Crazy in Love

by Lani Diane Rich

  Whatever.

  “So it’s safe to say you’re impressed, right?” His words were soft and fuzzy, echoing through her memory.

  She watched her own face, looking stricken and confused and very much not like she owned the place. “Yes.”

  Tucker was still locking eyes with Flynn’s podium self, and this time, she saw something she hadn’t seen in the moment, when her whole being had been focused on the fantasy visual of throttling his neck.

  This time, she saw what might possibly be a hint of regret.

  “Well,” he said, “considering you haven’t even been here for twenty-four hours yet, I think that’s pretty much all we can ask.”

  Then his eyes drifted over to the corner, connecting with Flynn’s dream self. The rest of the room faded, but Tucker stayed still, watching her from where he stood.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his lips not moving.

  Another whoosh, and Flynn shot up in her bed. The room was dark and empty. No fuzziness. No orange glow. No dead aunt.

  Well. That was a good start.

  Flynn leaned forward and put her face in her hands. This whole thing was a big mistake. Obviously, her mental state was taking serious hits from coming here, and she wasn’t even doing a good job. Her lunch date had been poisoned, she’d completely hosed the staff meeting, and the one person she’d trusted had betrayed her. After her public humiliation, she’d retreated back to the cottage, unpacked the boxes from Freya (exactly how many clothes did Freya think she’d need, anyway?), and curled up on the bed like a scared little girl.

  Add to all that the fact that her subconscious was torturing her in the form of a dead aunt she’d never met, and Flynn felt secure in her assessment that things were not going well.

  She tossed her legs over the side of the bed, grabbed her jeans up off the floor, and stuck her feet in. Camisole, sweater, sneakers, and she was ready to get out of that creepy cottage. She wished she’d had the presence of mind to ask Annabelle for a room, but in her rush to escape, she’d forgotten.

  Tomorrow, she was getting a room. Maybe her subconscious would settle down in a different environment. Maybe she’d dream about being haunted by George Washington, or Eleanor Roosevelt.

  Pretty much anyone would be an improvement on Esther.

  She stepped outside, and the chilled air woke her up immediately. The moon was full, and a light mist lay over the ground. The faint scent of roses hit her, and she turned toward the back of the courtyard. Pebbles crunched under her feet as she followed the path, the dappled moonlight giving her just enough illumination to keep her from tripping over the three stone steps that led through an archway covered with roses, and then . . .

  “Oh, wow,” she breathed as she took it all in.

  It was beautiful. The garden was laid out in a circle, with pebbled paths cutting through the rosebushes like spokes on a wheel, all leading to the gazebo in the center. Flynn wandered down the first spoke, sniffing the roses as she went. She didn’t know anything about roses, but she could tell that each bush had a different variety. Some were red, some pink, some yellow. Some blossoms were huge, petals wide open to the world, and others were dainty little bulbs. They all had their own take on the basic scent of rose, some smelling more fruity, others going the more traditional floral route. By the time she’d wandered through all the pebbled lanes and found her way back to the gazebo, the creepy feeling she’d had in the cottage was gone, replaced with a flush of excitement. She sat down on the gazebo bench and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. The fragrance that surrounded her was more soothing than any bubble bath she’d ever taken, and the moonlight was making the place seem magical, and hers alone.

  Maybe nature’s not always a bad thing, she thought as she leaned over to lie down on the gazebo bench. She closed her eyes and took in another deep breath, feeling snug in her big sweater and comfortable in her skin.

  And then her mind went blissfully blank.

  “Um. Flynn?”

  There was a nudge at Flynn’s shoulder and her eyes shot open. Sunlight was breaking through the roof of the gazebo, and she sat up.

