“This is legitimate?” she’d asked her mother not only over the phone, but in person, as well. Having swung by her mother’s office to see her face-to-face, she’d scrutinized the older woman for any telltale signs of this being a setup.
Cecilia Parnell had sworn to the name and address’ authenticity, ending with the ever popular, “If you can’t believe your mother, who can you believe?”
What made this so-called case somewhat suspect was that her mother had given her an address, rather than a phone number.
What was that about?
Jewel would have preferred calling first, but her mother had said that the man was in dire need of a private investigator, so calling him, rather than coming directly over, was just an extra, unnecessary step.
What made it more suspect was that her mother had taken it upon herself to arrange the initial meeting, saying, “It’s not as if you’ve got all that much taking up your time these days, right? There’s no schedule for you to reshuffle.”
Sad, but true, Jewel thought.
She would have loved to demur and contradict her mother’s assumption, except that she really did hate lying unless it was in the line of duty to secure information for a client.
Besides, her mother had an uncanny ability to know when she was lying. There was no point in even trying.
So here she was, pulling into the client’s driveway on a fall morning, about to take a case partly against her better judgment. But what choice did she have? None, that’s what, she thought darkly.
Getting out of her well-maintained vehicle, she walked up to the front door and rang the bell.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, she reasoned, mentally crossing her fingers.
When the door opened, Jewel found herself meeting the gaze of the most solemn-looking child she’d ever seen.
The boy appeared to be waiting for her to speak first.
“Hi,” she said brightly.
There wasn’t even a hint of a smile on the small, sad-looking face. But, apparently a well-mannered child, the boy did echo her greeting back at her, albeit devoid of any cheer.
“Hi.”
Obviously, the bulk of the conversation, at least for now, was going to rest with her, Jewel thought. She smiled at him and resisted the urge to stroke his silky-looking hair. Instead, she squatted down to his level so that they could be eye-to-eye.
“I’m Jewel. What’s your name?”
The little boy shook his head, his dark hair swinging almost independently. “I can’t tell you.”
That took her aback for a second. And then she understood. “Because you can’t talk to strangers,” she realized. “Good for you,” she praised. The boy continued looking at her with the oldest eyes she’d seen in quite a while. “I’m here to see, um—” Jewel looked down at the paper she was holding. She’d made her mother spell the last name so she’d get it right. “A Christopher Culhane.” She folded the paper into a small ball with her thumb as she looked back at the boy. “That’s your dad I’m guessing.”
The boy shook his head from side to side.
“I’m his uncle,” a man supplied for him, coming to the door. He appeared a little breathless, as if he’d been moving furniture—or exercising.
Crying “uncle” was exactly what crossed her mind, except not in the sense of the word that referred to family. She thought of it more in terms of surrender.
Her mother’s taste had definitely improved, Jewel thought, covertly taking in Christopher Culhane’s features. The man was tall and dark and he made the word handsome suddenly turn into a dreadfully inadequate description.
“Can I help you?” Culhane asked patiently, resting his hands on the boy’s whisper-thin shoulders as if to anchor him in place.
Don’t get me started, Jewel thought. The next moment, she was tamping down her runaway thoughts. She’d learned a long time ago that all that glittered was definitely not gold.
“Actually, I’m here to help you,” she told him. When his expression only became more quizzical, she said, “I’m Jewel Parnell.” She held out a business card as if to dispel any doubt as to her identity. “You were expecting me.”
What he was expecting, Chris thought, was a man. The woman who’d miraculously made his sister’s house habitable again had told him about a Jay Parnell. He realized now that she hadn’t been using a name, she’d used an initial.
Still, he heard himself asking, “You’re the private investigator?”
“I’m the private investigator,” Jewel assured him, then added cheerfully, “Would you like references?” This wasn’t the first time she’d been on the receiving end of a disbelieving stare.
“Well, actually…”
“Say no more,” Jewel assured him. Opening her oversize purse, she took out a bound folder and handed it to him. “These comments are from all my satisfied customers.”
Maybe it was the odd frame of mind he found himself in, but her words presented too much of a straight line for him to pass up. “Where are ones from your dissatisfied customers?”
“There aren’t any,” she informed him with a touch of pride. Her mouth curved ever so slightly as she lifted her chin.
He looked at the folder and then the woman. What did he have to lose, he decided, except for some time? Besides, he welcomed having someone else in the house to talk to besides the boy.
Stepping back, Chris gestured for her to enter. “C’mon in.”
Chapter Two
Jewel looked around as she made her way inside. The house appeared neat and clean, but aside from the vase filled with wildflowers in the center of the coffee table—her mother’s touch, she’d know it anywhere—the room was devoid of any real personal touches. It struck her as rather sad.
Her own apartment all but shouted: Jewel Parnell lives here! It wouldn’t have been home otherwise. There were knickknacks picked up from years of vacations, photographs documenting both her own life and her mother’s, beginning from the time she was a little girl. These were the kinds of things that generated warmth and ultimately gave a place personality.
