by Laura Scott
Another link to diabetes. “I’m sure Frankie is the one who hired Morales,” she said. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Maybe.” Nick jammed his fingers through his hair. “I need to go through the entire timeline from start to finish. There has to be something we’re missing.”
“I’ll help,” she offered. Her phone rang and she pulled it out of her sweatshirt pocket, surprised to see there was still one bar of battery left. Wincing, she saw the caller was Edith. It seemed like days since she’d spoken to her assistant. “Hi, Edith, how are you?”
“I’m putting in my notice,” the woman said in a crisp tone. “You should have told me that you intended to sell off your shares of the company, Rachel. If I’d have known, I would have looked for somewhere else to work.”
The reproach in the older woman’s tone only sharpened her guilt. “I’m sorry, Edith, you’re right—I should have told you. But why are you leaving? I’m sure Gerry could use all the support he can get.”
“Gerry Ashton is not you, Rachel. Nor is he your father. I’ve been loyal to the both of you, but now that you’re both gone, I see no need to stay on.”
She was flabbergasted with Edith’s decision. “Maybe you should take some time to reconsider,” she said. “Gerry has been with the company for seventeen years—I’m sure everything will be fine.”
“I’ve made my decision.” Edith’s tone held an underlying note of steel. “And I’m telling you because you’re the one I was working for.”
Rachel sensed there was nothing she could say to talk her senior assistant out of resigning. “I’ll make sure you get all your vacation pay, Edith,” she said, even though technically she didn’t own the company anymore. Surely the payroll staff would still listen to her. “And if you change your mind—”
“I won’t. Goodbye, Rachel.”
Rachel disconnected from the call just as her phone battery gave out.
“Edith resigned?” Nick asked with a dark frown.
“Apparently.” She sank into the seat next to Nick, trying to grapple with the news. “I feel terrible about this. Edith has been with the company for thirty years.”
“It’s not as if you sold off your shares on purpose,” Nick reminded her gently. “This isn’t your fault.”
Yes, it was her fault, but she couldn’t deny that she’d do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant getting Joey back safely. Up until now, she’d convinced herself that her life was the only one impacted by her decision.
She took a deep breath and met Nick’s sympathetic gaze. There was nothing she could do now but move forward. “Let’s work on that timeline....”
* * *
Nick wanted nothing more than to reach over and pull Rachel close, to comfort her. She looked as if she’d lost her best friend, and maybe she had. He suspected Edith had been her rock, especially after her father passed away.
There wasn’t anything he could say to her to make her feel better, so he took her cue and agreed to work on the timeline.
“I need paper,” he muttered. He’d prefer a large whiteboard or bulletin board, but paper would do in a pinch, far better than the computer.
“I think there was some in the bedroom, I’ll be right back.” Rachel returned a few minutes later with a tattered notebook. “Sorry, but this is all I could find,” she said.
“Perfect,” he said, taking the notebook from her hands. Their fingers brushed and he tried to ignore the tingling that radiated up his arm. This wasn’t the time or the place to think about kissing Rachel again. He tore several sheets of paper out and set them side by side.
“We should probably start with the failed diabetes medication,” Rachel said.
He nodded in agreement. “Do you remember the dates and times of the letters and phone calls?”
She reached over and took the pencil from his hand to write in the information. Her nearness was disconcerting. “And here’s the date I called you,” she added.
“And the same day, you took Joey to his basketball game,” he said.
“Yes, that’s the part that has bothered me.” She scowled at the timeline. “I don’t think I was followed, for sure not by the black truck.”
Nick had to concur, since he’d followed her and had made sure no one had followed him. “It seemed the kidnappers were one step ahead of us for the first twenty-four hours—until we exchanged your cell phone.”
“You thought they were tracking the GPS in my phone, right?”
“Was it a company phone?” he asked, slanting a sideways glance at her. “Or your personal phone?”
“It was a company phone, which also served my personal needs. I saw no reason to have two phones, and it’s handy to have ready access to my work email at all times.”
“Okay, so who would have access to the serial number for your company phone?” he asked.
Rachel shrugged. “Lots of people. Edith, for sure, and probably some of the staff in billing.”
“Do you have an informatics department? Who takes care of interfacing your work email to your phone?”
“We contract with a small company, called Tech Support Inc., and they come in once a month for a day or two to update the computers, scan for problems, that kind of thing.”
He’d never heard of Tech Support Inc. but a quick internet search didn’t reveal anything alarming. “How long have you had a contract with them?”
“For several years,” Rachel responded. “I hardly think they would give out private information like that.”
“They might to someone within your company,” Nick countered. “Say for instance, Karl Errol?”
“Maybe, but I doubt it. Karl is a researcher—wouldn’t they see that as suspicious?”
“Not if he gave them a good reason. Or if he had someone else call, pretending to be you or Edith.” He stared at the timeline for a moment. “I think it’s clear that whoever tracked your cell phone was someone from inside your company, Rachel,” he said slowly. “Not Frankie Caruso.”
