by Tanya Agler
“I’ll keep you updated if anything changes.” Evidence in hand, he fell into step alongside her. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
The problem was, he liked it too much.
CHAPTER SIX
JONATHAN STEPPED INTO Mike’s office. This morning’s visit to Mr. Floyd hadn’t provided any sudden confessions or breakthroughs. Instead, the custodian admitted his sciatica had been acting up. He’d been slacking off on the lockers, only giving them a light cleaning every other week. Mr. Floyd begged him for a chance to talk to Brooke on his own and make it right. He needed the health insurance and the money from this job. From what Jonathan had seen of Brooke, she’d probably agree to give the custodian a second chance.
Mike studied some papers and placed them on his desk. “Come on in.”
As much as Jonathan wanted to ask about the progress in the detective selection, he limited the conversation to the relevant evidence.
Mike tapped his pencil against the desk. “Have you had a chance to follow up with Mo yet?”
“I wanted to interview Mr. Floyd first.”
“Right choice.” The tapping became faster and more insistent. “You’re basically doing the work of two jobs with this hanging over you.”
“This isn’t hanging over me.” Jonathan’s palms itched at the characterization. “It’s important to get to the bottom of it since the evidence points to this not being some ID-by-mail scheme.”
Mike stuck the pencil back into its holder. “Review the evidence with me again.” He adjusted his computer screen, and Jonathan shared the view. Mike scrolled through the different photos and images Jonathan had collected. “Did Eric have anything to add when you questioned him about where he bought the fake ID?”
Jonathan accessed the report on his phone. “He said he conducted most of the transaction over the phone. He erased the number, like the person asked, after he sent a photo and vital stats as well as payment. He doesn’t remember the number, and he can’t even remember his own area code.” Jonathan pulled off imaginary lint from the stiff crease in his pants.
Mike reached for the sandwich at the edge of his desk and took a bite. “I’ll get a warrant for his phone. We’ll work on retrieving the deleted number.”
“His lawyer, Penelope Romano, already turned it over, citing complete cooperation from her client. I have enough expertise to retrieve the number, but I’m guessing the perp must have used a burner cell. Do you want me to pursue this line?”
“No.” Mike swallowed and then sipped his coffee. “Not a good use of resources if the suspect used a burner. Not with an uptick in criminal activity from the tourist season. So far it’s been relatively minor, shoplifting and the like, but this is where that detective position will be a windfall.”
“I went ahead and called Ms. Romano to schedule another interview, this time to narrow down the specifics of when and how he picked up the license. She asked if Eric’s continued cooperation would influence his sentencing, and I told her I’d check with the district attorney.”
“Go ahead and contact Everson and see how this pans out.” Mike shook his head while his gaze focused on one photo in particular. He picked up his pencil and tapped the screen with the eraser. “Someone knew what they were doing when they selected the men’s locker room.”
“That’s what I told Brooke. I can’t put a camera in there.”
“Ask her if you can install one in the lobby directed at the entrance.” Mike clicked out of the file and returned the screen to its normal position.
“Anyone coming and going would have a reason to carry a duffel bag.” Jonathan rolled his neck as he considered more possibilities. “But the perpetrator will want privacy if he’s doing something unusual in the locker room. According to Brooke, Betty monitors both dressing areas from her desk, and there’s either a staff member or visitor in the rooms almost every minute of the day, which increases the chance he’d come either early in the morning or when the building was about to close.”
“A camera’s more objective. It doesn’t need coffee, and it doesn’t count down the minutes until its shift is over. Once the camera’s installed, we can check for anyone entering who’s not wearing workout clothes or anyone leaving immediately.”
“I’ll personally review the recorded footage from the new camera each night. Look for anything that seems suspicious. A facial expression might give something away if the person takes the time to search the bag there. Then they’d realize that the center or the police or whoever is onto them.”
