Crazy in Love

by Lani Diane Rich

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jake sat in the lobby of the police station, reading the latest issue of People and waiting for Gerard to come out and tell him why he’d been called in again less than two hours after he’d left. He hoped that whatever it was, was important. And didn’t involve trading in his street clothes for a stylish orange jumpsuit.

  He glanced at his watch. It was six-thirty. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and checked it; no messages.

  Something was wrong.

  Well, maybe something was wrong.

  The night before with Flynn had been . . . incredible. Overwhelming. Awkward. Unfortunately, it had ended on one of the awkward notes, and that fact had been bugging him all day. He’d waited until the afternoon to call, and when he finally did Flynn hadn’t answered her phone so he’d left a message. And now, she still hadn’t called back. She had probably just been tired last night, and had probably just been busy all day.

  On a Saturday.

  He turned the phone over in his hands. He was not calling again. The ball was in her court. Leaving one unanswered message the day after their first time was appropriate and gentlemanly; leaving two was needy and weird.

  He flipped the phone open.

  Needy . . . and . . . weird.

  He flipped the phone shut and had just tucked it back in his pocket when the door opened behind him. Jake glanced over to see Flynn walking in with a blond woman. He leaned forward to get up, then pushed back in the chair and struck a casual pose as her head turned his way.

  “Hey,” he said.

  Flynn seemed startled at first, then smiled when their eyes met. She was happy to see him.

  Everything was fine.

  He knew it.

  He hopped up off the chair, put his hand on her elbow and kissed her cheek. “How ya doin’?”

  “Okay.” She rubbed her arms, avoided his eyes. “How are you?”

  Everything was not fine.

  “Great.” He smiled down at her. “You sure you’re okay?”

  Flynn opened her mouth to say something, but a thin hand inserted itself between them, extended toward Jake. His eyes trailed up the sleeve of a dark blue pin-striped business suit, past a delicate shoulder, and then finally up to a wide smile in the middle of a fine-featured face topped by golden curls.

  “I’m Freya,” the woman said. “Flynn’s sister.”

  Flynn sighed. “Freya, this is Jake Tucker. He used to be our bartender. Tucker, this is Freya. Ignore everything she says.”

  Jake took Freya’s hand and shook it. “It’s nice to meet you, Freya.”

  “So you’re the bartender?” Freya held on to his hand for a long moment, and Jake got the distinct feeling he was being sized up. Finally, she released his hand and tossed a small smile at Flynn. “Not bad.”

  “Okay,” Jake said, then turned to Flynn. “So, what’s going on? I got called in, but I don’t know why. I’m assuming you being here isn’t a coincidence.”

  Her casual smile didn’t reach her eyes. “No coincidence. We found some missing money, and—”

  “Flynn and Freya Daly?”

  Jake looked up to see Gerard walking toward them, holding his hand out to Flynn.

  “Gerard Levy.” He shook Flynn’s hand, then Freya’s. “Come on into my office.” He looked at Jake. “All three of you. We just got some new information, and we’re going to need to take some statements.”

  Gerard led them into his office, where they all sat in a row across from him, like kids called into the principal’s office for egging the driver’s ed van. Before sitting down, Gerard dropped a mug shot printout on the desk in front of Flynn. Jake looked over her shoulder as she picked it up.

  “Oh, my God,” Flynn breathed.

  Jake stared at it, then looked up at Gerard. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  He set the printout back onto the desk, where it was quickly snatched up by Freya.

  “What? Who’s . . .” Freya read off the sheet, “Candace Bellamy?”

  Flynn shifted in her chair, obviously uncomfortable. “That’s, um, Annabelle.”

  “Annabelle?” Freya said, her voice tight and her eyes blazing. “Annabelle-the-bookkeeper Annabelle? Annabelle-who-stole-a-hundred-grand-from-us Annabelle?”

  Well . . . that was news. Maybe that’s what was bothering Flynn. Jake touched her arm. “Annabelle stole from you?”

  Flynn turned to him, still not meeting his eyes, and said, “Long story.”