* * *
Rachel’s emotions rolled up and down like a yo-yo, and Nick wasn’t helping matters. First Frankie was involved, and then he wasn’t. The kidnapping was related to her failed diabetes medication, and then it wasn’t.
Her head ached and she pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying to ease the pressure. “I’m not sure what to think,” she said finally. “Maybe we should go back to Chicago, see if we can talk to Karl.”
Nick was still entering dates and times into their makeshift chart. “Josie’s suicide is bothering me,” he muttered half to himself. “Would make more sense if it was actually murder staged to look like a suicide.”
That caught her attention. “Why?”
“Because suicide indicates she felt guilty about something,” he explained. “If she was part of the cover-up related to the failed diabetes medication, then okay, I could buy that idea. But if she stumbled onto the truth and intended to come talk to you about it, then I’m more inclined to believe it was murder.”
A chill snaked down Rachel’s spine. “The meeting I was supposed to have with Karl and Josie the day I received the threatening letter and called you—it was set up by Josie. She told me that she had something important to discuss with me and insisted that Karl be there, too.”
“That fits with my homicide theory,” he said. “Do you think Edith knows anything more about what Josie wanted to discuss with you?”
“I doubt it. Edith was more concerned with fitting all the necessary meetings into my schedule. She wouldn’t ask Josie why she wanted to talk to me. If Josie said it was important, then she’d find the time to make it happen.”
Nick grimaced and then turned his attention back to the timeline. She found it hard to concentrate, though, too preoccupied by the idea of her employee possibl
y being murdered.
How Nick worked homicide cases on a regular basis was beyond her comprehension. She admired his strength and his dedication, more than she should.
She glanced over to the sofa and frowned when she didn’t see her son sitting there. For a moment panic set in. “Where’s Joey?”
Nick glanced up in surprise. “He was there a few minutes ago.”
She jumped up from her seat next to Nick. “Joey?” she called, her tone sharper than she intended.
Joey didn’t answer but suddenly there was a loud crash from the direction of the bathroom. Without hesitation, she rushed over. “Joey?” She knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you okay in there?”
“The smell,” she heard Joey whimper. Concerned, she opened the door, grateful there was no lock.
Joey was huddled on the floor, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. The medicine cabinet door was open and it took a minute for the harsh scent of aftershave to register, because she was focused on the smears of blood on the sink. “Joey, what happened?”
“Don’t tell Nick,” he whimpered.
She tried to figure out what happened. “Don’t tell Nick what?”
“I cut myself with the knife,” Joey managed to blurt out between sobs. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want Nick to be disappointed in me.”
Her heart wrenched in her chest, and she knelt beside Joey and pulled him into her arms. “Nick won’t be disappointed in you, sweetie. Let me see the cut.”
He held out his hand, and she could see the slim cut along the pad of his thumb. There was a small bit of blood and she needed to examine the cut to make sure it wasn’t so deep it needed stitches.
“Let’s get that cleaned up, okay?” she suggested calmly.
“I don’t like the smell,” Joey said again.
She frowned and turned on the faucet, sticking his thumb beneath the gently running water. The broken bottle of stinky aftershave was lying on the floor, the liquid seeping into the wooden floor. “What happened, Joey?”
“I was looking for a Band-Aid,” he said, sniffling back his tears. “And I accidently knocked it over.”
“Is everything okay?” Nick asked from the doorway.
Joey’s big green eyes once again filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Nick.”
“Hey now, don’t cry.” Nick sent her a pleading look. “I don’t care about that bottle of aftershave, it was old anyway.”
But Joey shook his head. “No, I’m sorry about the knife,” he said. “I was being careful like you said, but it slipped and I didn’t want you to know I cut myself.”
“I’m not mad at you, Joey, so don’t worry about it, okay?” Nick flashed her son a reassuring smile.
Rachel was glad to see that the cut wasn’t that deep, and she held Joey’s hand under the warm water as she rummaged in the open medicine cabinet. “Do you have any tape and gauze I can use to keep it clean and dry?” she asked.
“We still have Jonah’s first-aid kit in the kitchen,” Nick assured her. She relaxed and nodded, remembering how she’d used it to change the dressing on Nick’s wound.
“All right, let me put a towel or something around his thumb,” she muttered. “Keep your hand in the water, okay?”
Joey nodded and did as she asked, while she searched for something to use. She found an old but clean hand towel in dark brown and figured the bloodstains wouldn’t be too noticeable. “Okay, here, let’s wrap this around your hand.”
Joey sniffled again but allowed her to wrap the towel around his thumb. He turned toward the door, but his foot slipped in the slight puddle on the floor, making him wrinkle his nose in disgust.
She led the way into the kitchen, getting Joey settled in one of the kitchen chairs on the opposite side from where they’d been working on the timeline, while Nick brought over the first-aid kit.
“There’s some triple antibiotic cream in here, too,” he said, handing over the supplies.
“Good thing.” She put a dollop of ointment over the cut and then carefully wrapped it in gauze and tapped it securely in place. “There, how’s that?” she asked when she was finished.
