“It’s hard, what they told you.”
“It taught me something. If I want Callie to grow up to be a smart, strong woman, someone who values family and friends, and respects herself, I have to show her. If I want her to know the satisfaction of making something of herself with effort and work, I have to show her. That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“It’s what you are doing.”
“I feel like I have to counterbalance—you know what I mean—all she’s going to hear one day about her father.”
“When she does, she’ll have you, and your family. She’ll have us, your friends.”
“Seems like Richard never learned, never understood that’s more than all the jewels he stole, all the money he swindled. If the years with him had any good to them, it was putting that bone deep in me. I took too much for granted before that.”
• • •
SHE TOOK NOTHING for granted now, not the laughter inside the salon or the sighs of pleasure in the Relaxation Room.
She gave her grandmother a quick, impulsive hug after she set more towels at the shampoo stations.
“What’s that one for?”
“Just for you. I’m happy being here with you. I’m just happy.”
“I’d be happy, too, if I had a man like Griffin Lott looking at me like I was the Venus de Milo, Charlize Theron and Taylor Swift all at once.” Crystal paused in her work, snapped her scissors. “I swear, I want a man for sex, but if Charlize Theron walked in and said, ‘Hey there, Crystal, how about we go on over to your place and roll around in the sheets?’ I believe I’d take her straight home and give that a go.”
Amused, Viola rinsed off her customer’s hair. “Charlize Theron. Is she the only one who’d tempt you to switch over from a man?”
“I believe she is. Now, that Jennifer Lawrence. She’s as pretty as they come, and I do believe she’d be nothing but fun to sit around and have a drink with. But she’s no Charlize Theron. Who’d you switch with, Shelby?”
“What?”
“Who’s your fantasy lesbian lover?”
“I never thought about it.”
Crystal just circled a finger in the air. “Give it a minute.”
No, Shelby thought again, she’d never take these crazy fun conversations for granted.
“I’d try Mystique,” she decided, and had Crystal frowning at her.
“Who?”
“She’s a super villain—from the X-Men. Forrest and Clay were just crazy for the X-Men, remember, Granny? Jennifer Lawrence, the one you’d like to have a drink with, plays her in the movies now. Mystique can change into anybody, any shape, anything. So it seems to me a roll in the sheets with her would cover about anything you were after.”
“I believe we have a winner,” Viola decreed, and sat her client down in the chair.
A couple of hours later, she cuddled baby Beau and watched Callie and Jackson play on the swing set. She thought it would rain by nightfall, she could scent it, see it. But for this moment, it was about as perfect a late spring evening as she could ask for.
Her father was delayed at the clinic, so Clay saw to a few little gardening chores, and Gilly sat in the porch rocker, banished from the kitchen by her mother-in-law.
“It ought to be illegal to feel this happy,” Gilly said.
“I’m awful glad it’s not. Today, I’d be sharing a cell with you.”
“I saw Griff today.”
She’d have to get used to people equating her happiness with Griff. And they weren’t altogether wrong. “You did?”
“I took the boys for a walk this morning, before the heat set in, and he was down the road a bit, fixing Miz Hardigan’s gate—the sheriff’s mama.”
“She was in the salon today.”
“I stopped for a while. It’s nice of him to go by and see to little things like that for her. They don’t charge her for those little things. I know, ’cause she told me herself. She gives them baked goods, and she knitted them both caps and gloves for Christmas.
“Look how big Jackson is! It wasn’t so long ago he couldn’t get up on that swing unless one of us lifted him onto it.”
And Gilly’s eyes filled.
She waved a hand in the air as Shelby patted her arm. “I’ve still got too many hormones, I guess. But . . . I don’t think I’m going back to work, Shelby, when my maternity leave runs out.”
“I didn’t know you were thinking about that. I know you love your job at the hotel.”
