If I Didn't Know Better

by Barbara Freethy

  "You took him by surprise. When you called and said you were coming to town and you wanted to talk to him, he had an anxiety attack. He slipped up, took a drink, and then he couldn't stop. He felt bad about what he said to you. He felt even worse for falling off the wagon."

  "What wagon? When has he ever been on the wagon?"

  "He's been sober for five years, Jeremy. I should know; I'm his sponsor."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Just what I said. He stopped drinking five years ago. He hadn't had a drop to drink until last week. I think he was afraid to see you when he was sober. Then he'd have to deal with actual conversation, maybe admit he'd screwed up with you. I wish in a way that you'd surprised him, just shown up. Knowing you were on your way to see him just set him off. He panicked."

  Jeremy stared at Hal in disbelief. He could not wrap his head around the idea that his father had quit drinking five years ago. "You seriously want me to believe he stopped drinking completely five years ago? Why? Why would he do that?"

  "He crashed his car into a tree. He woke up injured and sick and finally realized how low he'd sunk. I took him from the hospital to rehab. He came back to town a month later and he's been on track ever since."

  "So it's my fault he slipped up, something else for him to blame me for," he said bitterly.

  "He doesn't blame you; he blames himself." Hal paused. "I know you think this isn't your problem, and I can't say that it is, but your father has tried to change, and I wanted you to know that. He would love to get to know his granddaughter."

  "I can't have him around Ashlyn."

  "You can make sure it's a good experience. He's back on track, Jeremy. He's going to meetings every day. He's trying. This is a pivotal moment for him. He needs you to give him a second chance."

  "A second chance? He's on about twenty now."

  "Then let's call it twenty-one. If you can't do it for yourself, do it for your daughter. She has a grandfather, and from what I hear she doesn't have much else in the way of family. Neither do you. I don't think it's too late for you to fix this relationship."

  "That would take a miracle."

  Hal smiled. "We are in Angel's Bay, a place where miracles happen."

  "Not any that I've seen."

  "There's still time."

  Jeremy shook his head. "I know you're my father's friend, and you want to help him, but I have to protect my daughter. If he wants to change things, it's on him. If he can show me he's sober for more than a few days, maybe I'd consider talking to him again, but I can't make any promises."

  "All right. I had to try. Good luck, Jeremy." He got up and gave his seat to Barton.

  As Barton sat down, he said, "I was going to rescue you, but I didn't want to get in the middle of that conversation. It sounded heavy."

  "I don't blame you," Jeremy said, sipping his coffee. "Hal says my father got sober five years ago, that he didn't fall off the wagon until I came back to town. He wants me to give him another chance."

  "What is it with people needing a million chances?" Barton asked, no sympathy in his voice. "Your dad is an asshole. Sorry, but that's the truth. If he wants to change things, he should stop being an asshole."

  "That's what I told Hal." He appreciated that Barton actually saw the relationship the way he saw it.

  "In fact, I think you should leave this town and move to Los Angeles. I talked to Jeff Kinsey again this morning. He wants a meeting with you. He's ready to pay you more money than you ever dreamed of and let you call your own shots. If you need time to be with your kid, he'll wait until you're ready. It's the perfect job for you, Jeremy."

  "Is it? Private military contractors are more about profit than patriotism. We've both seen that."

  "It doesn't have to be one or the other. Kinsey is an honorable guy. You like him. You know him."

  That was true, and if he was going to go into private security, Kinsey would probably be the best choice. He just didn't know if he wanted to make that move. "I told you I'd think about it. That's all I can give you right now."

  "What else will you do? Your future won't be in Delta, Jeremy. You know that. Your shoulder will never be able to handle the demands of our job. And even if it could, you've got a kid now. You can't leave her with an hour's notice."

  "You're not telling me anything I don't know. Just give me some time. I've got a lot on my plate."

  "All right, I'll back off," Barton said, putting up his hand in surrender. "So on another note, what's happening with you and the hot blonde next door?"

  "Nothing," he said, but the word didn't come out as convincingly as he would have wanted.

