Evidence Not Seen (Love Is Book 9)

by Carlene Havel

  Chapter Fourteen

  Melanie flung her door open and stepped back. “Come in,” she said. “I’m ready as soon as I get my earrings on.” The svelte black velvet evening gown she wore made her look like a movie star on Oscar night.

  “Wow!” Jeff grabbed her hand and twirled Melanie around. “You look fantastic.”

  “Think so?” Melanie beamed. “Thank you. I borrowed everything from Gretchen. Well, all but the shoes.”

  “I predict she’ll never wear that dress again, once she sees how good it looks on you.”

  Inclining her head to work on the recalcitrant earring, Melanie said, “Gretchen never wears an evening outfit twice. After one outing, she sells them at a hoity-toity consignment shop. I was lucky to catch her before she got rid of this one.” She picked up a wrap resting on the back of the sofa. “Check this out.”

  Jeff helped Melanie drape the full-length cape around her. It was made from the same black velvet as her dress, lined with bright red satin. Standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders, Jeff drank in the light scent of her perfume. Thinking how he never wanted to let her go, he bent toward her ear and said, “Beautiful.”

  To Jeff’s surprise, Melanie whirled around to face him. Her smile made his heart beat faster. “You look pretty terrific yourself,” she said softly.

  Standing so close to her, he wasn’t sure if he could resist the urge to kiss her. He wasn’t at all certain he wanted to. “I’ll mess up your lipstick if I kiss you,” he whispered.

  “I can fix it.”

  Bending to compensate for their height difference, Jeff pulled her closer to him and gently brushed her mouth with his. Melanie did not step away from his embrace. Instead, she slipped her arms around his neck. When she closed her eyes and parted her lips, he kissed her deeply. For a moment he held her close, neither of them speaking.

  “Time to go,” he said at last.

  Melanie nodded. In the car, she dabbed at Jeff’s face with a tissue. “Of all times for me to wear my brightest red lipstick,” she fussed.

  He glanced her direction. “It looks great on you.”

  “It’s definitely not your color,” she replied with a grin. “Perhaps you should try something in the peach range.”

  “As long as you apply it the same way, any shade sounds fine to me.”

  The ensuing silence felt slightly awkward. To change the subject, Jeff asked, “Guess who I saw today?”

  “Sasquatch.”

  Jeff laughed at her quick wit. “Keenan.”

  “You went to the hospital? How sweet,” Melanie cooed. “Did he talk to you?”

  “He did,” Jeff replied. “I’m really pulling for that little guy.”

  “He has a long road ahead of him. I heard today his mother has taken a turn for the worse.” She trailed a hand along the console between them. “There’s a good chance she’s not going to live.”

  Jeff sped onto the expressway. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too,” Melanie agreed. “She probably hasn’t been a great mother to Keenan, but at least she was there. Most adopting couples don’t want a sick four-year-old. It absolutely breaks my heart.” She took a tissue from her clutch. “We need to talk about something else before I start crying. What is it like having your father at home again after all these years?”

  “Strange.”

  “Strange, how?” she asked.

  Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, Jeff pondered her question. “Unsettling, sort of. I really like him. Now that I know him somewhat, I can’t help thinking what a great dad he could have been. Then I get angry all over again because he chose to do something stupid that kept him from hanging around and taking care of my mother and me.”

  Melanie nodded. “I think I understand what you mean. I went through a lot of those same feelings when my mom came back. I told you about her, right?”

  “You did. She wanted to be an actress instead of a mother, only she didn’t realize that until after she had a daughter.”

  “I had to change how I thought of my mom,” Mel said. “I wasn’t able to love her until I let go of the past.”

  “Melanie,” Jeff said. How can I put this into words? “I remember how hard my mom worked to support us. I did what I could, but a paper route and bagging groceries didn’t help much. I think my father ought to be grateful Mom waited for him and took him back when his sentence was up. Instead, he acts like he’s been on a business trip. And the worst part is, she lets him get away with it.” He passed a slow-moving truck. “I want a good relationship with my father, but I don’t know that I’m capable of wiping the record clean the way you did.”

