and undefeated, was finally leaving office, Kurt had seen a chance to make his mark.
The Democratic Party was now backing Rachel, Josh was running as an independent, and Kurt Bosco would be the Republican nominee. Obviously, the three campaigns would delve into each other’s differences, and things would likely become heated.
A nudge on his shoulder pulled him out of his thoughts, and he turned to see Helen smiling at him. “Wake up,” she ordered. “It’s showtime.”
* * *
Gracie stopped short. Seeing reporters in front of the courts was expected, but seeing Josh and Helen Sacket talking to them, with law enforcement officials and other important-looking people by their side, made the bottom drop from her stomach. It was a familiar setup when a prosecutor or one of the assistant prosecutors was talking about a high-profile or controversial case, but the last thing she wanted at that moment was to run into Josh again.
She looked around, trying to find a place to wait the press conference out. Josh was standing between the pillars and large gridwork in front of the entrance of the six-story concrete-and-glass structure. Gracie spotted her team waiting for her to the right of the building. Like her, they were fifteen minutes early, but she couldn’t get to them without crossing in front of Josh.
Gracie settled for staying exactly where she was and sat on an empty bus bench. It was cold but not uncomfortably so, and watching the wind dislodge loose leaves off of nearby trees gave her something to focus on. She listened as one reporter spoke into a microphone. “Josh Goodwin, first assistant prosecuting attorney for Montgomery County, announced today that he will be seeking the county prosecutor’s office soon to be vacated by four-term prosecutor Helen Sacket. Surrounded by two county board commissioners, law enforcement officials, and fellow assistant prosecutors who have consistently praised his record of successfully prosecuting serious and violent criminals, and his success in using special programs aimed at seeking alternative justice and rehabilitation for less-serious offenders, Josh Goodwin is expected to . . .”
The words faded away. The skin on Gracie’s neck felt tight. Josh Goodwin was running for prosecutor? That would bring renewed attention to his record. His entire record. While she was there. In the same building. Too many thoughts hit her at once, and at that moment she lacked the ability to catch and separate them.
With effort, she listened past the swishing in her ears to what the different reporters were saying.
“In an unprecedented move, Helen Sacket is endorsing Josh Goodwin, who is running as an independent, instead of Rachel Foster, her own party’s candidate. Though he’s announcing his intention to run today, the Josh Goodwin for Montgomery County Prosecutor campaign kickoff event will take place at Dayton Unitarian Church the Friday after Thanksgiving.
“Josh Goodwin, the second-highest-ranking official in the prosecutor’s office, has tried a variety of cases, including human trafficking, child abuse, sexual assault, narcotics, gun violence, murder. . . .”
A quick look around told her she didn’t know anyone there except for Josh and Helen. Both had been good to her. Helen was tough as nails. She’d been an inspiration. And Josh . . . Josh had lost his family’s support, a cushy job that had been waiting for him at his father’s firm—which also happened to be the region’s leading law firm—and his fiancée, all because he’d helped her.
Now, seeing Josh standing a few feet away from where she’d met him, and the team of people she would now be leading—people whose respect she’d earned by consistent hard work—on the other side, reminded her of all the anxieties she kept pushing away. There was a real possibility that her past would come back to stalk her and make itself known to the people she worked with.
She stared at the dark corner, behind the last pillar to the left, where she’d sat huddled and crying so many years ago. Seventeen and feeling as if she’d been swallowed whole by desperation and despair. But as much as it had changed her, Gracie would fight all over again if she had to. Brad Wolf and his family had been wrong, and there had been no way the small fire that had burned inside her would have let them get off without a fight. A fight she’d ultimately won.
But when it was done, shame and distrust had set in, and the fire in her had burned out for a long time. When it finally flamed to life again, it was for her career—the immediate future of which depended on the backdrop of those memories: The Dayton-Montgomery County Courts Building.
Gracie sighed and forced herself to break through mental barriers and picture the worst-case scenario . . . that she’d feel exposed. Naked in front of everyone
all over again. Her secret shame no longer her own. Her chest felt ready to implode. Why was she now back where it had all begun? She shook her head. She had never believed in fate; if she had, she’d have once judged hers as unjust and cruel and she would never have moved on. Victim mentality, her grandmother called it. But life wasn’t cruel; life just was. People were the ones who could be cruel.