“I can’t authorize overtime pay on this.” Mike threw away his empty cup. “And I don’t want you volunteering for overtime without compensation just to have an edge over Ms. Everson.”
Jonathan leaned back until his head knocked against the wall. No matter how he looked at it, he’d never have the same pull over the search committee as Everson’s niece. Jonathan was born in Chicago, unlike most of his mother’s family, who’d been born in Hollydale. Aunt Tina and Uncle Drew had taken him in summers when his parents were so busy with work they’d been only too happy to let Jonathan fly south and stay in North Carolina. Although six years separated him and Caleb, that made his cousin feel more like a younger brother. His experience and conviction record from Savannah would make him a shoo-in for the same job elsewhere, but here in Hollydale, family connections probably gave Ms. Everson an advantage he’d have to overcome on merit alone.
An image of Eric’s fender bender flashed in his mind. Both cars had minimal damage, but what if this happened again? If someone else in Hollydale used a fake ID and Jonathan didn’t do everything he could to find the person responsible for issuing these phony driver’s licenses, things could turn out differently next time. Forget the detective position. He still wanted the job so bad he could taste it, but he didn’t want yet another family to go through that same pain he’d experienced when he came upon Anne’s wreck if there was anything he could do to possibly prevent it.
“I’m not doing this because of that. Izzy and Vanessa have bedtimes. I can binge-watch any footage from the center then, on my own dime.”
Jonathan rose to leave, and Mike’s voice halted his progress. “Interviews are next week.”
“Good to know.”
“Everson and I will be two of the panelists conducting the interviews.”
Jonathan turned around and faced Mike. “Shouldn’t Everson recuse himself if he’s related to one of the candidates?”
Mike kept his gaze planted on the paper. “I’d vouch for one of the candidates to the Pacific Ocean and back. The thing is, small-town politics play into everything about the job. When you’re a detective in a town this size, you’re going to know everyone you interview, and they’ll most likely know you. Besides, the third person, and the one with the deciding word, will be the city manager, Aidan Murphy.” He glanced up, his wide grin a change from the somber aspect from a second earlier. “It doesn’t hurt he’s my brother-in-law. However, Aidan’s his own person and has a strong sense of what he believes. That’s what makes him ideal for Nat.”
The former soldier was indeed a perfect match for Natalie, Mike’s sister, who was a free spirit, unlike her organized twin sister, Becks. The day Jonathan had spent at the Hollydale Park last year helping out with Natalie’s parade float proved to everyone how perfect Aidan and Natalie were for each other. Finding that type of balance was rare. He’d found it once with Anne. With the holidays approaching and everything else on his plate, was the holiday season the right time to get involved?
Something told him Brooke wasn’t the type who would only commit to something on a casual basis. When she went in, she went all in. He liked that about her.
“You either love me and my sense of humor, or you don’t. The three of you should decide on merit alone.” Jonathan wouldn’t change for a panel, no matter how much he wanted the job.
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br /> Mike lowered the paper and scratched his chin. “I just thought of something. The fewer people who know about the stash and the camera, the higher the chance word doesn’t get back to the suspect.”
“I already anticipated that and elicited a promise from Brooke that she’ll keep her discovery between her and the department.” With Mike and him thinking along the same lines, that justified his reaction all the more.
“Good anticipation, but I want to catch the person in the act of clearing out the locker. Did you mention the stash to Floyd when you interviewed him?”
Jonathan reviewed his notes. “Nope. I only asked him how often he cleaned the lockers. He had to know I was there for a reason, but I didn’t mention the fake licenses.”
“Good. I’d like to end this ring once and for all. Keep pursuing your leads.”