  Nope. Annabelle stealing money from the Arms was a problem, but it wasn’t the problem. He watched as Flynn’s eyes went everywhere in the room but to him, and just as he was about to ask her again if she was okay, Gerard spoke.

  “I did a check on Annabelle when you two called to report the possible embezzlement,” Gerard said, nodding at Flynn and Freya. He reached his hand out, taking the printout back from Freya. “Candace Bellamy was arrested for fraud seven years ago, was sentenced to three years, served her time, got out early for good behavior. She legally changed her name and came here to work for Esther.” He pulled another piece of paper out of the file, and set it before them. “This is a letter Esther wrote the parole board, explaining that Candace Bellamy was the granddaughter of an old friend, and that she wanted to offer her a chance to start a new life.”

  “Right here in River City,” Flynn mumbled.

  Jake chuckled.

  She still didn’t look at him.

  Gerard cleared his throat. “I wanted to talk to you all together before getting your statements. There are a lot of crossed wires here I’d like to straighten out.” He glanced down at the papers in front of him. “Okay. So. Flynn, you and Jake were involved in an independent private investigation of one Gordon Chase. Is that right?”

  Freya held up one hand. “Um, what? Private investigation? Who’s Gordon Chase?”

  “Well, yes,” Flynn said quickly, addressing Gerard. “I was assisting Tucker, who had gotten a tip from Rhonda Bacon that Chase was up to something. I went out on a date with Gordon Chase so he could break into Chase’s office.”

  Jake leaned forward and tapped Gerard’s desk with his index finger. “No breaking. Only entering. I had a legally obtained key.”

  “Yeah, I got it.” Gerard turned his attention back to Flynn. “So, your involvement was limited to distracting Mr. Chase while Jake examined the evidence?” Gerard glanced at his notepad. “That is, until the shooting last night?”

  Freya angled her body toward Flynn and slapped a hand down on Gerard’s desk. “I’m so sorry, the what?”

  Flynn patted Freya’s knee. “Sorry, Fray. I meant to tell you about that. Somebody kinda shot at us last night.”

  “You meant to tell me? Getting shot at slipped your mind?”

  “Well, I was surprised to see you, then there was the whole thing with the missing money from the Arms—”

  Gerard cleared his throat. “It seems that Annabelle—Candace Bellamy—came up here to work for Esther after she finished her stint at the Tennessee Women’s Correctional Facility about . . .” Gerard glanced at his paperwork. “Four years ago.”

  “Wait,” Flynn said. “Tennessee. Isn’t that where Eileen-Elaine-Whatever was?”

  Gerard glanced at Jake, then shrugged. “Eileen Dietz was Candace Bellamy’s roommate there for a brief while, yes.”

  “Oh, my God,” Flynn said. “So, Eileen-Elaine- Whatever was here for Annabelle?”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Jake said. “Annabelle going back to her roots, skimming money off the top at the Arms, fine. I get that. But why bring Eileen-Elaine-Whatever here? Why get involved with Chase?”

  “She’s a CWIL,” Flynn muttered under her breath.

  Jake looked at her. “What?”

  Finally, she met his eyes. “Annabelle’s a CWIL.”

  “Oh, dear God,” Freya muttered. “That explains a lot.”

  Gerard tapped his desk. “Annabelle’s a what?”

  Jake tried to wrap his mind aroun
d what Flynn was saying. “So . . . what? Annabelle was in love with Chase, too?”

  Flynn shook her head. “Not Chase. You. Chase hurt your family. So she went after him.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. If she wanted to help me . . . why use Elaine to steal the evidence that would get Chase off?”

  “To put worse evidence on it, maybe,” Flynn said. “Maybe she knew Rhonda Bacon was in love with Chase, and used her to set him up even deeper. Rhonda’s a CWIL, too. Annabelle could probably spot her a mile off.”

  Gerard leaned forward. “I’m missing something.”

  “CWIL. Crazy Woman In Love,” Freya said. “The only thing more dangerous and unpredictable is . . . well. Nothing.” She turned to Flynn. “So, this is what you’ve been doing this week? Breaking into offices and dealing with prison people?”

  Flynn turned to her sister. She seemed so tired and sad. What the hell was going on?