Joey nodded. “Can you make the smell go away?” he asked.
She didn’t quite understand why he was so upset about the smelly aftershave. It actually wasn’t awful, the brand was well-known and obviously had remained popular over the years. She exchanged a perplexed glance at Nick. “Ah, sure, I’ll clean up the bathroom floor, okay?”
“Are you hungry?” she heard Nick ask, as she walked down the hall to clean up the mess in the bathroom. “I can heat up some soup.”
She filled the sink with soapy water and took yet another hand towel and did her best to clean up the spilled aftershave. But even after she finished, the scent still lingered.
There wasn’t much she could do other than try to cut through the scent with a stronger cleaning agent.
She went back into the kitchen and found Nick heating up some chicken noodle soup for Joey. “Do you have any bleach or vinegar?” she asked in a low tone.
He grimaced. “I doubt it, but check in the pantry.”
Calling the rough wooden open shelves a pantry was a bit of a misnomer, and she examined the contents but couldn’t find anything she could use to help eliminate the odor.
“Don’t worry,” Nick said reassuringly. “I’m sure it will fade over time.”
“No!” Joey shouted. “I don’t like the smell! Make it go away!”
She rushed to Joey’s side, wrapping her arms around her son. “Shh, sweetie, it’s okay.”
“Wait,” Nick said, coming over to put a hand on her shoulder. “Does the smell remind you of something, Joey?” he asked.
Realization dawned slowly, and she pulled away just enough to look down at her son’s face. Joey gazed up at her and then looked over at Nick. He didn’t speak, but he slowly nodded his head yes.
Her heart clenched in her chest as the implication sank deep.
“What does the smell remind you of, Joey?” Nick asked gently. “Can you tell me?”
There was a long silence before Joey answered. “The bad man,” he whispered.
“The bad man who put a hood over your head and carried you away after the crash?” Nick asked.
This time, her son shook his head no. “The other bad man. I didn’t see him, but he spoke in a mean voice and he smelled bad. Like the bottle I accidently spilled in the bathroom.”
The second bad man? For a moment Rachel couldn’t move. Could barely comprehend what Joey meant.
Then she raised her head and locked gazes with Nick. And read the truth reflected in his eyes.
Forcing her to acknowledge that Joey had been somewhere near the man who’d arranged the kidnapping. Thinking back, she realized that their initial theory must have been correct. Morales had dumped the black truck shortly after the crash, catching a ride with someone else. The man who’d ordered the kidnapping in the first place.
Which meant her son might be able to recognize the voice of the man who’d masterminded the entire operation.
Once they found him.
THIRTEEN
Nick tore his gaze from Rachel’s when he heard the soup boiling. He rushed to the stove to remove the saucepan from the electric burner. “Soup’s ready,” he said.
Rachel shook her head, as if there was no way she’d be able to eat, but he knew they had to try to keep things normal, for Joey’s sake. He filled several bowls with the steaming soup and carried them over to the table in two trips.
“Try to eat something, Joey,” he urged. “You don’t have to think about the bad man anymore.”
“But I can still smell him,” Joey whined.
“Try the soup, and I’ll clean the floor again,” Rachel murmured.
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“After you eat something,” Nick said, gesturing to the empty seat. She put a hand over her stomach but sat next to her son. He gave Rachel credit for trying, when she leaned over her bowl. “Hmm, smells good.”
Joey leaned over his own soup and took a tentative sniff. The aroma of chicken soup seemed to appease him enough to take a sip. “Tastes good,” he admitted.
Rachel took a sip, too. “Yes, it does.”
They hadn’t prayed, so Nick said a quick, silent prayer of thanks before taking a spoonful of his soup. The three of them sat in companionable silence as they enjoyed the simple meal. When Joey had finished, Rachel pushed away and carried her bowl to the sink. As soon as she’d rinsed her dishes, she returned to the bathroom.
Nick scrubbed a hand along the back of his neck, knowing that no matter how many times Rachel scrubbed the wooden floor, the scent of Wally’s aftershave would linger.
In Joey’s mind more so than in reality.
He quickly washed the dishes, while Joey went back to sit in front of the fire. The sad expression on the child’s face made his heart ache. Sophie’s life had been cut short by the car crash, but she’d always been a happy child. Loved school and had lots of friends. Both he and Becky had doted on their daughter. The thought of Sophie suffering the way Joey had made his chest hurt.
No matter how important this timeline was, he simply couldn’t ignore Joey. Rachel returned to the room, looking dejected as she dropped onto the sofa beside her son.
“Hey, Joey, how would you like me to read the story of Christmas to you from the Bible?” he asked.
“The Bible has the story of Christmas in it?” Joey asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.
Rachel winced and he understood she was feeling guilty that Joey didn’t know the real meaning of Christmas. “Yep, it sure does.”
“Okay.”
Nick picked up the Bible and settled onto the recliner. He opened his mother’s Bible to the Gospel of Luke, Chapter 2 verse 7. “‘And she brought forth her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.