When Fall Fades (The Girl Next Door Series Book 1)

by Simpson, Amy Leigh

  “Nah, I’m good, but thanks.” He sipped the burnt coffee and settled on the corner of the desk. “I have to go down to Festus to question a vet who served under Westwick. You coming?”

  “Heck yeah. We also got a call from one of the vic’s friends, claims he has some information. We could probably stop by there first, it’s on the way.”

  “Sure, but give me a few. I need to run by Jensen’s office since we just tied up the Sullivan case.” Archer gloated with a grin, proud to have closed the hellbender that had been passed around the bureau for years.

  “You solved the Sullivan case!”

  “King me.”

  “Man, that case was a killer. Who did it?”

  “The daughter.”

  “Get out! I thought there wasn’t enough evidence to—”

  Archer held up his hand, glancing at his watch. “I’ve gotta get over there, I’ll fill you in later.”

  His heart rate charged as he hastened to Director Carl Jensen’s office, wondering if there might be more to this meeting than a pat on the back.

  “Come on in,” Jensen called at Archer’s knock, standing as he entered. Rounding to the front of his desk, Jensen leaned against the front edge, crossing his arms and ankles in a choreographed move Archer had seen him execute many times. “Heard it was you who solved the Sullivan case.” He tipped his chin up to gain an edge on Archer’s towering stature. The florescent light cast a hard glint off the shiny surface of Jensen’s bald head.

  Archer gave a tight nod. “I couldn’t have done it without the team, sir.”

  Jensen had a likeness to Ed Harris the actor, but with a faint marring of acne scars on his angular cheeks and thick neck. His scrutinizing gaze bore into Archer and finally concluded with a sharp smile. “Wanted to be the first to congratulate you. The Special Agent in Charge position … all yours, Hayes.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “No one keeps their head in the game like you do. You’ve earned it.” Jensen extended his hand.

  “Thank you, sir.” Archer’s attempt at composure failed when his handshake took an erratic turn, syncing with his racing heart.

  “We’ve got a couple big cases coming in on the white collar division if you want to get out of the trenches of serial and homicide for a while. I understand you’ve been heading up the Westwick investigation—what little there is of it. I’m sure you could pass it on to one of the newer guys, Salivas or Thorton could probably handle it. Or you could send it back down to the local PD?”

  “If it’s all the same to you sir, I’d like to see it through.”

  “Suit yourself. But don’t make a mess of it. Media’s trying to play up our involvement, you know how they get when they start digging for scraps. I don’t need to tell you how important it is to do this one by the book. I’d hate for anyone to question your new position of authority.”

  Archer nodded, hearing the not so thinly veiled threat loud and clear, and let himself out. His first inclination was to pump his fist in celebration for nabbing the highly coveted promotion. But then he thought about Jensen’s warning for the Westwick case. Thought about the feisty and deliciously curvy temptation that was Sadie Carson.

  He shut down the very not-by-the-book vision that came to mind. Done. It wouldn’t be a problem.

  Not for the new Special Agent in Charge.

  “Saw Jessica Rabbit in your office this morning.”

  Archer groaned, rolling his eyes.

  Sal chuckled. “You need to just put that poor girl out of her misery and ask her out.”

  “No chance, man.”

  “Anyone with eyes can see the girl’s obviously into you. A girl that looks like that …” Sal whistled. “Gotta be good for the ego, bro. Why not take her on a date, see how it goes? It’s not like you’re seeing someone else, are you?”

  Archer gritted his teeth against the same image of Sadie invading his mind yet again. Maybe not just an image, a fantasy. The sound of her laughter. That playful glint in her gemstone eyes. Her sharp wit. Her unpolished charm. It all combined and struck him like a virtual stun gun to his senses. When he let it spiral further, he could imagine her pressed against him, his lips painting the silky skin of her neck. He tightened his fist on the steering wheel. The woman was a virus. And not one of those innocent two-day bugs.

  If he were a different kind of man, he’d be crazy not to have asked her out by now. As much as she was volatile and irritating, she was also mysterious. Intriguing. In other words, irresistible to an investigator.

  Archer was yanked out of his thoughts when he swerved, the car next to him honking in response to his jog into their lane. This was exactly why he didn’t need a woman in his life. Too distracting. Not to mention it was against the rules. Okay, maybe not exactly. She was no longer a suspect, but it was still a gray area. Archer didn’t mess with anything but black or white. And this case, as Jensen said, needed to be by the book.

  An excellent reminder of why he needed to avoid all things Sadie Carson. Thoughts included. Hadn’t he already decided he was done there?

  “No, I’m not seeing anyone else. But I’m one hundred percent not interested in Cara Mackenzie. Besides I’m not big on casual relationships.” Relationships, period.

  “I’ve noticed. But dude, you do need to get out more. All you do is work.” Sal shook his head. “It ain’t right.”

  “Well, that’s certainly not gonna change anytime soon now that I’m the new SAC.” Archer grin came without effort. He glanced over at a slack-jawed Sal out of the corner of his eye.

  “Shut. Up.”

  Archer chuckled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Man, congratulations! That’s awesome.”