  “I didn’t know they were in prison,” Flynn said, “and Eileen-Elaine-Whatever was murdered before I even got here.”

  Freya’s eyes widened. “Murdered? Someone was murdered?”

  Flynn shifted to address Gerard. “So, do you guys know who killed her?”

  Freya tapped her hand on Gerard’s desk. “I’m gonna need some liquor soon.”

  “It’ll just be a few more minutes.” Gerard looked at Flynn. “We don’t know much, except that whoever killed her was about five-foot-six and right-handed.”

  “So, basically, half the town,” Flynn said, then she brightened and turned to Jake, grabbing his arm. “Oh! But you’re a lefty! Yay!”

  Finally. Eye contact and a smile. Jake’s heart lightened, and he grazed her fingers with his.

  Freya sat forward. “Wait, you thought your boyfriend might have killed this woman?”

  “No, I didn’t think so.” She pointed at Gerard. “They did. And he’s not . . .” She withdrew her hand from his arm. “We’re just friends.”

  Well. Whatever’s wrong, it’s definitely me. Jake sat back in his chair, and scanned his mind for what he had done to make her pull so far back. The night before had been weird and everything, but this . . . there was something more going on. As subtly as possible, he cupped his hand over his nose and mouth and checked his breath.

  “Jake was never really a suspect,” Gerard said. “Look, I called you all in here because we’ve got some things to cover. More specifically, some asses.” He looked at Jake. “Yours in particular. I need you to go on record about all this. We’ve checked Annabelle’s apartment, and it’s been emptied. Rhonda Bacon has also turned up missing. I’m going to need detailed statements in order to get the search going full force. Chances are good your breaking and entering—”

  “No breaking.” Jake threw his hands up in the air. “What, do I need to get a T-shirt made?”

  Gerard nodded. “Chances are good your entering in Chase’s office is gonna raise some eyebrows, which means paperwork for me and possibly some charges against you, both of which are gonna delay my investigation. So it would help me a great deal if, in your official statement, you came straight to me with the information Rhonda Bacon gave you, and I’ll obtain the search warrant based on your tip.”

  Jake raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to perjure myself?”

  “Your father was a good man and a good friend. But the next time you fuck up, you go to jail.”

  “I guess now’s a good time for me to shut the hell up, then.” Jake stood up and shook Gerard’s hand. Flynn and Freya stood as well. Gerard looked at his watch.

  “It’s getting late,” he said. “If you want, you all can come in tomorrow morning and we can take your statements then.”

  “Oh, Flynn can’t,” Freya said. “She’s going home to Boston tomorrow.”

  “What?” A jolt ran through Jake, and he looked to Flynn, but she kept her own gaze locked on Gerard’s Swingline stapler.

  “Okay,” Gerard said. “Let me get the room set up and we’ll take your statement, Flynn.” He looked from Jake to Freya. “And I’ll see you two in the morning.”

  “Fabulous,” Freya said. Gerard left, and she touched Flynn on the arm. “I’m gonna go see if there’s a liquor store within walking distance. The cabs in this town take forever.”

  “Um,” Jake said, his eyes on Flynn, who still would not look at him. “There’s a place about half a mile down Route 9.”

  Freya bent one knee, revealing a boot with a heel that looked like it had been made to spear prey. Jake nodded toward the lobby.

  “I’ll give you a ride in a minute,” he said.

  Freya glanced from Flynn to Jake, and then nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”

  She left, shutting the door quietly behind her. Flynn stood where she was, silent, apparently fascinated by the stapler. Jake sat back against Gerard’s desk.

  “So,” he said. “Tomorrow morning, huh?”

  Flynn raised her eyes, looking as though she hadn’t heard him, then nodded suddenly. “Oh. Yeah. Freya’s pulling me out. But, good news, there isn’t going to be a sale. Not right away, anyway. We’ll probably keep the place until at least next summer.”

  “Well, that’s great,” Jake said, taking a moment before adding, “So, why don’t you stay and run it?”

  She seemed surprised by the question. “Because.”

  Jake waited for her to follow that with a reason. When she didn’t, he said, “Well, now I understand.”