Jonathan reached his desk as the full impact of Mike’s words hit him like a cold shower. Brooke uncovered the fake IDs. So far, the perpetrator seemed like he conducted his business from afar, only using the center as a drop spot. Right now, it seemed like he found a cash cow, easy profit, without a high risk of discovery. What if that was taken from him? Would he turn violent if he realized the stash in the locker only looked the same on the top and the inside bulk was different, the extra inventory now in the evidence room? Without anything to lose, would he track down the person who turned him in and make them pay for their actions? A new sense of urgency chilled his veins. The sooner he found out who was behind it, the sooner Brooke would be safe from anyone who might not be happy with her throwing a wrench in his scheme and ferreting him out.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BROOKE UNLOCKED THE door and escorted the group of women into the art studio. Laughter rang out as Betty and Tina placed their purses on hooks, and Aunt Mitzi propped a cooler on the long table, where smocks and other supplies greeted the participants. Her aunt’s black leggings and dark red tunic showed off the purple in her newly dyed bob. Either her aunt had cornered the market on youth serum or she aged backward. Ever since Owen entered Mitzi’s life, she definitely acted more carefree and vibrant.
Time with these women was something she truly welcomed. This Wednesday evening, unlike other similar extended-hour nights at the center, wouldn’t end when they left. Jonathan was dropping by later to discuss security procedures. Seeing Jonathan, whether it was in his capacity as an officer or as himself, was a nice way to end the day.
“Thanks, sweetie, for holding the door for me. This was getting heavy.” Aunt Mitzi opened the top and pulled out two bottles, one green and one orange. “And before you say anything, this is nonalcoholic champagne, like I promised. We’ll save the real stuff for meetings at Tina’s house. She’s the empty nester.”
“It doesn’t seem that way anymore, now that my son, Caleb, married Lucie, and he’s adopting her twins, Mattie and Ethan,” Tina said. “Our house is quite hectic when they come over.”
“Graciela’s moving into her own place next week. She says she’s making enough money at the animal shelter to afford to live by herself. Don’t tell her, but Roberto and I are throwing a private party to celebrate our empty nest.” A standout with her dark curls flowing around her shoulders, Fabiana laid a tote bag next to Mitzi’s cooler and started removing plastic goblets. “Do I need an extra one for the teacher?”
“I’m the teacher, so that makes five of us so far.” Brooke picked up one of the smocks and placed her head through the opening before looping the long belt ties around her waist, bringing them to the front and twisting them into a bow. “I’m fully qualified in beginning sketching and art instruction.”
An older woman with long curly gray hair and a flowing sunflower scarf with a matching bright yellow coat swept into the room. “Thank you for opening this center to us. I’m sure the art created in this room will grace the walls and lives of so many. Don’t you love happy hours spent in pursuit of making the world more beautiful and edifying?”
This woman, rather on the chatty side, must be the sixth. Brooke handed her a purple smock. “I think you might like this one, and you are?”
“I’m Hyacinth Hennessy. This is simply a delightful way to wind down a long day of baking. When you get a chance, you must visit Sweet Shelby’s Tea Room in the near future. Belinda and I are about to celebrate our first year of business together.”
Tina came over and chose the orange smock. “More like celebrating not competing with each other over pies and the like for a whole year.”
Brooke frowned. “Can someone fill me in?”
Mitzi smirked. “Belinda and Hyacinth put aside a long time rivalry as the town’s best bakers to open the tea room.”
“You know, Hyacinth, if you and Belinda ever sold tickets to your daily baking skirmishes, er, sessions at Sweet Shelby’s Tea Room, you’d raise a bundle. Every resident of Hollydale would pay to see that,” Fabiana said.
A fleeting wisp of hurt creased Hyacinth’s brow before she perked up. “In one way, you’re right, but Belinda and I understand baking pies is an art form. We take our pies seriously.” She laughed and handed Fabiana the red apron. “I believe, dear Fabiana, if I’m remembering correctly, red is your favorite color. You look beautiful in anything, but red really suits you.”
“Gracias.” Fabiana murmured her thanks while donning the smock over her shirt.
“And for Miss Betty, this yellow one suits your sunny disposition,” Hyacinth said.
