by Bishop, Ally
I’ve never considered myself tall, but next to her, I feel gargantuan. I look down and nod. “I know. And Noah wasn’t doing what he should’ve been. But he didn’t steal anything.”
She presses her lips together, but opens the door. “I’ll probably have something for you by Monday night or Tuesday.”
When I’m finally back on the street, I take a deep breath, trying to excise the memories that have returned. All I want is to forget that year, but something always comes up to remind me.
I text Lux, but tell her to take her time. There’s a small coffee shop down the block, but it’s the kind from yesteryear that serves breakfast and lunch, wouldn’t know a latte from a cappuccino, and stays open only until five for commuters. I order a coffee and try to rationalize the pressure enveloping my chest.
I can ignore all the signs, but my heart knows: I’m falling for Ian. He’s kind, thoughtful, interesting, insightful…everything I’ve always desired in a man. Not to mention, he’s gorgeous. But this…will ruin everything. Who would date a woman when he suspects her brother stole from him? Worse yet, if I don’t tell him about Noah’s past, Ian will never trust me again. But I can’t tell him right now. I have to prove that Noah didn’t do it, first. And not just to save any chance Ian and I might have.
I have to prove it to myself.
Honestly, there’s a lot about my brother I won’t deny: his womanizing in order to avoid dealing with his fear of intimacy; his tendency to put off addressing serious stuff in favor of a good time; the part of him that never really grew up after college and still wants to spend any non-working time bar hopping. I get all that, and I won’t lie about it.
But he’s not a thief. I have to believe that.
CHAPTER 16
WHEREIN THERE BE WOES
I spin my mother’s ring around my knuckle, lost in thought, when Lux appears across from me.
“Earth to Ella.” Her smoky grey eyes peer closely at me. “You still with me?”
“Yeah, sorry. Lost on a story idea.” When did I become such a good liar? But she doesn’t question it and flags down the server to order her own mug of coffee and a muffin.
“You know, as much as I adore my friend Cheri, I’m not crazy about her manicures.” She holds out her hands to me, displaying bright red nails. “She’s okay, but I’ll stick with my regular girl.”
“We just had manicures on Friday! You got another one?” At her sheepish smile, I shake my head. “And I thought you went to see a friend.”
“She is a friend. She’s also a manicurist.” She accepts the coffee from the server with a small smile.
“You totally use her for free manicures,” I tease, trying to inject some humor into the otherwise dour day.
Lux grins, but shakes her head. “Please. If you knew all the family misery I have to listen to just to get my nails done, you’d think she should be paying me. Felt like I was working. I’m telling you—half my job is playing therapist.”
I ponder that for a moment. “I bet it is. You are probably one of the few people in most of your clients’ lives who knows their darkest secrets.”
She leans back, her leather jacket serving only to enhance her curves, rather than cover them up. “Very true. I’m amazed at the things people will confess to me that have nothing to do with their sexual desires, and everything to do with their emotional issues. Don’t get me wrong—I have perfectly healthy clients who enjoy something their spouse or partner can’t or won’t offer. But I’ve had plenty who can’t be honest with the people in their lives. Always makes me a bit sad, truthfully.” She leans her head back against the booth, her eyes closing.
And the hole in my chest widens. “Can I be one of them?”
“Say what?” She opens one eye.
“Can I be one of your therapy clients?”
“Why? What’s wrong?” She sits up straight.
“I’m fine. But I need to tell you a story.”
So I do.
The call came around two in the morning, as they always do.
“Ells, it’s me. I need you to come get me. Don’t tell Grams, okay?”
Unfortunately, when Noah was charged, he’d been an adult. I scraped enough money together to bail him out the next day—one benefit to working during and after high school was having a savings account.
“I didn’t do it, Ells. I swear I didn’t,” Noah said quietly when I picked him up in my beat-up Ford.
“That’s what they all say, Noah.” The heat of the morning made my truck feel like a sauna, and I leaned my head against the cool glass of the driver’s side window. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
He knew I was mad. I rarely used bad language.
“Adam said we were just selling off shit that his brother found or was given by friends. It was no big deal.”
The morning traffic had thinned, but we still sat in bumper-to-bumper gridlock at lights. “Seriously? A brand new Bose surround sound system? That didn’t tip you off?”
He hung his head, but not before I saw the humiliation in his eyes.
It was my fault. At least, in part. I’d babied Noah, given him everything over the years. If he wanted something, I bought it. I’d been mother and father to Noah since our parents died. He’d always been the sensitive kid, bullied by classmates for his interests in theater. But he’d also been the handsome guy who couldn’t quite fit, which often marked him as a rebel. As a result, he hung out with older kids, the kind that didn’t go to college right away and whose parents let them live at home without rent. It became a status thing, and while I was concerned, Noah always insisted they just had beers and watched movies.
Yeah, right.
“Did they find Adam? Or Hunter?”
He looked out the window. “No. Not yet.”
Of course, they eventually did. All three were charged, though Noah got a deal: no time served and probation for one year, as he was a first-time offender and witness against Adam and Hunter. I made him agree to it, though he fought me, saying he’d never be a snitch.