Which brought her to her coworkers. What would they do if they found out? Some were bound to be sympathetic. But others were bound to have that look in their eyes—the one she couldn’t stand. The one that told her they thought she was inferior. Could she deal with it?
Gracie took a steadying breath and slowly nodded. She could. She just didn’t want to.
“Grace!” someone in the distance called. She turned to see her three coworkers waving at her excitedly. She took a deep, painful breath, pasted what she hoped was a convincing smile on her face, and pushed herself up. The fact that they looked happy to see her, happy to have her lead the team, somewhat loosened the tight knots. People were also good. And that’s what she had to focus on. The warm eyes. Eyes like Josh’s.
She got up. Her team was waiting. The earth was still spinning. The sun was still shining. She had a job to do. All she had to do was walk past the press conference and ignore it. She accomplished it by singing a silly song in her head.
“Are you ready?” George, a member of her team, asked when she reached them.
“Ready,” she said on a breath and began her prepared speech. “Today we’ll tour a worn, torn, and inefficient building that hasn’t aged well. Workers are constricted, and that’s made it difficult for them to function efficiently. Our goal will be to breathe new life into the interior while retaining the symbolic effects of working in a building rich with history.”
“Hear, hear!” George exclaimed and the rest repeated it. Gracie took a deep breath and led them inside, hoping the new life they hoped to breathe into the building would extend to her career so she could continue to build her dreams elsewhere.
Hear, hear.
Chapter 3
Josh drove onto the cobblestoned streets of Spinning Hills. It had been years since he’d visited, even though it was only a ten-minute drive away. He’d always meant to visit Gracie’s grandmother and her friends, but there never seemed to be enough hours in the day or days in the week.
He parked in front of a white gazebo that overlooked the five streams that cut through Star Springs Park and made his way to the café. The leaves on the huge, shady oaks, maples, and catalpas lining the streets were already turning. Splashes of gold, orange, red, and purple colored the cloudy day.
When he’d first visited as a child, the town had looked run-down and it had reminded him of pictures of haunted villages in some of the scary books he read. The town’s housing stock was called storybook architecture, and even though it looked like the town had gotten a makeover, the name of the style still rung true.
The cracked, weed-grown sidewalks had been repaired, the old-fashioned lampposts looked like they’d been painted and polished, and the bridges that crossed the many streams and creeks that ran through the town were bright red. Seeing how nice the downtown area looked, he felt the years that had gone by more keenly. Where had the time gone? When he thought back, all he could remember were cases upon cases, with dates and get-togethers with friends and family strewn unevenly throughout.
When he got to the café, he paused to peek inside, to make sure he wouldn’t catch the women at a busy time. It was just before seven o’clock in the evening, they were about to close, and it looked like they were there alone.
“Josh!” Rosa clapped her hands together when he walked in. “It’s so good to finally see you!” Her melodious accent and her happiness to see him couldn’t hide the rebuke in the word finally.
It didn’t take long for him to calculate that even though it felt like he’d seen them yesterday, he hadn’t seen them in over three years. They delivered treats to his office in person at least twice a year, but he was always either in court or in a meeting.
“Did you say Josh, as in Josh Goodwin?” The double doors to the kitchen swung open and Ruby swept out, looking shocked to see him. In its way, it was another rebuke.
“Josh Goodwin?” Sherry’s voice reached him. “Shut the front door!”
“You know that’s a euphemism for an ugly expression, don’t you?” Rosa asked.
“Yes. But I meant it literally. We should shut the front door so he doesn’t leave, and so no one disturbs us for the short while we’ll have him.”
Ruby promptly locked the door and flipped a sign from “Open” to “Closed.”
“Sit,” Rosa ordered. “We have so much to ask you.”
“Ask me?” Josh repeated.
Sherry patted his hand. “She means we have a lot of catching up to do.”
“Yes, we’ve been wondering why you never eat the sugar cookies we send,” Ruby began.
Josh had gone up against the best defense attorneys in the region enough times to know when someone had an ulterior motive for their question. But he also usually knew what that motive was. At that moment, though, he was stumped. “Who says I don’t eat them?” he asked.