  “Are you okay?” Annabelle asked, sitting down next to her, putting her hand on Flynn’s shoulder. “A guest told me there was a homeless woman sleeping in the gazebo and I thought it would be crazy Jeanne, but . . .” Annabelle looked at her with concern. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Flynn said, allowing a little yawn. How had she slept out there all night and not even noticed? The wooden benches were comfortable, but they were still wooden benches. “I just . . . was having trouble sleeping, so I went for a walk and . . .” She sighed and rubbed her hands over her face. “I must have fallen asleep.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Annabelle nodded, her face the picture of support. “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. It is.” Flynn rubbed at her eyes. “Um, what time is it?”

  “Eight-fifteen.”

  “Wow.” Flynn smiled at Annabelle. “You’re here early.”

  Annabelle smiled. “I try to get here about seven or so, you know, so I can get a jump on the bookkeeping before things get too busy.”

  “So, you’re the bookkeeper, the concierge . . . everything? Isn’t that a bit much for one person?”

  Annabelle shook her head, curls bouncing around her grinning face. “Oh, no. Not for me. I like to keep busy.”

  “Okay.” Flynn stretched. “Okay, then. Hey, I’m gonna go take a shower, and I’ll see you in the office in about an hour. You think you can get me up to speed on this place?”

  “Sure, but there really isn’t that much for you to do. Esther left most of it to me. You know, she was elderly and everything.”

  Flynn stood up, expecting her back to be bothering her from the hard wooden bench, but she actually felt better rested than she had in a long time. “Well, I’m not. You’ve got a big load on your shoulders, Annabelle, and you shouldn’t have to do it all alone. I’m not trying to impose on your territory. I just want to see how things work so that I can . . .”

  She trailed off. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was she was supposed to be doing, but she needed to do something while she was here besides fight with her dead aunt. Getting involved in the day-to-day seemed like as good a place to start as any.

  Annabelle nodded, then nibbled her lip. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “Because if you’re having trouble sleeping, you could maybe try some of that Tylenol PM. I was having a bit of insomnia this spring, and I’ll tell you, one of those at night, and you’re out like a light.”

  Flynn shrugged, wondering how Tylenol PM would stand up to dead Aunt Esther. She gave it comparable odds to an Olsen twin going up against Godzilla, but smiled anyway.

  “Maybe I’ll give it a try,” she said. “Thanks, Annabelle.”

  Annabelle nodded, turned, and bounced her way back toward the inn. Flynn wrapped her arms around herself and followed the path back to the cottage, taking the time to sniff a few roses along the way.

  The Poughkeepsie dive where Jake had set up his appointment with Rhonda Bacon was dark and smelled vaguely like feet and peanuts. Jake stared down into his drink, which he hadn’t touched. It was barely noon, and if the clientele in this place were any indication, drinking during the day was the gateway to a sad, sad place. But in his experience, people tended to let their guard down more around people they perceived to be weaker than themselves, and he was going to have to be pretty damn pathetic for a mousy girl like Rhonda to perceive herself as the stronger person.

  He checked his watch. It was barely noon. He took a small sip of scotch. Yep. Just the right amount of pathetic.

  “Mr. Tucker?”

  He’d caught Rhonda coming into the bar in the mirror, but he started at his name for effect, anyway.

  “Ms. Bacon,” he said coolly, motioning to the seat next to him. “Thanks for coming all the way out here to meet me. Shiny’s a small town. Didn’t want
to take the chance of anyone seeing us.” Which was true enough.

  “Oh. Yes. Of course.” Rhonda sat down, tucking her skirt nervously around her knees. She was an odd duck, Rhonda. She was maybe thirty-five years old, but dressed like she had one foot in the grave and the other behind a librarian’s desk. She had thick glasses and seriously kinked brown hair that, if red, would be eerily reminiscent of Bozo the Clown. She wore a matching sweater set with a long gray wool skirt and a pair of Keds, and she had a squirrelly look in her eyes that gave away the fact that she’d been working for a total dickhead for the past five years.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” Rhonda said. “There was traffic.” She pushed her glasses up on her nose and gave a tentative wave to the bartender, who passed by her like she was invisible. Jake waved his hand, and the bartender nodded and gave a just a minute motion with his hand.

