by Addison Fox
He was sweet and congenial—with a formidable air that still surrounded him at eighty—and she finally felt comfortable enough to ask her burning question.
“How do you know Mrs. Beauregard?”
When silence was all that greeted her, Cassidy suspected she’d overstepped, so she was surprised when a gentle wash of memories lit the bright blue eyes that were a mirror image of his grandson’s. “I’ve known Jo since we were kids. We grew up together.”
“Oh.” The word fell from her lips but none followed. If they’d grown up together—and the man obviously cared about Josephine to be here—why didn’t they spend more time together? In all the years she’d spent in Mrs. B.’s company, she’d never met the man.
“We—” He hesitated, obviously searching for the right words. “We had to make a clean break a long time ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There are days I regret it.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “More and more over the past few years.”
“So why have you stayed away?”
“She found someone. I found someone. We had separate lives. My Mary gave me two sons and they gave me six grandchildren, so I have no complaints.”
Cassidy let his words flow over her.
No complaints.
Was that even possible?
And was it a complaint if you felt like you were living a half life? Like all you did was watch others get their chances while you stayed in a sort of stasis? Alive, but never going anywhere?
It hadn’t been lost on her that as her business took off her personal life grew increasingly uninteresting. She made wedding dresses, for Pete’s sake. She created an integral part of other people’s happy ever afters.
Even as her own was sorely lacking.
She hadn’t had a date in over a year. Hadn’t had something more since before...
The usual pain filled her heart at the memories of her sister, her life snuffed out much too quickly. She and Leah had never seen eye to eye, but Cassidy had loved her sister. And she’d always believed the sentiment was returned in Leah’s own way.
Loss left holes, Cassidy knew. But when bad memories accompanied that loss, the holes were like craters on the soul. Vast pockets of emptiness that refused to fill.
A light moan from Mrs. B. pulled Cassidy from her maudlin musings and she leaned forward, her voice gentle. “Hey there.”
Josephine’s tissue-thin eyelids fluttered open, then widened as she took in Cassidy first, then Max Senior. “Where am I?”
“You’re being cared for, Jo.” Max patted her hand before taking it in his own. “You’re safe.”
Terror filled Mrs. B.’s face, and Cassidy tried to find the right words to comfort her. Where she’d have thought the sight of familiar faces and Max Senior’s warm touch would have soothed, Mrs. B. only looked more agitated.
A hard beep of the machine near her head added to the sly fingers of discord that began to fill the room, and Cassidy hurried to calm her friend. “Come on, now. Shh. It’s all right.”
“No. No, it’s not. You need to leave.” Mrs. B. tugged her hand from Max’s, the move surprisingly strong for a woman who had suffered a heart attack a few hours earlier.
“Jo. Calm down.” Max reached for her hand but she batted it away again, her agitation telegraphing off her in waves.
Cassidy reached for Mrs. B.’s other hand and hoped a woman’s touch would soothe. When that hand was snatched back even faster a slithery sort of panic pooled in Cassidy’s stomach.
What had happened since early afternoon?
She’d been here and had seen the woman’s progress with her own eyes. She was jovial and happy, teasing about her cute doctor.
And now?
The bright red of the room’s panic button drew her eye but an ICU nurse ran in before Cassidy could push it. Her words brooked no arguments. “I need you both to please step outside.”
“But she’s—”
The nurse shook her head, effectively cutting Cassidy off. “I’m sorry but you need to go.”
The events of the past days coalesced into a panicky ball of fury, and Cassidy struggled to stay calm. What was going on?
Her gaze settled on Max Senior, his own panic telegraphing off him in thick waves. He kept murmuring the same words as the nurse ushered them toward the door—“Jo, it’ll be fine”—before Cassidy heard him say something else.
“They need to know.”
Chapter 9
Cassidy took the seat next to Max Senior in the ICU waiting room and kept her hand firmly over his. The older man hadn’t stopped shaking, but his fingers stayed tight in her grasp. Cool air circulated around them, the air-conditioning cranked up against the unrelenting heat outside, and Cassidy fought her own shiver as the rush of adrenaline began to fade.
A nurse had stopped in briefly to provide an update—and the confirmation they’d settled Mrs. B. comfortably—before she departed.
“Mr. Baldwin?” When his rheumy eyes met hers, Cassidy saw the shockingly distinct notes of terror dulling that bright blue. “What do we need to know?”
His gaze shifted around the room, skipping across Tucker and Max before settling firmly on Cassidy. “I can’t tell you. I made a promise.”
“I know. But you have to know we’ll help you. Whatever it is, we’ll find a way to help you and Mrs. Beauregard.”
“We swore. It would just be us and we swore never to tell.”
“Pops.” Max took the seat on the other side of his grandfather. “We know something’s buried in the floor.”
The hand in hers shook harder, and Cassidy sought to offer comfort and strength. She settled her free hand on top of their joined ones, willing as much as she could into the gentle touch.