“That’s one way to phrase my sassiness.” Her coworker was here as a visitor tonight, and Brooke welcomed the familiar face. “Joe might have phrased it another way, but when you’ve been married for fifty years, it’s all about love, truth and a good jar opener for our favorite pickles.”
Hyacinth turned to Mitzi and hovered near the plastic goblets. “Are we partaking of the beverages now or after we paint?”
Mitzi flipped the goblets facedown on the table. “Let’s save our toast until later.”
“Toast?” Brooke interrupted what was becoming a party rather than a class. She walked over to the easel with two canvases: one a blank slate and the other with the finished product. “Let’s get started. This is an introductory art class. We’re focusing on something simple. A tulip...”
Hyacinth clapped her hands. “What a gorgeous rendering of a Tulipa gesneriana.” She then pressed her thumb and finger together and pulled them across her tight lips like a zipper. “You won’t hear another peep from me.”
Mitzi nudged her friend. “For at least two minutes.”
This type of friendship and camaraderie was what Brooke had missed out on all these years. This ribbing with its backbone of support hadn’t been a part of her life. She’d had no time, not with multiple jobs, online courses and a son.
“Okay, I’ll pass out some materials, and then we’ll get started.” Brooke watched their interaction and handed out the necessary supplies. Socialization was as much a part of an evening like this as the class itself. Word of mouth would go a long way in boosting awareness of the new programs.
After a few more minutes of allowing them to catch up, she called them together, and each woman found a place behind one of the easels. Brooke made some introductory remarks about reproducing a painting rather than creating an original work of art.
“Then later, you can let me know if you want to continue painting or if you’d like to try your hand at jewelry making or pottery or some other art form.” She then launched into the basic instructions, detailing section by section, and then they dipped their brushes into the paint.
She had chosen this pattern for the painting as it would be next to impossible to mess up. Within minutes, chatter gave way to positive energy. The women let their creative juices flow. She glanced at the clock on the wall, her meeting with Jonathan never out of mind. In spite of everything, Brooke stifled a yawn, the long day catching up with her.
“Brooke, come look at mine and
tell me what you think.” Betty’s excitement was invigorating, and Brooke couldn’t wait to see what one of her favorite employees had drawn so far.
“I like it.” Brooke gave her an encouraging smile. Then she showed her a different way of holding the brush, and Betty nodded appreciatively.
Brooke worked her way around the room, dropping murmurs of support to each woman until she reached Hyacinth. Then her jaw dropped. “That’s not a tulip.”
She didn’t know whether to turn her head this way or that at the abstract shapes on Hyacinth’s canvas. None of them resembled anything like a tulip.
“I know.” Hyacinth patted Brooke’s arm. Paint dotted the older woman’s skin, drips smattering her arm where her smock didn’t cover it. “Your tulip is a truly lovely representation of the flower, but art should be expressive and free-flowing. It can’t be restrained. It has to be passionate.”
Tilting her head, Brooke stopped and examined Hyacinth’s canvas once more. While it wasn’t the tulip everyone else was painting, it was quite good, bordering on remarkable. “Have you painted before?”
Tina stepped forward and hugged Hyacinth’s shoulders. “Hyacinth is rather modest, but she’s a wonder. Some of her paintings sold at the art gallery before it closed. Our Hyacinth is a gardener, baker and artist all rolled into one.”
“When Craig was sick, I had to keep busy, or I knew I’d drive him insane with my hovering.”
Aunt Mitzi leaned over to Brooke. “Craig was her husband,” she whispered. “He was retired military and was one of the strongest men I’ve ever met. He died of cancer.”
Fabiana tapped Brooke’s shoulder. “Speaking of men, you never told us in the salon the name of the cute guy who caught your eye. If he didn’t work out for you, my son, Carlos, is available. He’s more than cute, and you’d give him an incentive to move back to town. He’s the spitting image of my husband around the time I met Roberto. My husband is still one hot hunk of a firefighter.”