Small-Town Secrets

by Linda Randall Wisdom

  David looked her straight in the eye. “All I did was tell him just what I thought of what he was saying about Lacey. But if somebody’s fist comes my way, I’m going to do my best to make sure it doesn’t connect.”

  “Which is why you have a black eye, a cut lip and some painful bruises.”

  “Yeah, but he’s the one with a broken nose and a couple cracked ribs,” he said with supreme male satisfaction. He watched his stepmother comb her fingers through her hair, tangling the curls. “Don’t worry, I promise to stay out of his way from now on.”

  “Good idea.” She picked up her brush. “I honestly don’t think there’s any danger, David, but if there is…” Her voice dropped off. No decision to make. She was going to cancel.

  “You’re still going out,” David said, easily reading her mind. “We’ll be fine. We’ve got Jinx, and I know your cell phone number. Besides, I can always take the perp down with my fists.” He grinned, knowing that would get a rise out of her.

  “In your dreams,” she muttered.

  “You’ve trusted me before, Mom,” he said, suddenly serious. “Trust me now.”

  Bree turned around and looked at him closely. She blinked her eyes to stop tears that threatened to fall. “Damn, you’ve grown up.”

  David started laughing. “It took you this long to notice?” he teased, effectively breaking the somber mood. “Just for that, I won’t snitch to the others that you owe the Cuss Jar a quarter.”

  Bree wrapped her arms around him, and realized sadly he was now a good four inches taller than her. “You know, when you’re not being an idiot, you are my sanity,” she told him. “I couldn’t have made it through this past year without you.”

  “Don’t get all emotional, Mom.” He sounded embarrassed as he patted her back. “Not when you were ready to throttle me this afternoon.”

  “Yes, I was. For good reason. And if you do anything that stupid again, I will throttle you. And I know how to hide the body so it wouldn’t be found for decades.” She leaned back and patted his cheeks. Cheeks that were now rough with a beard that went along with the deeper voice and lean body filling out.

  She knew with his good grades and extracurricular activities, David would have no problem getting into the college of his choice. And that he’d chosen to apply to the FBI after he graduated.

  “The feds will be so lucky to get you,” she said huskily. “I bet you’ll be showing them a thing or two.”

  His face reddened. She wanted to smile at seeing the little boy still there with the emerging man. Then she glanced at the clock and winced.

  “I’ve got to finish getting ready.” She started to push him out of the room. “David, if anything happens, call 911 first, then call me.”

  He nodded as he obliged her by leaving her room.

  Bree ran the brush through her hair, glared at the curls that refused to behave and wielded the brush with a heavier hand.

  “I never remember dating being so hard.”

  Bree repeated that mantra as she pawed through her closet and realized that, except for styles used for court appearances, her wardrobe was practically nonexistent. In the end, she chose a knit dress in hunter green. The long sleeves were appropriate for the cooler evening, and the scooped neckline revealed the gold-and-diamond free-form pendant she wore.

  “This is so sick,” Sara announced, looking her mother up and down.

  “I think I look pretty good.” Bree carefully applied a rich bronze shade of lipstick.

  “You’re too old to date,” she blurted.

  “Excuse me?” Bree arched an eyebrow. “Sara, I hate to break it to you, but your grandmother Fitzpatrick has been leading an active social life for the past ten years. Her latest boyfriend is a retired Navy SEAL, if I recall.”

  Sara made a face. “Yeah, well, Grammy Fran’s way too old to date guys.”

  Bree decided it was a good thing her stepdaughter didn’t know that her grandmother was also enjoying a healthy sex life. Some things were better off left unsaid.

  “Your day will come,” she told her, as she dug out a smaller purse and dropped her cellular phone, wallet and lipstick inside. Her weapon added a little bulge to her bag, but she was required to carry it off duty. “And I can say that with great authority, because my mother told me my day would come and I refused to believe her. Yet everything she told me came true.”