“Helen,” Sherry supplied.
“Helen has time to fill you in on what I eat and don’t eat?”
“Yes. Now, why don’t you?” Rosa asked.
“Eat the cookies? Or have time?” he tried to clarify.
They merely stared.
Right. “I, uh, lost my sweet tooth.” It was the truth. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I knew the cookies were meant for the entire office, not just for me, and that they’d be appreciated and never go to waste.”
“Hmm.” Rosa tilted her head and studied him. “Some people are born with gustatory receptor cells that don’t respond well to sweets, but that wasn’t your case. Your eyes used to light up and you used to smack your lips and pat your belly whenever you saw, smelled, or even heard the word cookie. Very pathetic to witness, but indicative of a strong taste-bud-to-brain connection. And it’s very difficult to alter those preferences because you can’t alter your DNA. I majored in biology, so I know these things. I think your new dislike must be psychological.”
Josh frowned. The idea that he used to smack his lips and rub his belly had him feeling like Homer Simpson.
Ruby nodded thoughtfully before her eyes brightened. “Did your sweet tooth turn sour, bitter, or salty?” she asked.
It was time to plead the fifth. “You know, I really can’t say.”
Sherry snapped her fingers. “I know how we can figure it out.” She spread her arms. “Take a good look at everything in the shop and tell us the first thing that calls to you.”
His first thought was the door, but that wouldn’t go over well. He’d walked in a seasoned pro. Three questions later, he felt like an amateur. He looked around. The sight of an industrial-grade espresso machine made him perk up. Most likely the brain-to-taste connection Rosa had been talking about was telling him he needed to stay alert. “I’d love an espresso.”
Ruby slowly shook her head. “It’s just as I thought. Bitter. Although sour was my second guess.”
“I’m not bitter or sour, if that’s what you’re implying.” He offered them a sincere, heartfelt smile. He could see he’d been missing out on good company by missing out on them. “I only felt I needed coffee if I was going to stay two steps ahead of you. Now I see I’m going to need it just to keep up.”
Rosa smiled back. “There’s a saying in Spanish that the devil knows more from experience than from being the devil.”
“Are you calling yourselves demons, then?” he asked.
Rosa narrowed her eyes and the smile disappeared. “It’s just an expression, Joshua. It means wisdom comes with age.”
“And that means you’ll never be able to keep up.” Sherry playfully slapped his hand before turning to the espresso machine.
Josh laughed.
“And see?�
� Ruby said. “You still laugh, you still smile, and your eyes still twinkle. I didn’t mean that you were bitter. But it’s seven o’clock in the evening, a strange time to need a caffeine fix, don’t you think? Especially when there are so many other things you could have chosen here. I think you’re subconsciously rejecting sweet temptations in favor of bitter experiences.”
Sherry put the inky, dark liquid in front of him. He took a sip. So good. But it was true it was late and he’d pay for it later. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.
“We will, too,” Sherry said, staring straight into his eyes.
He blinked. What was that supposed to mean?
Time to get down to business. “So. I came in to see you and to catch up—and I’m glad I did because I’ve missed all this—but I also came by to ask how I can get in touch with Gracie. I ran into her last night.” He smiled a little, remembering her excuse for being in the closet. “But I forgot to ask her how I could reach her.”
Rosa considered him. “It must’ve taken you a while to recognize her. She’s changed.”
Josh shrugged. “I recognized her instantly.”
“She’s at 242 Manor Row,” Sherry rattled off.
He cleared his throat. “I was hoping for her phone number.”
“We’re not authorized to release her phone number,” Ruby explained.
He eyed her warily. “But you’re authorized to release her address?”
Though she wouldn’t appreciate the thought, Rosa’s smile was downright demonic. “It’s not her address. It’s ours.”
Josh couldn’t help it; he laughed. Sherry was right. Not even the espresso could help him keep up with them. “You’d have made great lawyers, but I’m glad you’re not,” he said. “I’d hate to go up against any of you in court.” They didn’t respond, but their smug smiles told him they didn’t disagree. “So,” he said. “Gracie is living with one of you?”