This house looked clean, but there was no detectable warmth. It didn’t give off the aura of a house where a child was being raised.
Her mother had deliberately refrained from giving her any details about the case—utterly out of character for the woman—when she’d given her the name and address of her client. The only thing her mother had told her was that the man was trying to locate someone. Her mother had also said that she’d mentioned that she knew someone who specialized in finding people. Mercifully, her mother hadn’t added “usually in sleazy hotels.” It might be true, but it wasn’t anything Jewel really wanted advertised.
The one thing Cecilia Parnell definitely hadn’t mentioned was the little boy who was now watching her intently, as if at any given moment, someone were going to ask him to re-create her likeness from memory.
There was a lot going on behind those dark brown eyes, she decided. She’d never given much credence to the phrase “old soul” until just now.
“This is a nice place,” Jewel finally commented in order to break the ice.
It was the boy rather than the man who answered her. “Now.” When she looked at him, raising one quizzical eyebrow in a silent query, the boy lifted and lowered his shoulders. “Mom didn’t like to clean much,” he told her protectively. “But I tried to do it for her when I could.”
Her heart going out to the boy, she couldn’t hold back her questions any longer. “What’s your name?”
“Joel,” he told her solemnly.
“My name’s Jewel. Jewel Parnell,” she said, shaking his hand as if he were an adult. “Now that we’re not strangers anymore can you tell me how old you are?”
“Five,” he told her.
He sounded more like he was twenty-five, she thought.
Jewel turned toward Culhane and asked, “So what can I do for you?”
But again it was the boy who answered. “Uncle Chris wants you to find m
y dad.”
If ever she’d heard a more mournful-sounding voice, Jewel couldn’t remember when.
Because the little boy seemed to be a great deal more forthcoming than the man he’d identified as his uncle, she addressed her next question to the boy. “Did your dad suddenly disappear?”
“Only if you think of three years as being ‘sudden.’” This time, it was the man who answered.
Jewel took a step back so she could focus on both of them at the same time and let either one field the questions. It would also help her avoid getting a crick in her neck.
“Any particular reason you want to find him now, as opposed to three years ago?”
“My mom said that we were better off that he was gone.”
This was like a tennis match, except that the other team was playing doubles to her singles. Moreover, the boy’s reply didn’t really answer her question. Why now after all this time?
“I see. His mother is your sister-in-law?” she asked, looking at Chris.
“Sister,” he corrected.
Okay, he was doing this for his sister. She could understand that. Family members often took over when the affected member was too upset to function. Something had happened recently to change the dynamics and she’d get to that by and by, she promised herself.
“Could I talk to your sister?” she requested, glancing around as if she expected the woman to be standing back in the shadows.
“Not unless you conduct séances as a sideline.”
Chris couldn’t help the bitter edge that entered his voice. Maybe he couldn’t blame Rita for having an aneurysm, but he could blame her for everything that had come before, for not listening when he’d begged and pleaded with her to go into rehab and make an attempt at reclaiming her life. If not for herself, then for her son. At the time, he’d offered to pay not just for the stint in rehab, but for someone to stay with Joel, as well.
All she had to do was get better. But for that to happen, he thought, she would have to have wanted to get better. And she didn’t. He was certain that, at bottom, Rita didn’t think she deserved to be happy.
Damn it, Rita, why did you throw it all away? Why would you do something like that? You had a son, for God’s sake.
Jewel could all but feel the tension radiating from the man who would be her client if she decided to take the case.
If, she mocked herself. She knew damn well that unless the man turned out to be a direct descendent of Satan or was numbered among the undead, she was going to take his case. She needed the money.
She also needed to get as much information out of him as possible. She didn’t believe in privacy when it came to solving a case or in leaving stones unturned. She always made it a point of knowing what she was getting into and how she was going to maneuver through it. Her first case, which involved tailing a cheating spouse, had taught her that. The wife had failed to mention that her husband was a decorated Marine sniper who felt incomplete without his sidearm somewhere within reach. She’d almost gotten her head blown off when he’d seen the flash from her camera and, enraged, had come charging at her.
Given what Culhane had just said about séances, she could only arrive at one conclusion.
“She’s—” Jewel was about to say “dead,” but because the boy was standing there, she inserted a euphemism. “Passed away?”
Jewel needn’t have tiptoed around the issue. The boy confirmed her suspicion. “My mother’s dead.”
“I see.” Tough little guy, Jewel thought. “When did this happen?” She looked from Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome to the sad little human being standing beside him. The question was up for grabs.
“Two days ago,” Chris told her. And he was still trying to catch his breath, he added silently.
“And the funeral?” Jewel wanted to know. “When is that?”