  Archer smiled to himself and silently relished having someone to celebrate with. When he’d received the news from Jensen he realized he couldn’t think of a single person to call with the good news. He’d missed another call from his mom today, but she wouldn’t know what he was talking about anyway. He could just tell her another time, when he wasn’t so busy.

  They ascended the steep driveway of Charlie’s friend’s sprawling stone ranch. “What’s this guy’s name again?”

  Sal riffled through his notebook. “Uhhh … Here it is, Al Wexler, eighty-nine, widower, retired engineer, worked for Boeing with the vic during the seventies.”

  As they approached the front door, Archer noticed the curtains shift back into place. After he knocked he heard a thin, gravelly voice. “Who’s there?”

  “Mr. Wexler, FBI, we have a few questions about Charles Westwick.” Archer paused. “I understand you called with information about Charlie. We’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”

  The door moaned, easing open a few scant inches. The chain stretched across the narrow space revealing a sliver of the old man’s face. “May I see your identification please, you can never be too careful.”

  Flashing their badges, Archer provided introductions and they were granted access to Al Wexler’s home. The house was nice, maybe a little outdated with the burgundy plaid sofas and numerous mallard statues. And the stuffed and mounted deer heads on the far wall didn’t do much for him, but otherwise, it was spacious and tidy. Although something in the air hinted at tuna fish, and not in a good way. Al offered them a seat and shuffled to an adjacent chair.

  “Mr. Wexler, as I’m sure you heard on the news, we are investigating the murder of your friend. We were wondering if you had any information about who might want to harm Charles.”

  “Well, I don’t know who, but I do have some information that might be helpful.”

  Archer and Sal waited for him to continue, everything about the man progressed at a painfully slow pace.

  “Well, Charlie was secretive about a lot of things. And I know you all are thinkin’ h
e was a bit of a nut, but if you knew him, you’d trust that if he was paranoid, it was for good reason.” Al’s tired, hazel eyes glazed over with unshed tears.

  “I remember, we were working on a new design for an aircraft, when was it … seventy-three or so, and Charlie got real up in arms about a drafting error in the real early pre-production stage. I mean he really got worked up about it. So, I asked about it later when he’d cooled off and was done yellin’ at me and the rest of the team, and I’ll never forget the look on his face when he said, ‘Al, sometimes it’s the tiniest mistake that has the biggest consequences. And even if you catch it, you still can’t save ’em.’”

  Al sighed and slowly shook his head. “I sure as heck didn’t know what he was talking about, but he always got that same faraway look in his eye when he talked about the war. He told me to come clean about everything I could and live a life without regrets.”

  “Did he ever tell you anything else about his time in the service?” Archer leaned forward on the sofa, the spring beneath him letting out a squeal.

  “Never. And I asked too. Always was curious about what made that man tick.” Al reeled in and released a flimsy breath. “Other thing I wanted to tell you was the year before he retired, that was let’s see … eighty-seven, he received a threatening letter at work. He was acting real strange after I saw him read it, so I snuck a peek at it when he left for lunch that day.

  “It was from the son of some guy that served in the battalion with Charlie, harassing him about dishonoring his father, driving him underground—said Charlie had it coming. It also said something about blaming Charlie for his father’s attempted suicide. That’s all I can remember, but it was a very disturbing rant about justice and punishment. I didn’t get to finish the whole thing because Charlie came back early. But after that he was a little squirrely for a while, you know, like scurrying around trying to watch out for coons while balancing all them nuts.”

  “We will, ah, definitely look into that letter.” Archer caught a glance of a stuffed raccoon on the table beside Wexler and forced his lips into a firm line. “Is there anything else you can think of Mr. Wexler? Did he have any other enemies?”

  Al’s sluggish fingers scratched his head, trilling as he brought his hand back down to rest on the handle of his quad cane. “Well, sure there’s always Joe at bingo. Said if Charlie kept winning every week, he was gonna have to bump him off!”

  Archer stifled a laugh, but Sal let one slip—attempted to cover it by merging the chuckle into a hacking cough. Pressing his fist to his chest, Sal cleared his throat. “We’ll look into that too, just to be safe.”

  “Thank you, young man. You never can be too careful, you know.” Al repositioned his legs, white-knuckled his cane, and hoisted himself out of his chair. “That’s all I’ve got for you boys. Hope it helps you catch whoever killed Charlie. He was one heck of a good man.” Al gave a sad, quivering smile before shuffling to escort them out.

  As Archer neared the door he noticed one of about a dozen framed photos on a buffet table—a photo of the Wexlers and the Westwicks with raised glasses at what appeared to be a holiday work party from the seventies.

  What caught Archer’s attention, other than the awful polyester suits, was the man in the background glaring with blatant disdain amid the frivolity. The photo quality was poor, but the hatred displayed was unquestionable. Archer grabbed the frame and addressed Al about the identity of the glaring man.

  “That sour man worked with us for two long years. Him and Charlie butted heads about every little detail. What was his name? Frank something?” Al continued to ponder for a frustrated minute. “I’m sorry son, my mind is not what it used to be. See how much you remember when you’re almost ninety years old.”

  “Not a problem. Would you mind if I snap a picture of this photo?”