  “So, you gonna tell me what your message was about, or am I going to be forced to make small talk?” Jake twirled his glass lightly under his fingers. “Because if that’s the case, I’m gonna need another one of these.”

  Rhonda squirmed in her seat. “I just wanted you to know that you were right,” she said quietly, then lowered her voice even further. “I think Mr. Chase has been taking money from somewhere. You know.” The whisper got hoarse. “Embezzling.”

  Jake worked up a look of mild surprise. “And I would care about that because . . . why?”

  Rhonda’s eyes widened a bit. “Because . . .” She shifted on her seat. “Because he’s breaking the law.”

  “In which case, it’s my understanding that the appropriate thing to do is go to the police.”

  “I can’t go to the police,” she said.

  He angled his head to look at her. “Why not?”

  She sighed. “It’s complicated.”

  “Breaking the law tends to get that way.”

  “I was in Mr. Chase’s office last week, and I noticed that the safe door was open a crack. I was surprised, because it’s not like Mr. Chase to ever leave the safe open, so I went to shut it and I saw a laptop. The thing is, Mr. Chase? He does all his work at the office, on his tower computer. I’ve never seen him with a laptop before. So then I . . .” She wrung her hands and glanced downward. “I did something I’m not very proud of. I snooped.”

  “Really? I gotta admit, I hadn’t pegged you for the type, Rhonda.”

  She continued, staring off into the distance, talking as if Jake wasn’t even there. “I don’t know why I did it. It’s just that I handle all the books, and Mr. Chase isn’t the kind of man to take work home, so I just wondered what it was for. I found some . . . accounts. A subsidiary company I’ve never heard of. Transactions that just don’t make sense.” She turned her eyes on Jake. “You know Mr. Chase is the president of the Historical Preservation Society.” She lowered her voice, leaned sideways toward Jake, and talked out of the side of her mouth. “I think Mr. Chase has been siphoning money from those funds. You know. The government restoration grants?”

  Jake leaned to his side, too. When in Rome. “You think he’s embezzling? Or you know? Do you have evidence?”

  Rhonda straightened up. “That’s just it. Mr. Chase came back in so I shut the laptop and put it back in the safe. I don’t think he knew what I was doing. But I don’t have the combination to the safe, so I can’t get back in there.”

  Jake stared at her. “And again, I’m failing to see where I fit in here.”

  She paused, waged an obvious internal war, and then continued. “There was a large cash withdrawal from the account about six months ago.”

  The bartender wandered over and put a napkin down in front of Rhonda.

  “A seltzer with lime, please,” Rhonda said, so quietly that the bartender had to ask her to repeat it. Jake waited to speak again until she had her drink, partially because the silence would put her on edge, and partially because he was too stunned at his dumb luck.

  “Six months ago, huh?”

  She smoothed her hands over her skirt nervously. “The withdrawal is dated March twenty-sixth.”

  March 26. The week after the evidence went missing and Jake’s life went to hell. Right about the time that Elaine Placie ran off. Well, hellooooo kitty.

  “So, what exactly are you saying, Rhonda?”

  Rhonda took a sip through the tiny stirring straw. “I’m saying that there’s something strange going on. And after connecting some of the dots, I thought that maybe you might want to know about it.”

  Interesting. Jake shook his head. “I just realized you never answered my question before. If you think your boss is such a bad guy, why not just go straight to the police?”

  Rhonda held his eye for a long moment, then her lower lip started to tremble and silent tears slid down her cheeks. Jake reached forward, grabbed a fresh napkin off the pile behind the bar, and handed it to her. She dabbed at her face and took a deep breath.

  “I know he’s not perfect,” she said. “Trust me, I know that better than anyone.”

  Jake stared at her for a while, his brain momentarily resisting the obvious because it was just too weird.

  “You’re in love with him,” he said, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. Although he guessed, on some plane, it made sense. Mousy librarian type + handsome albeit slimy boss = seriously sick love connection.

  Actually, he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it before.