Whatever the problem was—whether big or small—Cassidy had to wonder if it had grown over time. The fact that he and Josephine hadn’t seen each other in years would have to have had an impact.
Had he made the problem out to be something monumental in his mind?
Regardless of what Max Senior believed, she, Violet and Lilah had been in that space for almost three years. Three peaceful years of running a business and entertaining a vast array of clients who came and went without a single moment of suspicious behavior.
“We want to help, Mr. Baldwin.” Tucker took the seat opposite them across a scarred particleboard coffee table. “But we need to know what we’re up against.”
Tucker’s gaze shifted from Max Senior to her, understanding lighting those dark depths. The older man was scared. And now his added fear for Josephine had him hunkering down instead of opening up.
“It’s not your battle, young man.” The quaver vanished from the older man’s voice, replaced with ever-growing resolve.
“Pops.” Max’s voice was harsh, and he took a deep breath before he spoke again, his tone noticeably softer. “We’re in this now. I know that wasn’t your intention, but we are. And we need to know what we’re up against.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Pops—”
Max Senior pulled his hand free, that resolve morphing with distinct notes of frustration and anger. “It’s bigger than Jo and me. Bigger than all of us. And I won’t be saying anything else on this matter.”
* * *
Tucker respected the ability to keep a secret. Respected even more an individual’s refusal to break a confidence. But he struggled to understand how a man nearing the end of his life could sit on a secret that held an increasing threat by keeping others in the dark.
“I can’t believe he won’t tell us.” Cassidy’s voice carried on the evening breeze as they walked through the parking lot.
“He’s scared.” Tucker opened the car door for Cassidy and waited for her to climb up into his SUV. “And whatever it
is, I think it’s more Jo’s secret than his.”
“You think he’d have told us otherwise?”
Tucker considered, then nodded. “I do.”
In moments they were navigating out of the hospital parking lot, the streets empty with the late hour. “I can’t imagine what she’d be involved with. The woman’s a pillar of the community. And she’s a good person.”
“So good people can’t have secrets?”
He’d asked the question more out of curiosity than anything else, but when Cassidy grew quiet Tucker suspected he’d hit a nerve. “Everyone’s entitled to the things they would prefer to keep close to the vest.”
He slowed for a light, then turned toward Cassidy. “And if that secret has the power to harm?”
“I guess...” Her words tapered off.
“What?”
“You know, we’re not far from Mrs. B.’s. You still have the keys from the locksmith, right?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t we go nose around. See if we can find anything.”
Tucker considered, common sense warring with the promise of getting underneath whatever it was they were dealing with. “It’s not right.”
“No, it’s not right at all.” Cassidy shook her head. “I hate the idea of going behind her back. And I equally hate that she and Max Senior feel they can’t tell us. But we need to know what we’re dealing with.”
The light was still red, but a decision beckoned the moment it turned over. Straight would take them back to the Design District. A right would take them to Josephine Beauregard’s.
A subtle hum erupted in the car, anticipation winging between both of them like the whiff of a potent drug. He kept his gaze level on Cassidy’s, his focus absolute.
“Turn or go straight?”
A wash of green filtered through the windshield as the light changed. Cassidy nodded, her voice firm with commitment. “Make the right.”
* * *
The house looked much as they’d left it after Mrs. B.’s accident. Max had righted a few things in the kitchen that had been overturned in her attack, but other than that, the quiet house reflected Tucker’s impression from his earlier visit.
The weight of a life hovered in the hallways. Framed photos. Well-worn furniture. And a regal sense of quiet that spoke of age and wisdom.
Tucker followed behind Cassidy, her slim form moving quickly through the darkened hallway. “I think it’ll either be in her study or her bedroom.”
“This is a big house. Whatever it is we’re looking for could be anywhere.”
“Yes, but for some reason I can’t imagine her wanting whatever it is too far away.”
“Fair point, Nancy Drew.”
Cassidy hip bumped him at that. “So does that make you Ned Nickerson?”
“I have absolutely no idea what you just said.”
Moonlight filtered into the hallway from the open entrance to the living room as she stilled. “You can rattle off the names of the Three Musketeers but you don’t know Nancy Drew’s boyfriend?”
Tucker stilled, the unconscious comparison striking him like a blunt object. “That’s how you see me?”
“I— Well— I mean—” Cassidy stopped. “You’ve been an admirable sidekick, I’ll give you that.”
He moved into her space, the sudden quiet awkwardness between them spurring him on. “Do sidekicks do this?”
Without giving her time to respond, he had her against the hallway wall, his hands wrapping tight around hers where they still lay at her side. The moment was a surprise, and he took full advantage, pressing his mouth to hers, delighting in the sizzling tension that erupted between them.
He pushed against the firm press of her lips, slipping his tongue past that tender barrier. She welcomed him in and he squeezed her hands, unwilling to reach for her body for fear they’d never get to what they came for.