“I do, and I wasn’t thinking about it, not really, until . . .” She reached over, stroked a finger over Beau’s cheek. “I just don’t think I can stand to leave them both. I just want to stay home with them for a while. A year maybe. Clay and I have talked about it. We know things’ll be a little tight, but—”
“It’s hard. It’s hard to choose, it’s hard to have to choose.”
“I love my work, I really do. I’m good at it, too, but I want this year, that’s all. I want this year for myself and my family. One year out of all the rest doesn’t seem like too much, but it would be everything to me.”
“Then you should take it. You’ve worked at the hotel since college. I bet they’d give you like a sabbatical. Maybe they can’t hold your job, I don’t know, but I bet you could go back when you’re ready. And you won’t have any regrets.”
“It’s putting a lot on Clay.”
“He’s got strong shoulders, Gilly.”
“I never thought I’d want to stay home full-time, but I want this year. What about you? What do you want?”
“It feels like I’ve got it.”
“For tomorrow.”
Shelby glanced at the kitchen door. “I was thinking, just thinking. I haven’t told anybody but Emma Kate as yet.”
“I know how to keep quiet.”
“You do. Once I get my head all the way above water, if I can find my own place, and I can find one I can work out of? I was thinking maybe I could start up some kind of decorating business. Designing and coordinating.”
“You’ve always been good at it.”
“I’ve been taking some classes online to get more experience and education. Just a couple to start,” she added. “Ones I’ve been able to fit in.”
“You fit in more than anyone I know—except Granny.”
“Maybe I’m making up for not having enough to do for so long. I thought, well, if I could prove myself, Griff and Matt might use me some, or talk me up to their clients.”
“Sure they would. They have to redo rooms and areas up at the hotel regularly, Shelby. I’d put in a word for you.”
“Oh, I don’t know if—”
“Think big.”
“I guess I might as well. It’s just thinking right now anyway. I know I could run a business—still, I’d take more classes. But I sure know how to juggle money, keep accounts. It’s a ways off, but I’ve started tucking some money away for business classes.”
“Anytime I start toying around with the idea of starting up a cake and pastry business, that’s what stops me dead in my tracks, backs me up and turns me around the other way. The business,” Gilly said with an eye roll. “But you’ve got that MacNee in you. You know what else?”
“What else?”
“I’ve been wanting to give our bedroom a makeover. Between Jackson, then Beau, doing up the nursery fresh and getting Jackson in his big-boy room, our bedroom hasn’t been touched in five years. It shows.”
“Makeover can be a lot of fun, but . . .”
“Yes, there’s the MacNee,” Gilly said with a laugh. “Clay’s the same. Doing it over costs. If I’m going to stay home, I’ll have to be frugal about it, I know that, but God, Shelby, how I’d love to have a grown-up bedroom, a place for me and Clay to be me and Clay now and then. I can be frugal, especially if you’d help me out. You could practice on us.”
Gilly shifted, wrapped a hand around Shelby’s arm for emphasis. “Shelby, we’ve still got that mix of his old bedroom furniture and mine in there, and that awful, ugly lamp my aunt Lucy gave us as a wedding present.”
“That is an awful, ugly lamp.”
“If she didn’t claim it was an heirloom, I’d have accidentally knocked it over and made sure it broke in a dozen pieces. I don’t want fancy. I just want fresh and peaceful. Help me.”
“I’d love to help.”
The lamp had to go, but the furniture . . . refinish or paint, new hardware. It could work.
“And I’ve got plenty of being-frugal-about-it ideas. Sometimes it’s no more than switching things around and repurposing. Using what you’ve already got in a new way, adding some touches. And paint. Paint’ll change a lot for a little.”
“Now I’m getting fired up instead of teary. Do you have any time this week?”
“I could come by tomorrow morning, after I take Callie to Chelsea’s, before I head to the salon. About eight-thirty? Is that too early?”
“Nothing’s too early when you’ve got a toddler and a newborn. I was wondering if I could— Well, hey, Forrest.”