  “Whatever helps.” Al waited while Archer returned the photo to the frame and then slowly ushered them out.

  “So what are you thinkin’?” Sal shoved a stick of gum into his mouth, then another, and another, and started chewing with vigor. “Does your mouth taste like tuna? I think that smell may have soaked into my taste buds. Ack!”

  Archer leaned back in his seat, smirking at his partner, and settled in for the long drive to question Roger Halwell, Charlie’s apprentice from the battalion. “Tuna aside, I’m thinking we’ve at least got a few leads. And hopefully Halwell will know what happened during the war that haunted Charlie all these years. Now gimme a piece of that gum.”

  After an hour of driving around in circles looking for the elusive Manor Village Retirement Community, they pulled in to Shady Village Retirement Community.

  Archer shot Sal a perturbed glare.

  “What? It was an honest mistake. I must have put it into the system wrong. You navigate next time.” Sal stabbed at the seatbelt button and struggled against the tangling restraint before extricating himself and slamming the car door.

  “A bit touchy are we?” Archer smiled, amused by Sal’s flailing overreaction.

  Sal brushed him off and knocked on the door of the duplex-styled home. He waited, knocked again.

  “Excuse me.” They turned their attention to an elderly lady next door who seemed to be having trouble locking up. “Are you looking for Roger?”

  Archer walked over with a casual grin. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Special Agent Archer Hayes with the FBI.” He flashed his badge for her comfort. “Do you know where we might be able to find Roger Halwell?”

  Worry nearly merged her overly penciled-in eyebrows, and before she could ask Archer added. “There’s no trouble, we are just looking for some information about someone he knew.”

  She mouthed an “Oh” and her wrinkles relaxed. “Roger’s always at the community center near the front entrance for dinner about this time a day.”

  Archer glanced at his watch. Three thirty. He tamed a smirk. “Thank you very much, you’ve been quite helpful.” He gestured to her door, held out his hand and accepted her keys. In one swift motion he set the lock and he returned the massive bundle to her palm.

  She blushed and fanned her face. “Thank you, young man. Nice to know chivalry isn’t dead.”

  A few minutes later Archer and Sal surveyed the crowd awaiting dinner in the dining hall, asking a hairnet-clad employee where they might be able to find Roger.

  “Mr. Halwell is usually the first one in line for supper, but I haven’t seen him today. You might want to check with Kim, she’s the head of the nursing staff. She could probably track him down for you.”

  Archer thanked her before he and Sal continued their wild goose chase to locate Roger Halwell.

  “It’s kinda crazy that these guys served together decades ago, halfway across the world and ended up living in basically the same town.” Sal’s thoughts mimicked his own while they wandered the halls of the community center.

  Then Sal threw a curve ball. “You keep in touch with any of your old army buddies, Hayes?”

  For the second time today Archer’s mind returned to the final image of Jimmy. A sinking feeling settled in his gut, then twisted with the stab of loss and regret and everything ugly about war.

  Jimmy had taken the last of Archer’s ability to care about someone else with him to his grave. It wasn’t right but Archer resented Jimmy for that. Hated how it smeared the memory of his once vivacious friend turned fallen soldier. Caring was a luxury Archer couldn’t afford. It was as if isolation had become his armor. And for the first time in a long time he truly wished he could change.

  Archer continued walking without looking back. “No Sal, none of them are left but me.”

  Chapter 10

  Sadie Carson

  Sadie came awake with a muffled gasp into her pillow. The sheets stuck like wet papier-mâché to her clammy skin. Her heart pounded painfully against the sweat-soaked mat
tress. She propped onto her elbows, head in her hands, pushing deep breaths through her quivering lungs. The dream curled in on itself, the living embers crumbling to ashes as she fought to unfold the picture now lost in a reality too painful to touch.

  Her body eventually calmed but glimpses of Ryan looped in her mind like miles on a treadmill. A cloak of darkness still hung in the room. Four forty-seven glowed from the alarm clock.

  “Is this some sort of test? Is that it?” She lamented, dropping her face back into her pillow to blot her tears.

  She tossed and turned for another restless hour, thinking about the dreams, about Ryan, about a future that never happened. Reconciling that things don’t always turn out as planned, she had changed, adapted, set a new course for her life. But if that were true, why was it still so difficult to move on? Maybe she was still holding on to the hope that things might turn out differently and that just maybe things aren’t always what they seem.

  Sadie awoke for the second time, unaware that she’d fallen back asleep after the early morning wrestling match with herself. The sudden reflux of dreams kept tearing open painfully beautiful memories she’d thought she’d boxed up long ago. Why now? Did they mean anything?

  And why did she keep feeling this odd sense of betrayal when the day settled in and she found her thoughts drifting to one infuriatingly gorgeous FBI agent.

  After her usual morning routine, she received a call from Charlie’s son and started planning the memorial service for the coming weekend—speaking with a few friends to help get the word out before she got to work organizing the service.

  So far she intended to play an arrangement of some of Charlie’s favorite old tunes in the background while people were milling around. She’d also contacted a florist and ordered several large bouquets of white tulips, his wife Catherine’s favorites.