A light moan drifted from her throat, and Tucker deepened the kiss, satisfied when she rose up to meet the challenge. Her tongue tangled with his, drawing him deep into her mouth.
The urge to take—to plunder and seduce—nearly pulled him under when she pulled back slightly, her voice thick with passion. “I don’t quite remember reading about Nancy and Ned doing that on an investigation.”
He squeezed her hands once more, desperate to return to some sort of equilibrium. “Bummer.”
“Definitely.” She nipped a quick kiss along his jaw. “I might have read more as a child if they had.”
* * *
Lilah flipped on her industrial mixer and watched the mesmerizing play of blades in the thick yellow cake batter. She allowed the rich scents of vanilla and sugar to transport her for a few minutes as she worked through the current problem at hand.
Secrets.
Her life had been full of them up to now and it looked like no matter how hard she attempted to shake him, the monkey was still on her back.
Who the hell would believe they’d been sitting on something underneath the floor of their shop?
While she knew they’d technically not found anything yet—their demolition mission aborted in favor of tending to Mrs. B.—she knew they would.
Knew, as well as she knew she had a perfect batter, that something dangerous lay underneath the floor.
A swift knock echoed off the back door and she jumped, the hard sound jarring her from her thoughts. Who the hell was at her back door at ten o’clock at night?
Lilah had her phone out of her apron pocket and in her hand, 9-1-1 nearly dialed when she heard a man’s voice muted by the heavy door. “It’s Detective Reed Graystone. Remember me? I stopped by this morning to discuss the break-in and the attack on Mrs. Beauregard.”
The hard knot in her belly uncurled while a wave of electricity zinged in its place. What was he doing here?
She flipped open the lock but stood in the doorway and tried diligently not to notice the way the back lights reflected off his dark hair, or how his eyes flashed with barely veiled humor. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same.”
“This is my business. I can be here whenever I want.”
“And this is my city. I’m entitled to do the same.”
She stared at him, her perch at the door about three steps above him. Although he had knocked, she didn’t miss the fact that he’d retreated down the steps as he waited for her to invite him in.
“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“I wanted to check on you.”
“Oh.” A momentary flash of the shop’s current state filled her mind’s eye, and Lilah couldn’t help but be grateful she and Violet had set the floor to rights after Max and Tucker and Cassidy had left. The still-unopened concrete had been re-covered, the carpet firmly in place.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course.”
She gestured him in, again relieved when he kept his distance, his hands firmly behind his back. Did he sense her nerves? Or was it just the good cop routine, which would vanish once he was inside and had the advantage?
Been there, done that, her conscience taunted.
Yet even as that muscle memory stretched with familiarity, she couldn’t muster any sense of a threat.
“What are you making?”
“Hmm?”
“Here.” He pointed to the mixing bowl. “It smells good.”
A naughty, little-boy grin suffused his face as he dipped a finger onto the edge of the spatula she’d settled next to the bowl. “Damn, that’s good.”
As his hand snuck toward the spatula for another taste she slapped his hand away. “You’ll contaminate it.”
He only grinned broader, and she fought more of that puzzling electricity that sent shock waves through her midsection.
“I don’t have cooties.”
“Well, the Board of Health might have something to say about that.”
She lifted the paddles from the batter and disengaged them, then handed him one. “Might as well take a good taste then.”
His gaze drifted over her as he took the mixing paddle. “You’re not having the other one?”
“I don’t—” She glanced at the thick, golden batter and considered where it coated the other paddle. A protest sprang to her lips—how bakers shouldn’t gain weight off their own creations—but she tamped down the well-remembered criticism. “Maybe I will.”
The batter was rich and perfect as she ran her tongue over the thick blade. She nodded once in satisfaction, and was surprised to see his gray eyes steady on hers.
She’d never seen eyes quite that shade. A gunmetal-gray that reminded her of the Texas skies when a storm was whipping up. The color should have put her off—and she’d already wondered why it didn’t—but those mercurial eyes were anything but bleak or cold.
“This is amazing.” He licked off the last of his treat, and Lilah fought the hard rush of air that welled in her chest at the sight of his tongue, coated in her work.
“It should be. Customers are funny, you know. They don’t want to buy bad cakes.”
“This is for a customer?”
“Why do you think I wigged out about the Board of Health?” When he only smiled, she added, “I’ve never seen eyes quite the same shade as yours.”
“They were my grandfather’s eyes.”
“They match your last name.”
The words were out before she even realized it, and she didn’t miss the flare of interest that blazed high in return. “I’m impressed you made the connection.”
“I notice things.”
“I do, too. Part of the job description.” He never moved—never even shifted from his position on the counter—but she sensed the interest there all the same. “Although I wouldn’t have pegged a baker as having the same skills.”
“Not every skill comes from a classroom.”
Reed stared at her a moment longer before he broke eye contact and began to move around the kitchen. “This is quite a workspace.”