  Barton gave him a knowing smile. "Yeah, right. You're into her. Have you slept with her yet?"

  "That's none of your business."

  "I'll take that as a yes. And I'm happy for you."

  "Don't read anything into it. She's leaving in a few weeks, just as soon as she finishes cleaning out her aunt's house."

  "Leaving in a few weeks makes her the perfect woman in my book. Are you taking her out tonight?"

  "We haven't made plans. I'm thinking about taking Ashlyn to the movie in the park."

  Barton smiled. "They still have those? Man, this place never changes. It is as hokey a small town as any you'll ever find."

  Jeremy had always thought so, too, until recently. "You should come."

  "I have no interest in that, and, even if I did, I have my mother's birthday party tonight. It's her sixty-fifth, and the entire family is coming, so I have to be there. She told me she'd leave me out of the will if I didn't make it. Not that she has any money to leave me," he joked.

  Jeremy smiled. Barton was as far from a mama's boy as anyone he'd ever met, but if there was one person who could make him do something he didn't want to do, it was his mother. "Wish her well for me."

  "I will, but if you stick around here, you should go by and see her. She always thought of you as her extra kid."

  "I always thought of her as my second mom."

  "Maybe you should take Mia to the movies."

  "She's got her hands full with the house and some other issues."

  Barton nodded. "I ran into Kent earlier; he said someone broke into her studio yesterday and made a huge mess."

  "It's bad," Jeremy acknowledged. "I hope Kent can find out who did it."

  "He doesn't seem to have much hope of that." Barton paused. "You know this is exactly the kind of crime you'd be handling if you became a cop here. Small-town vandalism would be the highlight of a boring day."

  Jeremy grinned and shook his head. "You never give up."

  "Not when I want something."

  "You don't need me to join Kinsey's operation."

  "We've always been a good team. We watch each other's back. That's why I want to work with you."

  "I can't believe you really want to leave Delta. It was your dream as much as mine."

  "I'm tired of following orders, and I want the money. I've earned it. So have you." Barton shoved back his chair. "But I'll let you think about it. Just don't think too long. I'm driving down to LA on Monday. You and Ashlyn should come with me. We'll get a hotel with a pool. Maybe your beautiful blonde would like to join us. She can watch Ashlyn and tan by the pool while we take care of a little business."

  As much as the idea of seeing Mia in a bikini by a hotel pool was enticing, he doubted she'd go along with Barton's plan, but all he said was, "We'll talk before Monday." Then he stood up and followed Barton outside. They said good-bye in the parking lot. Jeremy was about to head to his car when he saw his father's boat bobbing in its harbor slip. He debated for a long minute and then changed directions.

  He could not believe what he was about to do…

  Sixteen

  "Jeremy," his father said warily as he boarded the boat a few minutes later. "What are you doing here?"

  His father's face was ruddy from the wind and the sun, but Jeremy saw the lines of age around his eyes and mouth, reminders tha
t time kept passing. Was Hal right? Was it time to let the past go? Try to start over?

  "I came to talk to you," he said briskly. "The other day when you saw me in the café, you scared my daughter. I don't care how you talk to me, but I won't let you intimidate her."

  "I just asked why she didn't have your last name."

  "Because I wasn't around when she was born. I told you that last week. Her mother named me on the birth certificate but gave Ashlyn her name. The social worker tracked me down after Ashlyn's mother Justine was killed in a robbery. My daughter was traumatized by her mother's death and by the arrival of a father she'd never heard about. I brought her to Angel's Bay because she needed to be in a place where she would feel safe, where she could heal. She's having a rough time getting past everything that happened, but I'm finally starting to see some progress. I can't let you set that back. We're going to run into each other; it's inevitable in this town. We need to come to an understanding."

  His father stared back at him for a long minute. "I'm sorry, Jeremy."

  He had to admit he was a little shocked to hear those words come out of his father's mouth. He didn't know if his father was apologizing for his words at the café, for being drunk last week or for a lifetime of sins, but maybe it was just enough to know that his dad felt some regret for something.