  Melanie sat quietly for a moment, then asked, “Are you a Christian, Jeff?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “I am.”

  “So you’ve probably read the definition of love in the Bible? You know, First Corinthians, chapter thirteen?”

  “Hasn’t everyone?”

  “I can’t quote those verses,” she said. “But they talk about love being patient, and kind, and basically putting others ahead of yourself.”

  Pulling up to the valet parking station, Jeff handed his keys to the attendant. “And your point?” he asked Melanie before stepping out of the car.

  She turned her big blue eyes to him. “Another verse in there somewhere says love doesn’t keep a record of wrongs.” She cocked her head. “Try thinking of love as a decision—no, make that a commitment—to let go of the past. No matter what your father did.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Prominent people thronged into the downtown convention center, which was transformed into a winter wonderland for the Sweetheart Charity Ball. After Jeff passed Melanie’s cape to a cloakroom attendant, a photographer snapped several pictures of them under an ornate archway smothered in flowers.

  “Was that the governor who just walked by?” Melanie whispered as Jeff guided her through the crowd.

  “I believe so,” Jeff replied. “Everybody who’s anybody will be here tonight. Philanthropists, politicians, celebrities. Oh, and us.” They shared a laugh.

  At the sound of chimes, the mass of people separated and flowed toward the dining area. Each table was decorated with a red, floor-length skirt. Perfectly pressed white linens draped over the tabletops, crisscrossed with gold runners. Tall crystal vases, loaded with red roses and white carnations graced the center of each table. Rose petals and heart-shaped chocolates wrapped in gold paper were scattered around the centerpieces. A single long-stemmed red rose rested on every other bone china plate.

  “We’re at number seventeen,” Jeff said. He checked a small placard on a nearby table, and gestured to his right. “Probably over there.”

  Melanie followed Jeff, weaving through the crowd, holding his hand. “This room looks a lot different than it did the day I came here for a child welfare conference.”

  “I’m guessing the price of admission is considerably more tonight, too,” Jeff murmured over his shoulder.

  At table seventeen, Jeff checked place cards and held Melanie’s chair before settling into the space reserved for him. Should he warn Mel she was seated next to an eccentric millionaire? He glanced at the card in front of the matron on his left—neither the name nor the woman’s face registered. Good, no Wilcox-Meyer clients at this table.

  While shrimp cocktail was served, the eight people exchanged noncommittal introductions. “Carl Webb,” the rich old goat next to Melanie said. “My wife, Ann.” Ann nodded without speaking.

  When Jeff’s turn came, he said, “I’m Jeff Galloway, representing Mr. Josiah Wilcox, who’s incapacitated. And my lovely companion is Miss Melanie Clark.”

  “Hello, everyone.” Melanie smiled. “The children of this county benefit greatly from this event, so thank you for coming out tonight to support the kids.”

  Jeff tried to engage the woman to his left in conversation. She was cordial, but her responses to his comments led nowhere. She agreed the weather was cold, and they were fortunate so little
snow fell this year. By the time the prime rib entrée was served, Jeff had exhausted Walter Cronkite’s retirement, the Iran hostage situation, and the winter Olympics as possible topics. He was grateful when Melanie turned his direction. Looking past him, she said, “Helen, I can’t shake the feeling we’ve met, but I can’t think where.”

  “Do you belong to the Daughters of the American Revolution?” Helen asked.

  “No,” Melanie answered, furrowing her brow. “You don’t go to church at the Southside Fellowship by any chance, do you?”

  The woman laughed, but her only spoken reply was “No.”

  Suddenly, Melanie’s eyes grew wide. “Torchy O’Callaghan?”

  A smile crept across the woman’s face. “That’s my pen name. Have we met before?” She tossed the end of a long scarf over her shoulder. “Don’t say you recognize me from the picture on a book cover. My publicist insists on using a twenty-year-old photo.”

  “You signed my copy of Flaming Hearts Dreams at this year’s book fair.” Melanie put a hand on her heart. “I love your books. I’ve read the whole Flaming Hearts series.”