  “He’s not Daddy.” Sara stood nearby, with one foot balanced on the other. Years of dancing classes lent grace to all her movements. Bree was silently grateful that the girl never seemed to suffer an awkward moment, even when she’d shot up to five foot six inches when she was thirteen.

  “Eartha Katt!” Cody’s shout could be heard throughout the house.

  Sara exhaled a deep sigh. “I’ll go see what the problem is. He can have a cat, but you wouldn’t let me get that rose tattoo I wanted.”

  “There’s a big difference between a cat and a tattoo. You practically scream when you pluck your eyebrows. A tattoo would hurt a lot more.” Bree sent a silent thank-you upward when she heard the doorbell peal.

  “I’ll get it!” David shouted.

  She stopped long enough to study her reflection in the mirror.

  “Not bad for thirty-something,” she muttered as she adjusted her neckline.

  When Bree entered the family room, she found David and Cole discussing the high school football team’s chances for the state championship that year. David’s demeanor was much better than that of a stormy-faced Sara who was standing nearby. Cody didn’t look any happier. He had his hands wrapped around the kitten’s middle. Bree was relieved to notice he wasn’t squeezing the poor feline.

  “Why do you have to go out?” he demanded.

  “Because Mr. Becker asked me out to dinner,” she explained, kissing the top of his head. “No arguments about a bath or when it’s time for bed, and the kitten sleeps in the box in the laundry room. Understood?”

  He nodded sullenly. The kitten let loose a plaintive meow.

  “Did you feed her?” Bree asked.

  “Yes.” He didn’t look up at her.

  “Then why don’t you and David take her outside so she can go potty.” She kissed him again. “Sweet dreams, my baby boy,” she whispered in his ear. “I will come in and check on you when I get home.”

  His lower lip trembled. “Promise?”

  As she looked at Cody’s pathetic expression, she almost gave in and told Cole she couldn’t go out. Almost.

  “Come on, squirt, let’s get the cat outside before he pees on the carpet,” David said, heading for the back door.

  “I promise,” she vowed to her youngest as she wrapped the matching shawl around her shoulders and left the house with Cole.

  “It looks like David’s gardening chores took the fight out of him, so to speak,” he said, as they walked to his vehicle.

  “It usually does.” She smiled as he assisted her into the truck. “Beware of all that friendliness they show you. They’re just waiting until you’re off guard. You might want to start looking over your shoulder. They give no warning before they attack.”

  “Glad to know my days are numbered.” He started the engine and switched on the heater. Warm air soon drifted over their legs. “Warm enough?”

  “Fine, thank you.” Out of reflex, Bree automatically glanced in the passenger side mirror, but saw only dark road behind them. “Someone followed David after he picked Cody up at soccer practice.”

  Cole glanced quickly at her, then back at the road. “He see who it was?”

  She shook her head. “I asked if he thought it might be Tim Holloway, but he said this one drove a truck.”

  “And Tim drives a tricked-out hot Camaro,” he finished for her. “Truck,” he murmured. “Like the truck you’ve seen outside your house?”

  “No way to know without a positive ID.”

  “Spoken like a true cop.”

  Bree looked around when they reached the highway and Cole sped up.

&nbs
p; “It’s not paranoia,” he said. “There’s just better restaurants farther down the road.”

  “Where we might not run into anyone we know.”

  He grinned. “That, too. It’s about a half hour drive, but worth it.”

  “Sounds good to me,” she replied, smiling at him.

  Cole glanced briefly at her before turning his attention back to the road. “An evening alone with you sounds good to me.”

  “You’re starting with that flattery again, Becker,” Bree said, feeling a little uneasy.

  “Just being honest, Fitzpatrick.”

  “Amazing after the evening you spent with my kids.” She arched an eyebrow. “I’ve heard you don’t spend your time with women who have children.”

  “I met you and decided it was time for a change.” He inhaled the seductive scent of her perfume.

  “Says the man who’s never been a referee during dinner,” she said.