  "All right," he said. "Look, we don't have to talk about the past. It's long over, but we need to come to an agreement about the present. I don't know how long I'll be here, but while I'm here, I'd rather not have any problems between us, at least not in front of my daughter."

  "My granddaughter," his father reminded him.

  He stared back at him. "If you want to be her grandfather, you're going to have to show me I can trust you not to be drunk around her, and you sure as hell can't ever talk to her the way you talk to me. I won't stand for that."

  His father's lips tightened. "You should have more respect for me. I am your father. I provided for you."

  "You did put a roof over my head, and I did have food to eat, that's true, but we both know you checked out after Mom died."

  "I was destroyed by her death, Jeremy. I know I didn't do right by you. It was all I could do to get through the day."

  "You weren't suffering alone."

  "I know," his dad admitted. "You were hurting, too. I know you probably won't care, but I quit drinking five years ago. I was sober until a few days ago when you called me and said you were coming by. I didn't know what you wanted to talk to me about, so I had a few drinks to calm myself down. I went back to AA the next day. It's a daily struggle, but I'll get back on track again. I know you can't forgive me, and I probably wouldn't forgive myself if I was in your shoes, but I do want you to know I'm sorry." He took a breath. "Your mom made me feel sane. She helped me fit into the world. I didn't know who I was before I met her, and I didn't know who I was afterwards. I guess I'm still trying to figure that out."

  Jeremy swallowed hard, emotion putting a knot in his throat. He really hadn't thought he needed to have this kind of conversation with his father, but it was surprisingly good. Maybe Mia had been right. They had had unfinished business between them.

  "I'd like to know your daughter—my granddaughter," his father continued. "I'd like to be someone you'd want to introduce her to. I know your mother has probably been furious with me all these years for screwing up with you. She'd want me to try harder, and I want to try harder."

  "Okay." If his father was going to make an effort, he could try to meet him halfway. "I'm going to take Ashlyn to the movie in the park tonight. If you're there, and you're sober, we'll say hello. But if you do anything I don't like, I will protect Ashlyn, and there won't be any more chances."

  "I understand. You know something—I did one thing right, Jeremy."

  "What's that?"

  "I raised a better man than I could ever be."

  Jeremy drew in a breath and blew it out. He didn't know what to say, so he settled for, "I'll see you later."

  As he walked off the boat, he wondered if a miracle had just occurred. But only time would tell if his father would make good on his promise to be sober.

  * * *

  After leaving his father's boat, Jeremy drove to the Redwood Medical Center to pick up Ashlyn. On the way, he pulled out his phone and saw he had a missed call from Mia. Her voicemail was rather interesting, too. He wondered what she'd found in her aunt's house. Despite her use of the word odd, she didn't sound upset, so he'd just go by there when he got home.

  "How did it go?" he asked Ashlyn when she hopped into the car.

  "Dr. Westcott said I'm really good," she told him with a proud smile.

  "I'm happy to hear that."

  "I told her about Mommy." She hesitated, her eyes concerned. "Was that okay?"

  "Absolutely okay. I want you to talk about your mom whenever you want to. Where do you want to go now? We can get lunch, go to the park, the beach, whatever you want."

  "Can we pick up sandwiches and go see Mia?"

  "We can do that," he said, happy that Ashlyn's plan for the day meshed perfectly with his.

  They picked up sandwiches, chips, and cookies at the deli and then went straight to Mia's house. She opened the door with a gleam of excitement in her eyes.

  "Come in," she said. "I can't wait to show you what I found."

  "Is it treasure?" Ashlyn asked.

  "It might be," Mia said, taking them into the kitchen.

  Spread out on the kitchen table was a painting, the four corners anchored down by salt and pepper shakers.

  "Look at this," Mia said, as he set the food down on the island counter.

  "Is it a famous painting?" he asked, not sure exactly what he was looking at. "I know nothing about art, so that's probably a stupid question."