  A woman across the table looked up from her plate. “You like Flaming Hearts, too?”

  “She wrote them,” Melanie said, gesturing toward Helen.

  “No!” the woman exclaimed. “You’re Torchy O’Callaghan?”

  “I am,” Helen replied.

  The man to her left, said, “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Helen, you’re not talking about books again, are you?”

  Helen raised her palms. “I didn’t bring up the subject.”

  The woman across the table lifted a hand loaded with jewelry. “This is absolutely fascinating. How did you choose your pen name?”

  Jeff noticed Melanie turned back toward the Webbs. He couldn’t hear much of what she said, but soon Mel and Ann were having a lively conversation. Catching a few words, he concluded they were discussing shoes.

  After a scrumptious dessert of fresh strawberries ladled over New York style cheesecake, Jeff accepted a cup of coffee. He shifted his chair for a clearer view of the podium—and Melanie’s back. He managed to maintain his focus through the introduction of the speaker. However, having no interest in the development of affordable housing, he permitted his thoughts to drift.

  Here and there a tendril escaped from Melanie’s upswept hair. He called on all his self-restraint to keep from kissing the back of her neck. He’d resisted admitting it, but she was the girl of his dreams.

  At the conclusion of the speech, Jeff rose and applauded with everyone else. “We’ll be right back,” Melanie whispered. “Ladies room.”

  He watched Melanie, Helen and Ann amble toward the exit, chatting and laughing as if they were old friends. Mel continues to amaze me. Whether someone is rich or poor doesn’t seem to matter one whit to her.

  Jeff scanned the crowd for familiar faces. A few tables away, he spied a judge sitting with the local TV news anchorman. Mom would be thrilled when he told her he thought he’d finally met someone he wanted to marry. She’d been hoping to hear that ever since Jeff finished law school. Dad would be curious, too. He’d like to tell Keith his life was none of his business. Why did Mom cling to the fantasy of his father’s innocence? She was a smart woman. How could she have such a big blind spot where her husband was concerned?

  He sipped his coffee, staring into the cup. If only he could take Melanie’s advice and let go of the past—and stop resenting his father.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Hello,” Jeff said, holding the telephone with one hand, straightening the coils in its cord with the other. “This is Jeff Galloway. I’d like to speak to Mr. Otto Schmidt, please.”

  “Why?”

  “I understand he was a detective on the municipal police force before he retired. I want to ask him about a case he investigated.”

  “You a newspaper reporter?”

  “No,” Jeff answered. “In nineteen fifty-three, my father, Keith Galloway, went to prison for stealing fifty thousand dollars from the First National Bank. I’m hoping Mr. Schmidt can shed some light on what happened.”

  “I’ll check. Hang on a minute.”

  Surprised to learn he was not conversing with Otto Schmidt, Jeff doodled on a scratch pad while he waited. He leaned back in his office chair, daydreaming about Melanie. He loved dancing with her at the ball last night. When he took her home, she’d returned his goodnight kiss hungrily. Life is good!

  A voice broke into Jeff’s reverie. “My pawpaw don’t answer questions on the phone. You can drop by and see him if you want to, but his memory ain’t what it used to be. You’d probably be wasting your time.”

  Not bothering to respond to the objection, Jeff asked, “When can I come?”

  “Anytime, I guess. It’s not like we’re on a schedule around here.”

  “How about this afternoon?”

  Jeff heard a conversation, muffled by what he suspected was a hand over the telephone receiver. He hardly breathed until he heard, “Sure. Today’s okay.”

  Since Gretchen didn’t answer her intercom, he walked down the hallway to her office. He had written only a few words of a note when she breezed in. “Hey, Jeff, how was the Sweetheart Ball?”

  “I had a great time,” he said. “Danced until dawn, and I’m ready to tackle the world this morning.”

  “Very funny.” Gretchen tossed her coat over a chair. “I’m well aware how boring those events can be. Thanks for going, and thank you for taking my friend. She needs to get out more. Poor Melanie.” She tucked her handbag into a desk drawer and sat down.

  “Why do you say poor Melanie? She seems all right to me.” He hoped he sounded casual.