But the charge was still felony theft and conspiracy. That wasn’t going away.
Lux runs a hand through her dark curls, pulling on the long ponytail that hangs over her shoulder. “Yikes. I knew about the charge, by the way. Noah told me that when we were in college.”
“When you were drunk?”
She grins. “Of course. When weren’t we drunk? But I didn’t—and don’t—care. You’re right. He’s not a thief. I can’t see him actually stealing anything, and if the situation was as he told you, he didn’t. Besides, he’s had access to my wallet and credit cards any time we go out; not to mention, all the women he sleeps with? You better believe he’d be able to bilk them out of some cash. And no one’s ever come back on him. I just don’t see it.”
Her confidence makes me feel better, though it doesn’t solve anything at the moment. “Thanks. Now I’m just hopeful Fiona can figure something out.”
“She will. She’s been a friend of mine for a while.”
“How did you meet her?”
Lux shakes her head. “That’s a very long story, and we’ve got enough on our emotional plates for one day. Hell, not even Noah knows that story. We’ll save that for another time when we’re all present and can drink our way through it.” She reaches for my hand, squeezing my cold fingers. “You going to talk to Ian about all of this?”
I shake my head. “No, I can’t face him. Not until I have something to tell him. I’ll wait until I hear from Fiona.”
She peers at her nails again, then seems to come to a decision. “Fine. Then come back to my place so I can put some glitter polish on my nails, and maybe Evan can bring us wine and cheese.”
“I’d go for beer and Doritos, instead.” I offer a small smile. “I’ll try to call the actors while your nails dry.” When we stand, Lux reaches over and pulls me into a hug.
“This is all going to work out, sweetie. It always does.”
I nod against her shoulder, f
ighting the tears that threaten.
“And look,” she holds me away from her, looking into my eyes, “if he’s half the man you think he is, he’d never give you up over something that wasn’t your fault.”
“What if I’m just a woman he screws? It’s only been a week or so—”
She presses her finger to my mouth. “Doesn’t matter. When you know, you know.” A shadow passes over her gaze, but she shakes it off. “And he’s crazy if he lets a gorgeous, brilliant, ambitious woman like you get away.”
So with that, I let her guide me back to her place, where we drink too much and get daring with nail polish.
Noah’s sound asleep by the time I get home. I can see evidence of his waking in the kitchen, where there are several glasses in the sink, but from what I can tell, he hasn’t eaten much. I peek in on him and check his forehead like I used to do when we were kids. He’s still running a fever, but for the moment, it’s mild, and he seems lost to the world. I tuck the blankets around him, straighten his nightstand, and refresh his glass of water, then let him sleep.
My own room offers minimal comfort against the maelstrom of worries in my head. I take a shower, relishing the pounding hot water and trying ignore the fearful whispers in the back of my mind.
Once I snuggle down in bed, I reach for my book, hoping to drown my thoughts in suspense and romance, but it’s no use. I check my phone, hoping for a text message from Ian. Then I remember that I turned it off the second I got home. There’d been a text message on the screen, but I’d looked away, refusing to read it when I felt so powerless and low. My finger hovers over the power button, but I drop the phone on my nightstand and decide to do something I don’t normally do. I trudge to the bathroom and dig out the sleeping pills I bought for Noah a few months ago when he was having trouble sleeping. They’re the non-habit forming kind, but I still eschew taking anything like this. But I swallow a dose, ignore my annoyance over my need for them, and try to fall asleep.
CHAPTER 17
S.O.S.
Some days, things go from bad to worse.
Help. Again.
Lux calls minutes later. “What’s up?”
“I sent Noah to the clinic up the street. He’s got a raging fever, and I think he actually has the flu, and not just a bug. We’ve got two parties this week, I’ve got to call in understudies because of Noah, question all of my actors about the theft at Ian’s, contact Ian about his guest list, finalize the details of two parties back-to-back this week, return invoice estimates to four new clients—”
“I’m in. Let me email you my free time this week, and you let me know where you need me.”
I nearly sob with relief. “Thank you. Seriously.”
“Mwah. Any word from Ian?”
I don’t say anything right away. I turned my phone on this morning, but silenced the ringer and didn’t look at the screen. “I don’t know.”
She blows out a breath, and I can practically feel her pity. “Sweetie, you can’t hide from him. If he’s as good a man as you believe him to be, he doesn’t blame you for this. If he’s otherwise…well, better to find out now.”
I nod, more for myself than for her since we’re on the phone. “I know you’re right. I just don’t want to face it if he thinks this is all my fault.”
“Check now. I’ll stay on the line.”
I groan but pick up my cell. He’s texted me four times.
Yesterday afternoon: Hey, just checking in to see how you are doing. Call me tonight?
At midnight: Ella, I’m worried about you. I don’t want you to blame yourself for all of this. Let’s talk in the morning?
This morning: I’m down at Just Call Me Joe.
Just a few minutes ago: I’m getting the impression you don’t want to talk to me. I’m going to be here for a few more minutes. I hope you’ll change your mind.
“Oh God.”
“I knew it. What did he say?”
I relay the texts to her. “What do I do?”