  Rhonda sighed heavily and her eyes grew moist again. “He’s going to need someone standing beside him when all this comes out. If I go to the police, I can’t be that person. But I can’t know about all of this, either, and not do anything.” She turned pleading eyes on Jake. “I know it’ll be hard on him, but his only chance of ever being a truly good man—the man I know he can be—is if all this comes out. He’ll spend a little time in jail, and when he gets out, I’ll be there, waiting. He can start over. We can start over.” For the first time in his memory, Jake saw Rhonda Bacon smile. Hell, she wasn’t just smiling; she was glowing from within.

  Okay, this chick has watched way too many Lifetime movies-of-the-week.

  “So,” Jake said, twirling his glass slowly on its napkin. “You came to me so I could take him down, leaving you free and clear to pick up his broken pieces. Am I getting that right?”

  Rhonda nodded.

  Jake shook his head. “I’m gonna need more. You’ve gotta give me account numbers, dates, something solid to go on.”

  “I can’t,” Rhonda said. “I mean, I won’t. I’ll give you a nudge in the right direction, but I won’t betray him any more than that. You’re a police officer, Mr. Tucker, surely you can—”

  “Correction.” He lifted his glass and met her eyes, allowing his anger to show through. “I was a police officer, until your boss had me taken out of the game. What I am now is a bartender who likes to mind his own damn business.”

  Rhonda pushed her drink away and clutched her bag primly in her hands. She stared at a point on the wall behind Jake for a while, then sighed and stepped up off the bar stool. Just as Jake thought she was about to leave, she put her hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s not fair, what he did to you, Mr. Tucker,” she said. “Hiring that woman to distract you while he took that evidence. I know it might be hard to understand how I could love a man like Gordon, a man who steals and lies and doesn’t have a strong sense of morality. I know it must look . . . strange . . . to you. But the thing is, when you love someone, nothing makes sense. If you decide not to follow up on this, that will just have to be your choice. I’ll know that I did what I could to help Gordon, and if he and I are not meant to be, then . . .” She sniffed. “Then I’ll just have to accept that, I guess.”

  Jake looked up at her. It wasn’t hard to pick out liars. They didn’t make eye contact, they tended to look up and to the left, they fidgeted. What was hard was when someone didn’t do any of those things, like Rhonda Bacon. It didn’t necessarily mean they were telling the truth; it could just mean they’re sociopath
s. With those people, you had to go on pure gut instinct alone, and Jake’s gut said Rhonda Bacon was telling the truth. Somehow, despite natural law and common sense and the fact that Gordon Chase was way below her, she really loved him, and she really thought the only way she could have him was by surreptitiously sending him to jail. Jake had had one or two tangles with love that had made him nuts, but he had a deep suspicion that, in this case, love-crazy was being piled on top of standard-issue-crazy.

  And that was one dangerous combination.

  “I’m not making any promises,” he said.

  Rhonda cocked her head to the side, studied his face for a while. “I believe you’re a good man, Mr. Tucker. I trust you to do what you think is best.”

  She pulled an envelope out of her bag and placed it on the bar. “This is as far as I’m willing to take things. The rest is up to you.”

  Jake grabbed the envelope and opened it. At first it seemed empty, but when he shook it, a single key fell into his hand.

  Looked a helluva lot like an office key. He chuckled and turned it over in his hand. Rhonda laid one hand on the bar in a quick good-bye, then turned and started out.

  “Rhonda,” Jake called after her. She turned and raised her eyebrows at him expectantly.

  “That laptop you found. Was it by any chance a Dell, with a little splash of red nail polish on the cover?”

  A look of confusion crossed Rhonda’s face, but then, slowly, she nodded. Jake waved at her. She watched him for a few moments longer, then turned and retreated.

  So, Chase had wiped the laptop, then kept it and used it to track his latest nefarious activities. He was either the stupidest guy on the planet or he had an ego like nobody’s business.

  Or a little bit of both, Jake thought. He tossed twenty bucks on the bar next to his full glass and told the bartender to keep the change.