“Hey, Gilly.” He walked out from the kitchen, bent over the baby. “When’s he going to do something besides sleep?”
“Come on over and pay us a visit about two a.m.”
She caught the look in his eyes and, understanding, pushed up. “I’m going to take him in awhile—and pass him off to his grandmother. That’ll give me some time in the kitchen whether she wants me there or not.”
She took the baby from Shelby, slipped inside.
“I need a minute,” Forrest told Shelby.
“Sure. Sit down.”
“Kids all right out here for a minute? Clay’s right over there in the vegetable patch playing farmer.”
“He’s got Daddy’s knack for it, and the kids are fine.”
“Then let’s take a walk around front.”
“What is it?”
“Around front,” he repeated, took her arm.
“You’re making me nervous, Forrest, and damn it, I was having a really good day.”
“I’m sorry for that, and sorry to drop this on you on a really good day.”
“Am I in trouble? Does the FBI think—”
“No, it’s nothing like that.” He guided her around the side of the house toward the front yard. Out of sight of the kids, out of earshot. “It’s Privet, the Florida PI.”
“I remember who Privet is,” she said testily. “Did he tell you who his client is, finally?”
“No, and he won’t. He was found dead early this morning, by his secretary.”
“Oh my God. What happened?”
“It looks like he was killed between ten and midnight, and it looks like he was shot with the same gun that killed Warren.”
It shouldn’t come as a shock, she thought, and still it did. “He was murdered?”
“That’s right. Looks like a break-in, or made to look like it. Like a sloppy one. But then you figure—from the report we got from the investigating officers—he was shot at his desk. He had a nine-millimeter in the drawer. There wasn’t any sign he went for it, or put up a fight. Head shot, like Warren, too. Not a contact shot, but close range.”
“Let me take a breath.” She took it bending over, hands on her thighs. “I didn’t like him. He scared me some coming into the house up North the way he did, and following me here. Just . . . lurking. But he left me alone when you told him to.”
“They found pictures he’d taken of you and of Callie in his office, in his files.”
“Callie.”
“Some notes he’d made, an expense account. Not yet paid, and overdue, according to the file. They don’t have the name of the person who hired him to shadow you. The locals are talking to the secretary, and to his associate, but so far nobody seems to know who hired him for this particular job. And there’s no record.”
“Maybe he didn’t have a client. Maybe he lied.”
“Maybe.”
“But . . . you said it looked like a break-in, but wasn’t.”
“The door was forced from the outside, some electronic equipment was missing. His watch, his wallet, the petty cash. Things tossed around some. You might think it was a sloppy break-in. But his personal tablet and laptop, they were gone, too. And it seems the ones at his house aren’t turning up.”
“Someone was in his house, you think?”
“Slicker job there as there’s no sign of forced entry at all. But anything to do with this case of his, except for those pictures, some notes and expenses, they’re gone.”
She straightened. Her face still felt too hot, her head too light, but she knew how to follow basic logic. “You think what happened to him goes back to that damn robbery in Florida.”
“I do, as he brought it and the finder’s fee up to me when I advised him to move on.”
“So back to Richard—or to Harlow, now. Harlow escaped from prison, and he probably had a new identity somewhere. He hired the detective to help him find Richard. But he found me and Callie. Only me and Callie because Richard was already gone. He came here, and he saw his other partner. She’d turned on him, so he killed her.”
“We know he was here. You saw him yourself.”
“The detective either thought Harlow was really a client, or was working with him. Doesn’t matter much, I guess, which it was now. But he probably let Harlow into the office, sat there talking to him.”
“And either Harlow didn’t like what he heard, or he figured Privet as a loose end. He cut it off, staged a break-in, took what he needed—whatever he felt might link him—took a few valuables, some cash, and took off.”
“He can’t think I’m a loose end, Forrest. He stole all that information so he knows I’m not just broke but in debt. If he’s still looking for those millions, he knows I can’t tell him where they are.”