“Um, hello, get your ass down there. The man loves you, Ella. No guy is that desperate for a woman he sees as just a fuck. Throw on some clothes and go get coffee.”
We hang up, but even her command doesn’t get me moving right away. I stare at his messages, fear coursing through me. What if I’m wrong about everything?
My phone rings in my hand.
“I’m dying.”
“I highly doubt that, Noah. What do you need?”
“Can you get my medicine? I just want to come home and go back to bed.”
“That’s fine. Come home. I’ll head up and get it in a few.” Because I don’t have anything else to do, I grumble inwardly, but it’s not like I can blame him. He sounds terrible. “Do you want me to call you a cab?” It’s only a couple of blocks, but that can seem like miles when you feel crappy.
“You’re the best sister ever.”
“Yeah, yeah. Hold tight. I’ll make the call.”
After I order him a cab, I grab my wallet and head out the door. The universe is pushing me to make a decision, I guess.
Just Call Me Joe is packed, which isn’t surprising. It’s nearly nine, and this place is always jumping with the rush hour crew. I gaze longingly at my favorite table, which is currently inhabited with headphone-wearing hipsters and their laptops. I stare daggers at their oblivious heads as I pass. Oh, for a normal day instead of the mess I’m in.
Ian sits on the massive couch in the upstairs lounge, his iPad propped on his knee.
“Hey,” I say softly when I’m close enough to smell the faint citrusy scent of his aftershave.
When he looks up, his relief is obvious. I barely have time to register him standing before his mouth is on mine. The urgency of the kiss piques my own barely contained anxiety, and I clutch his shoulders to pull him in even closer.
Breathless, he rests his forehead against mine. “Here you are.”
“Here I am.” My voice cracks over the words. “What are you doing here?” I ask as though I don’t know the answer.
“You mentioned they have the best organic dark roast ever. Figured I needed to try it.” His thumb strokes my neck. “That client I met with last week—we needed to go over some notes this morning, and you spoke so highly of this place…”
He didn’t come here for me. That’s the first thought that pops into my head, and even though it’s irrational—I read his texts—it’s all I can focus on.
I step out of his arms gently, reaching for his hands instead. “I need a favor, for the private investigator.” If you ever need a buzzkill, there’s the phrase for it.
He looks a bit wounded, but he nods. “Sure.”
“I need a list of all the guests who were at your party Saturday night. She’s checking backgrounds and doing a little a digging, to see if there’s any logical place to start.” Other than Noah.
“Of course. I can do that right now.”
“Great. Thank you.” I check my phone, more for something to do than actual need. “I have to get going. Noah’s really sick.”
Ian tightens his grip on my hands. “What’s wrong with him? Will he be okay?”
“The flu maybe? That’s my guess. I’m sure he’ll be fine, but the doctor called in a prescription—I have to pick it up.”
Ian looks at me, his eyes holding mine. “I can walk with you.”
I waver, wanting nothing more than to pretend that everything is okay, that I wouldn’t love to feel him beside me, to take his hand easily like I did in Greenwich. I want to go back to Saturday and pay more attention. “I should get going. I have a lot to do today, and I’m sure you do, too. I’ll call you as soon as I hear something from the private investigator.”
When he nods and releases my hands, I feel even worse. There’s a gaping hole where I just punched him.
“I’ll email you the list.”
We stand there for a moment, as awkward as strangers standing too close. I reach up and press a kiss to his cheek. Then I turn and hurry out, desperate for
the damp chill of the street.
With Noah bedded down for the day, I turn my attention to the actors I tried to call yesterday. Only one answered their phone, and she couldn’t remember seeing the framed book at all. I try the other actors, as well as the band members. I do my best to make it sound like we’re just nailing down timing, not that we think they had anything to do with it. But the bulk of my conversations are spent assuring them of that. Only one of the actors has anything helpful to offer.
“Yeah, I remember it. Shit, my brother would kill for that issue.” I can practically see Justin stroking his goatee.
“Do you remember if it was there when you went back up to change?”
He’s silent for several moments. “You know, I think it was. I remember throwing my coat in the bag and saying something to Noah about it. But yeah, I think it was there when I went back downstairs.”
A thrill quickens my heartbeat. “Do you recall if Noah went downstairs before you did?”
“Oh, yeah, I followed him down. ‘Course, there were two more bags upstairs when I left, so someone had to take them down, right?”
Shit. “Right.” I go over his memory of the evening one more time, but there’s nothing else helpful. I thank him, reassure him that he’s clear of blame, and remind him that he’s working for us twice this week.
This is pointless. These actors are like family to us. We’ve known two of them ever since the beginning of Elementary. There’s no way they did this.
But then, who did? It’s not like Mick Jeffries needs to take something he could afford to buy a thousand of tomorrow. Everyone else there was friends with Ian. Of course, that meant there was a high likelihood that they knew about the book, too. But would they steal from him?
Hell, I’m a mystery writer. I make whole plot arcs out of coincidence. Could a stranger have snuck in during the party, stolen the book, and snuck out? Didn’t he have a housekeeper? Possible guilty parties swirl in my head.