Chris suppressed a sigh. He felt as if everything were crashing in on him. Right now, ordinarily, he’d be at his office at the university, which seemed to be under siege half the time he was there. He was always grading papers or working on his latest textbook collaboration, that is, when he wasn’t taking appointments with students. He didn’t mind helping them, but the ones who sought him out were generally of the female persuasion, all interested in signing up for private tutoring sessions. Some weren’t even taking any of his classes.
Still, fending them off was preferable to this situation. Dealing with death and the consequences that arose because of it was something he’d discovered that he was not any good at.
He reminded himself that he had to call back the funeral director. And find someone to conduct the ceremony, he realized. He didn’t like feeling overwhelmed like this.
“Day after tomorrow,” he told her, although he saw no reason for her question. He was asking her to find his brother-in-law, not his sister.
Pleased, Jewel nodded. “Good, then it’s not too late.”
He had no idea what she was talking about. Not too late for what? “Excuse me?”
Rather than repeat herself, she pushed forward. “How many obituaries did you run?”
What did that matter? “Again, excuse me?”
“Obituaries,” she repeated, enunciating the word more slowly. “Those are stories in the newspaper that are usually put out by the family to notify the general public that—”
He cut her short. “I know what obituaries are,” he retorted, then stopped. “Sorry, didn’t mean to snap at you,” he apologized. “I’m a little out of my element here.”
This had to be hard for him. She remembered what it had felt like when she’d lost her father. She and her mother had gotten through it by leaning on each other, as well as their friends. “Isn’t there anyone to help you?”
“I’m helping him,” Joel piped up solemnly.
She looked down at the boy. “I’m sure you are.” She said it without sounding patronizing. From the little she’d picked up, Joel seemed to be a lot more capable than some adults she’d dealt with. “But this is probably all new to you, too,” she suggested delicately with a kind smile. “I guess you’ll just help each other along.” She shifted her eyes back to Culhane. “About the obituaries…?”
Chris shrugged. “There’s no point in putting them out.” He glanced at Joel and decided to omit the fact that, for the past four years, Rita had predominantly been involved with drug pushers and users, none of whom would come to a funeral, thank God. “From what I gathered, Rita kept to herself a lot the past few years. She didn’t have any friends.”
Jewel glanced to see how the boy was dealing with that. There was no change in his demeanor, but she thought she noticed an even more stricken look in his eyes.
“This runaway ex-brother-in-law you’re looking for, if he lives or works anywhere in the county, he might read the obituary and come to the funeral.”
Chris thought about Ray. He’d never met anyone more self-serving and self-involved. “What makes you think he’d come?”
“Any number of reasons,” she assured him. “Disbelief. Curiosity. Remorse. You’d be surprised how many different reasons there are for people to come to a funeral. It’s not all about paying last respects.”
Culhane’s expression bordered on dark, she thought.
“You’re assuming that he can read,” was his bitter comment.
“Or has someone to read to him,” she supplied without skipping a beat.
The answer brought the first semblance of what would have passed for a semi-smile to his lips. It seemed, she noted, to soften his entire countenance. It also made him look younger, more approachable.
Why hadn’t any of her professors ever looked like that, she wondered.
Her comment made him come around a little, which, in turn, had him realizing that he hadn’t even offered her anything. “Hey, I’m sorry, this whole thing has thrown me for a loop. Would you like something to drink?”
“No.” A smile played on her lips as she looked toward the living room and the sofa there. “But sitting down might b
e nice.”
Chris felt like an idiot. Despite occasional lapses when he was preoccupied with his work, he wasn’t normally this socially awkward.
“The sofa’s comfortable,” the boy told her with the solemnity of someone delivering a sermon at High Mass on Sunday.
He threaded his small fingers through hers. Here was a boy who’d already learned how to take charge, not because he was pushy, but because he’d had to.
“It’s right here,” Joel told her, leading her to the sofa.
“Thank you,” she said with sincerity, smiling at him as she sat down. To her surprise, Joel remained standing, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to join her.
Culhane sat down in the love seat that was adjacent to the sofa. “Joel is holding it together better than I am,” he confided.
Jewel gave herself a moment to study him more closely. “Were you and your sister close?” she asked sympathetically.
“Once,” he recalled. And it felt as if that had been a million years ago, Chris thought. He could hardly remember Rita the way she’d once been. “Before things went spiraling out of control,” he said tactfully, glancing at his nephew.
“And when did that start happening?” Jewel wanted to know.
Chris hesitated for a moment, then looked again at Joel. He couldn’t speak freely with him around. He had a feeling that the boy was absorbing every word and he didn’t want to be responsible for making him feel any worse than he already did.
He pointed toward the family room. “Joel, why don’t you go and play a video game?”
The boy remained standing where he was. “I don’t have any.”
Chris stared at him. That was impossible, he thought. He had specifically sent Rita extra money for the boy’s birthday and earmarked part of it for a game console and several of the more popular games. He’d said so in the note he’d included. He would have called if Rita would have taken his call, but after hearing the receiver on the other end being banged down a couple of dozen times, he’d learned his lesson.
Finding Happily-Ever-After Page 2