“I don’t know why he’d come back here, but I want you to keep being careful. He’s killed two people now. Miami’s going to keep us updated—professional courtesy. The feds will put an oar in, I expect. The damn thing is, Shelby, they can’t find anybody who’s seen hide nor hair of this guy except you.”
“He let me see him.”
“That’s right.”
She glanced toward the backyard, where the children played and her older brother tended the vegetable garden. “I can’t run, Forrest. I’ve got nowhere to go, and it has to be safer for Callie here than anywhere else. I’ve got nothing for this man. I have to believe he was just—like you said—taking care of a loose end. It’s horrible, but that’s what he did.”
“That’s what it looks like. Don’t go anywhere without your phone.”
“I never do.” She patted her pocket, and the phone in it, but Forrest shook his head.
“Anywhere. You take a shower, it goes in the bathroom with you. And.” He pulled a small canister out of his pocket.
“What’s this?”
“Pepper spray. You’ve got your Second Amendment rights, but you never could shoot worth shit.”
Because he wasn’t far off in that assessment, she bristled. “I wasn’t that bad.”
“Worth shit,” he repeated. “And you don’t want a gun around Callie. Neither do I. So you leave the gun to me, but you take this. You carry this with you. You have trouble, aim for the eyes. Put it in your pocket for now,” he advised when she studied the canister.
“I’ll take it, I’ll be careful if doing that and saying that puts your mind at ease. He’s no reason to come after me, especially now. I want to put this aside—that doesn’t mean I’ll be stupid—but I’m not going to keep it at the center of my life anymore. Now, Mama made her party potatoes and she’s doing up some collard greens. I marinated the chicken myself, and Daddy’s
going to grill that up once he gets home. Why don’t you come on in and eat?”
“I hate to say no. I love those damn potatoes. But I’ve got some things to do. Tell Mama I’ll come by later if I can, scrounge up any leftovers.”
“I will. I need to get back, check on the kids.”
“You go on, then. I’ll see you later.”
He watched her walk back around the house. Things to do, he thought. The first was to go by Griff’s. It wouldn’t hurt to give his friend the information. He wanted as many eyes on his sister as he could get.
• • •
ON HIS HANDS AND KNEES, Griff set the next tile on the bathroom floor. The golden sand color made him think of the beach, so he thought the little en suite would be both pretty and cheerful.
While he listened to Forrest, he sat back on his heels.
“It can’t be random. Breaking into a PI’s office—that PI’s office, killing him. You guys with the badges can’t think that’s random.”
“It’s being looked into. No,” Forrest added, leaning on the doorjamb while Griff worked. “We don’t think it’s random. The trick is connecting Privet to Harlow, to Warren, to that fucker Foxworth, to the Miami case back five years ago. Odds are Harlow killed him, but you gotta ask why. What did the PI know, or who did he know, ’cause maybe those odds don’t play. Maybe there’s somebody else we don’t know about.”
“That’s not a comfort.”
“Nothing comfortable about any of this.”
“What happened in Miami five years ago isn’t over.”
“Nope.”
“If Harlow had the take from that job, he’d be gone. Maybe the PI was the last thing he had to cross off, and now he is. Gone.”
Griff set the spacers, moved to the next tile. “Then again, if the PI knew where the take was, it seems like he’d have been gone.”
“It’s a puzzle.”
“You’re worried this Jimmy Harlow may be missing some pieces yet, and may still think Shelby’s got them.”
Forrest hunkered down. “There’s not a lot we can do here but keep hunting for him locally, asking questions, showing his picture around. The federals, they’re sniffing out leads, but what I get is there isn’t a lot to sniff at this point. They’ve dug up some of Foxworth’s past associates—same on Harlow and Warren. But nothing’s shaken out of that. Not that they’re telling us local badges, anyway.”
The Liar Page 42