  “What? You don’t use threats of jail?” he teased.

  “I don’t have to use threats that drastic. Agony for David is taking away the keys to his truck. For Sara, it’s denying her a trip to the mall, and for Cody, it’s taking away his computer games. That kind of punishment has been known to drive them to tears.”

  “I bet you would have been hell on wheels if you’d worked juvenile,” he said.

  “Juvie takes a special kind of person. That wasn’t me.” She looked out, seeing only a few flickering lights in the distance.

  Cole glanced briefly at her. “Why did you choose homicide?”

  “As opposed to something safe like vice or narcotics?” She chuckled, then sobered. “I guess I chose it because the victims aren’t able to speak for themselves. I saw them needing someone on their side. To speak for them. I wanted to be that person.” She absently rubbed her hands together, as if they were cold. “When I started out in homicide, I was partnered with this guy who’d been there for fifteen years. Before that, Danny had worked in narcotics. He used to say he’d never leave. That they’d have to carry him out. It was his life.” She paused and softly added, “He died of a heart attack two years ago. Right after he informed a grateful mother that he’d arrested her daughter’s killer. A serial rapist who had graduated to murder with his third victim. Danny forgot more about homicide investigation than many of us could learn in a lifetime,” she said softly.

  “That’s what’s needed now, Bree,” Cole said quietly, with an intensity that struck her to the core. “Someone to speak for people who have no one else to find out the truth. They need someone like you, because you honestly care.”

  Chapter 8

  The restaurant was a pleasant surprise to Bree. Nestled among the San Jacinto foothills, the rustic building boasted a stream that ran across the property, with a wooden bridge leading to the front door.

  Inside, the dining areas were broken up into cozy niches where diners could enjoy their meal in private. Cole gave his name to the maître d’, who led them off to one side toward a large fireplace. Bree sat down when the maître d’ pulled her chair out for her. She unwound her shawl and dropped it behind her.

  Cole conferred with Bree, then ordered a bottle of wine, which was promptly delivered to the table.

  “This is lovely,” she commented, looking around at the battered brass bed-warmer that lay against the wall and the antique fireplace implements. Shadow boxes and antique photographs decorated the walls, giving the restaurant the warmth and homey atmosphere of an old-fashioned parlor. “And very unexpected in an area that doesn’t appear to be heavily populated.”

  “There’s never been any worries about lack of business here. This building has an interesting history. Back in the late eighteen hundreds it was a very popular brothel, owned by an enterprising woman named Snub-nosed Sadie,” he explained. “Sadie ran herd over ten ladies, to use the term loosely—ladies who entertained men from the local army fort, and local cowhands who were always looking for some rest and relaxation on payday.” His mouth tipped upward in a slow smile. “Sadie died in 1910. Her daughter kept the place going until one of those ladies’ temperance leagues had it shut down. She decided to turn Sadie’s Place into a restaurant. Even then, more male patrons showed up than couples or families. The restaurant is still family owned. Sadie’s great-granddaughter runs it now. Except now it’s strictly a restaurant, so you don’t need to flash your badge.”

  “That’s reassuring.” Bree picked up her wineglass and sipped the liquid. It was slightly tart on her tongue, the flavor soothing as it slid down her throat. She took a second sip before setting down her glass. “You don’t like to keep promises, do you?”

  She was surprised to see him look chagrined by her comment.

  “I didn’t plan on saying anything at all,” he admitted. “But then you started talking about your reasons for working homicide. How you seemed to see it as a calling. My uncle Charlie was that way. For him, the newspaper business was sacred. He felt the public had a right to know. He was never interested in the latest scandal, but looked for stories that got people talking. He liked nothing better than to run a piece on a topic that had people debating the pros and cons. He had a knack for finding and writing those kind of stories. Did it for more than fifty years.”

  “If your uncle was so passionate about stories that would stimulate his readers’ minds, why didn’t he write for a bigger audience than Warm Springs?” she asked.