  “Her fiancé broke off their engagement when she wouldn’t move in with him before they got married. That was two, three years ago. She never dated after they split up. Sit down and tell me what George Riley is up to.”

  Jeff settled into the chair beside Gretchen’s desk. “Riley’s a good man. Thanks for loaning him to me. We talked on the phone this morning. He’ll be home tomorrow, in the office first thing Monday. He’s bringing a shipload of evidence and he convinced Romeo Munoz and his wife to get out of town for a couple of weeks.” He twirled one of Gretchen’s pencils. “If things go as I expect, Buffalo Nickel will be begging for a settlement with Mrs. Meeker when their legal team finds out the latest dirt we have on them.”

  “Anything criminal?” Gretchen flipped through her calendar pages, not appearing to be interested in Jeff’s answer.

  “Possibly. After we take a look at the documents Riley’s bringing home, we may have to talk to the District Attorney’s office.”

  “Pop should be back at work Tuesday or Wednesday. Of course he’ll want to hold Buffalo Nickel’s feet to the fire.”

  “Couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of guys,” Jeff said. “Meanwhile, I have some personal business to take care of this afternoon.”

  Gretchen turned to her ringing telephone and waved her hand, which Jeff took to be acknowledgment of his absence.

  Making a quick stop at his apartment, Jeff changed into casual slacks and a sweater. Sitting in his car, he planned his route, then refolded his county map and returned it to the glove compartment. On the way out of town, he reviewed his list of questions. Three miles past the city limit, he turned onto the farm-to-market road where Schmidt lived.

  The address Jeff copied from the telephone directory earlier matched a hand painted sign nailed to a cedar fence post. Beyond a driveway consisting of a pair of ruts, a doublewide trailer house squatted beneath a clump of bare pecan trees. A brown-and-white spotted hound lifted his head when the car door slammed shut. By the time Jeff reached the front porch, the dog had resumed his nap.

  Jeff knocked, hearing no sound from inside the trailer. He waited, wondering if anyone was home. Turning his back to the door, Jeff took in the barren winter landscape. The sleeping dog and a van parked under a nearby tree were the only evidence someone lived here. As he turned to rap agai
n, a fellow about his age came around the corner of the trailer. “Sorry,” the man said. “I seen you coming down the road so I had to get Pawpaw’s watchdog in the pen. Dobie won’t let nobody get near the place.”

  “Thanks,” Jeff said, as the fellow stepped onto the porch, opened the door, and motioned him to enter.

  “I’m Jeff Galloway,” he said.

  The man shook the hand Jeff offered. “I’m Bubba. Me and Pawpaw take care of each other.” He nodded toward an open door. “He’s in his room.”

  Otto Schmidt sat in a wheelchair positioned by the bedroom’s only window. He all but disappeared beneath a colorful quilt wrapped around his shoulders and draped over his lap. The slightly askew watch cap on Otto’s head was pulled over his ears and grazed the tops of his eyebrows. “Morning,” he said, although the time was after two p.m. His voice was weak and had a truckload of gravel in it.

  “Hello,” Jeff said. “Thank you for letting me come.”

  “Sit if you like.”

  Jeff saw only one possible sitting place, a chrome and yellow vinyl monstrosity from kitchens long past. He moved the chair close to Otto, and turned it around. Then he sat straddling the seat, with his hands folded on the chair’s back and his chin resting on them. “I hear you worked on the First National Bank robbery.”

  “Theft,” Otto corrected. He eyed Jeff for a moment. “You writing a book?”

  “No, sir.” Jeff sat up straight. “I’m trying to understand some things about my dad.”

  Otto nodded toward the window. “Nice car. What kind of work do you do?”

  “I’m an attorney.” When the silence became awkward, he added, “Mineral rights are my specialty.”

  “Your old man still alive?”

  “Yes. He is. I’d like to know—”

  Otto interrupted, “Why don’t you ask him what happened?”

  Jeff recalled something his criminal law professor often said. Don’t try to play mind games with a good police detective. Tell him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Otherwise, he’ll eat you for lunch.