  “Stop it, Tucker,” she said, anger in her voice. “What am I supposed to do? I have no experience. I’ve been here five days and managed to get involved in both murder and embezzling. Dad and Freya, they know what they’re doing. Me . . . I . . .”

  He raised his eyes to hers. “And you can’t think of any other reason to stay?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Jake pushed himself up off the desk. “All right. I get it.”

  Her hand grabbed his and he stopped where he was, but for some reason, couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

  “I’ve only been here five days,” she said. “I can’t . . .”

  Her voice cracked on the last word, and it damn near killed him. He turned to her and smiled. Just because he felt like he’d been hit in the gut was no reason to hit back.

  “I know,” he said quickly. “Of course you can’t.”

  Surprise flashed over her face. “Oh. Okay. So . . . you understand?”

  He scoffed, trying to sound as casual as he could. “Oh. Yeah. I mean, your life is in Boston. Mine is here. That was always the way it was.”

  “Yeah.” She heaved a sigh, but didn’t look much relieved. He widened his smile and pretended he was totally on board.

  “We’ll call. We’ll e-mail.”

  “Sure we will.” She offered a weak smile. “Of course we will.”

  He paused. “We’re friends, right?”

  “Yeah.” She smiled back. “Good friends.”

  They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, then Jake let his eyes wander over her wild hair. He was going to miss that hair. He reached out and tagged her lightly on the shoulder.

  “Hey,” he said softly, meeting her eyes again and trying not to let his disappointment show on his face. “I had fun.”

  Her smile disappeared. “Me, too.”

  The door opened and Gerard ducked his head in. “Flynn, we’re ready for you. Jake, get the hell out of my office.”

  Jake nodded, then looked at Flynn. “I’ll wait for you, take you and your sister back.”

  He kept his hand on the small of Flynn’s back as he followed her out, then dropped it when they separated in the hallway. He watched her go into the interrogation room, the last bit of hope leaving him as the door closed behind her.

  “Okay,” a voice said next to him. He turned to see Freya looking up at him expectantly. “Where’s that liquor store?”

  Flynn hauled her suitcase out to sit by the front door. She’d already showered, changed into her comfy flannel pajamas, and laid
out her outfit for the next day. All that was left was waking up at six the next morning—assuming she’d sleep at all tonight, which was one hell of an assumption—and head out to the train station. Tucker had promised to come get her in the morning, but when he’d dropped her and Freya back at the Arms, he’d made excuses about having things to do tonight.

  Just as well, Flynn thought. There’s no point. Stick a fork in us, we’re done.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and glanced around, checking for things she’d forgotten, but the only packable things in the room were Esther’s cows and the brown liquor store bag Tucker had given her when he’d dropped her off. She’d known what was inside without looking, but hadn’t wanted to take it out yet. Now, alone and facing a long train ride in the morning, it seemed the perfect time.

  She tossed herself down in the Nazi love seat and grabbed the bag off the end table, then pulled out the bottle of Jameson’s. She twisted the cap off, tossed it over her shoulder, and raised the bottle toward the cows.

  “To you, Aunt Esther,” she said, then took a swig. “It was fun.”

  She’d meant it sarcastically, but realized as she said the words that it had been fun. The old inn, the rose garden, the pumpkin risotto, even the painful date with Chase and the disastrous staff meeting . . . on some level, Flynn had enjoyed them all.

  But mostly, she’d enjoyed Tucker. Tucker had been loads of fun.

  She lifted the bottle again and took a long swig, wincing as the fiery liquid scorched its way down. A few breaths later, though, she was feeling warm and relaxed. The tension was leaving her shoulders and she sat staring at the bottle, allowing herself to replay the greatest moments of the last few days in her head.

  Like the first time they’d met, when he smirked down at her at the train station and she’d wanted to hit him. That had been good.

  Swig.

  And the time that he’d busted down her door to save her from certain death at the hands of Tylenol PM and peppermint schnapps. Flynn chuckled to herself and lifted the bottle.

  Swig.

  She closed her eyes and went back to that night in the hotel room, remembered how her heart had raced at his touch, and how the butterflies inside had taken flight whenever he kissed her.