  “Charlie never cared for fame. He once told me he remembered times when a bunch of men would sit around the general store, talking. One day they might discuss politics. Another day they might argue about international affairs. Or maybe debate back and forth about when the next rainfall would come. That’s what Charlie wanted with his articles—for people to stop and think.”

  “Is your uncle why you became a reporter?” Bree asked, curious about the man.

  “Yeah, I guess I’d have to say he’s most of the reason. I spent a lot of summers with him,” Cole replied. “My parents were divorced. My dad was an airline pilot and gone a lot, and my mom worked. When I stayed with Uncle Charlie, he’d take me to work with him, taught me everything I needed to know about running a newspaper, from finding a story to writing it and setting it up and printing it. But while he enjoyed looking at stories set close to home, I was more interested in finding stories that the world would read.”

  “If you loved it so much, why did you decide to quit and come back here?”

  Cole chuckled. “It wasn’t exactly my decision. I’d been working on a piece about a crime ring that specialized in stolen identities. They either stole or manufactured identities from scratch, and sold them to people who needed to leave the country in a hurry. I was confident I was getting close to breaking this story wide-open. I got proof of how close I was when someone planted a bomb under my car. Luckily for me, it went off too soon.” He looked off into the distance, a wistful expression on his face. “Damn, I really loved that car.”

  Bree’s mind’s eye brought up a picture of Fitz’s face at the exact moment he’d been shot. For a moment she wanted to tell Cole that nothing was worth a person’s life. Whether it was a story or a car or a kid who thought he could escape arrest by shooting a federal officer. Nothing mattered more than life. She swallowed the words that threatened to spill out.

  Cole already knew how lucky he was. She could tell by the way his hand tightened on the stem of the wineglass and the way he didn’t look directly at her.

  He had memories that haunted him, too.

  “Better the car than you,” Bree pointed out. “I’ve seen a few victims from car bombings. Not a pretty sight.”

  “Neither was my car.” He drained the last of his wine and picked up the bottle to refill their glasses.

  Further conversation was suspended as the waiter approached them.

  “So you lost your beloved car and came back here to mourn,” she said, after the waiter had taken their orders.

  “Actually, I came back here because I had a wake-up call,”
he said. “A very noisy and messy wake-up call. Charlie died around that time and he left me the newspaper. At first I came out here to have some quiet time to myself. I’d planned on selling the newspaper. Then I found his files about these deaths. There weren’t all that many then, but there had to have been something that caught his attention for him to keep them together.”

  “And you took up the cause,” she said quietly.

  “For good reason.” He raised his eyes and looked directly at her. “He became one of those victims who shouldn’t have died when he did.”

  Good going, Cole. First you take the lady to a nice restaurant. You even have the good sense to order a fine bottle of wine. So what do you do instead of telling her how pretty her eyes are? How good she looks in that sexy dress that hugs all her curves? How she’s the best thing you’ve been around in a long time? You talk about the deaths. A subject you vowed not to discuss. You better do some damage control here.

  Cole was used to these internal conversations. He had them all the time, a habit picked up when he was overseas and wanted another opinion. He could even debate with himself. This was the first time he’d had one in the middle of a date.

  “So that’s what started you on your quest,” she guessed.

  He shook his head. “Actually, not right away. It was a while before I found Charlie’s notes about some deaths that weren’t well explained. There was even mention about someone’s wife knowing the truth and being too scared to say anything.”

  “No name or idea who the woman was?” Bree leaned forward, her eyes alight with interest.

  “Nothing. Charlie wrote that there was an insidious going on that generated a lot of money for some people who were setting up deaths.”

  “Setting up deaths,” Bree repeated. “Name one person who could set up deaths and pass any official investigation without sending out red flags.”

  Cole leaned across the table. “Has to be someone in the department.”

  “Whoever it is can’t get away with it forever. No one is that smart,” she declared. “All it takes is one little mistake. They always screw up.”