  "It's not famous, but it's very old, and it's possible that it was painted by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, a French painter who worked in the Post-Impressionist period with artists like Cézanne, Van Gogh, and Gaugin."

  "That sounds like a good thing," he said, feeling way out of his depth. "How do you know if it's his painting?"

  "It's not signed, so I'd have to take it to an expert to get it appraised and make sure it's not a really good forgery, but my instincts tell me this is valuable."

  "How valuable?"

  "Well, one of his paintings was recently auctioned at Christie's for 22.4 million dollars."

  "That's a lot of cash. Where did you find it? Was it in the studio?"

  "No, it was in my aunt's bedroom closet."

  "She's pretty," Ashlyn said, pointing to one of the female figures in the painting. The woman wore a dark red dress with a black and red hat on her head and long, lacy gloves up to her elbows.

  "She is pretty," Mia agreed, giving Ashlyn a smile.

  "Can I paint something?" Ashlyn asked.

  "Of course, maybe after lunch," Mia said. "Judging by those bags, I'm guessing you brought food."

  "You haven't eaten, have you?" he asked.

  "No, I've been too caught up in this. I've been trying to research the painting online, but I haven't had any luck. It's possible it wasn't painted by Henri, but my gut tells me it's his work."

  "I'd trust your gut."

  "Can I have my sandwich, Daddy?" Ashlyn asked, sliding off the kitchen chair.

  He didn't think he would ever get tired of hearing her call him Daddy. "Yes. Why don't you sit at the counter, so we don't mess up this painting?"

  They walked over to the counter, and Ashlyn got on the stool while he opened up the wrapped sandwiches and handed her one.

  "Do you need any drinks?" Mia asked.

  "We brought some," he said. "I've got turkey, roast beef, or a vegetarian wrap."

  She smiled at the spread. "That's a lot of food."

  "What doesn't get eaten now, we'll save for later. What would you like?"

  "I'll take the wrap," she replied.

  He passed it to her. "So you said you found the painting upstairs in a closet?"
>
  "Yes, but that's not the strangest part. It was hidden behind another painting."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I pulled out a framed painting and the frame was broken. As I was trying to put it back together, I noticed that there was something underneath the rather ugly picture in front. I peeled the top canvas off and found this underneath."

  His gut tightened. "You're saying someone deliberately hid this painting?"

  She met his gaze. "That's exactly what I'm saying, and why I'm convinced it's valuable."

  He stared back at her, seeing not just excitement in her eyes but also a little worry. "You're wondering if your aunt knew it was there."

  "How could I not? It was in her bedroom." She drew in a breath and let it out. "I need you to tell me to slow down and not jump to conclusions. My aunt didn't know the painting was hidden in that frame, right? She didn't steal a piece of valuable art. She didn't accept stolen art from some other thief. None of that happened—right?"

  He saw the need in her eyes, and while he liked to fulfill every need Mia had, he wasn't sure he could satisfy this one. "I don't know, babe. There are a lot of things to consider."

  She frowned. "That's not what I wanted you to say."

  "Is there any way to find out if this painting was actually done by this artist you told me about? Isn't there some itemized list of his work somewhere?"

  "Not all paintings are listed, especially if the work was not put forth by the artist in a public way. It could have been a painting that he didn't care for, that he didn't want to sell or display. Artists can be very temperamental. But I am going to look into his work and see what I can find. I have a friend in Paris who knows a lot about French art; I have a call into her. I also texted a photo of the painting to my sister Kate. She might be able to tap into the FBI's database of stolen art."

  "Was it wise to call the FBI so soon? If your aunt did have something to do with this—"

  "I'm sure she didn't," Mia said quickly. "Aunt Carly had so much respect for artists; she wouldn't steal someone's work. I know she wouldn't do that. I was just tripping before, letting my imagination go crazy. Besides, Kate will be discreet. I can trust her. She wouldn't want to put a black mark against Aunt Carly's name and reputation anymore than I would." She paused. "It's possible this painting was stolen during WWII. Hitler was a frustrated artist, you know. He looted Paris of many treasures, and while some were returned, many were not."