One of the women wearing legwarmers I recognized from Dr. Straitham’s waiting room. The Flashdance wannabe waved at me like we were old friends. Not the first time the Marietta connection had granted me instant acceptance. Today, I was more than willing to take what I could get, especially if it led to some answers about the Jake Divine–Virginia Straitham connection.
A lone man with skinny white legs poking out of baggy purple shorts stood in the back of the activity room. I didn’t recognize the chicken legs, but I’d know that full head of steel wool hair anywhere—Wally. Next to him in a sky blue warm-up suit stood Sylvia Jeppesen, who waved Gram and me over. My heart skipped a beat when I spotted the woman standing in the row in front of Sylvia—Virginia Straitham.
Virginia’s gaze tightened when it landed on me. Not exactly stay the hell away from me, but I got the message loud and clear and took a spot on the floor behind my grandmother. Close enough to observe, far enough away to avoid an ugly scene.
“What are you doing back there?” Gram flicked a wrist at Wally. “Move down. We need to make some room for Char.”
“That’s okay,” I muttered. “I’m fine back here.”
“There’s lots of room up front,” Jake said. “Please, you don’t have to hide in the back. There’s plenty of space up here.”
Up here was right next to Virginia Straitham.
Gram turned with a satisfied smile on her face. “Honey, he’s not talking to me.”
Taking a deep breath, I skulked to the front row while Virginia glared at me like she wanted to strangle me with the nearest legwarmer.
So much for keeping a low profile.
“Okay, everyone, get to your feet,” Jake shouted over the up-tempo music, raising his well-muscled arms to coax the ladies out of their seats. He grinned at me. “Let’s get sweaty!”
Oh, brother.
Chapter Seventeen
“Great job, everyone!” Jake said, clapping his hands like a high school cheerleader at the end of the fifty-minute class. He killed the music, then reached for a folded hand towel and wiped the sheen of sweat from his face.
His sexually charged line about getting sweaty hadn’t been just innuendo. Unfortunately, I hadn’t thought to bring a towel so I used my perspiration-drenched shirt to wipe the drips from my face, making my tank top cling to the roll at my middle—not a good look for me but it was the last thing I needed to worry about this afternoon.
Expecting to see Gram standing behind me, I met the sharp-eyed gaze of Virginia Straitham, who, unlike me, looked as cool as a cucumber. I would have liked nothing more than to see her sweat, but since I needed to make good on my promise to take Gram to lunch, change my clothes, and head north to Port Townsend, turning some screws on Virginia would have to wait for another day.
Jutting her chin, Virginia acted as if I’d suddenly become invisible, then she waved to Jake and headed for the door behind several other members of the class.
Whatever. Until I had some proof that she was the mastermind pulling the strings around here, I had nothing to say to the woman.
“How’d you like the class?” Jake asked.
I turned to see him smiling down at me.
I raked back the damp bangs clinging to my forehead. “It was a bit more of a workout than I’d expected.” And I was a lot more out of shape than I wanted to admit.
He tossed the towel over his shoulder as he stepped off the platform. “Not too much, I hope. I wouldn’t want to chase you away after one session.”
“It would take more than that to chase me away,” I could say honestly to the man who had been in the vicinity of the hospital the early morning of Howard Jeppesen’s death.
His gaze swept over me as if he were sizing me up. “Excellent.”
As he came closer, I guessed him to be about three inches taller than me. He extended his hand and I breathed in a pleasant musky scent. “We haven’t officially met. Jackson Divine, but everyone calls me Jake.”
“Charmaine Digby—my friends call me Char.”
His handshake was warm and gentle, as if he were used to holding older women’s hands. The used car salesman smile that accompanied it oozed charm. “Char it is then.”
“I probably should have introduced myself last night. I thought about it,” I said, glancing down at the bulge in his spandex to declare some carnal interest, which may have been more effective if I hadn’t sweated through all my makeup.
The gleam in his dark blue eyes indicated that I’d scored some points with his ego. “I thought I recognized you.”
“You’re a very good dancer.”
He bowed slightly. The pleasure signals he sent rang loud and true, but the gesture seemed rehearsed, like he’d been tutored on how to act like a gentleman. Most likely by an older woman who could school him on social niceties.
Given what I’d learned from Arlene, the safe bet would be on Virginia.
“My grandmother has told me how she’s enjoyed some of your classes.”
Not her exact words. She’d told me she enjoyed looking at him teach his classes.
“What else do you teach besides aerobics?” I asked, very conscious of the sweat beading on my upper lip.
“Water aerobics, swimming, stretching, and relaxation therapy. You name it, I do it around here.”
I bet he did.
“I imagine that’s why Virginia Straitham thought you’d be so perfect for this job.”
He blinked, his pupils dilating like I’d struck a nerve.
“If that’s the case, I’m grateful,” he said with a little flicker of a smile at his lips.
“Have you known her long?”
“A while. She was one of my first clients.”
So, the cool cucumber had been getting hot and bothered with this guy. That scored a ten on the yuck factor scale, but it helped make the Virginia-Jake connection that much stronger.
“You may not be interested,” he said with a playful cock of his head, “but let me give you my card.”
When he turned to grab a day planner from the platform, I wiped my drippy face with the hem of my shirt.
He pulled out a business card and handed it to me. “I’m also a personal trainer.”
I read the card. There was no mention of the Assistant Activity Director position he held at the senior center. Obviously, that wasn’t the personal touch type of position he was trying to promote.
“Don’t hesitate to contact me if I can offer you any assistance.”
Locking gazes, I wanted to slip his card into my cleavage, borrowing a Marietta move from when she played a sultry Russian spy in a Bond spoof movie, but the girls were taking a sauna in my sports bra and I didn’t need the ink stains.
He glanced at my grandmother who was sitting in a folding chair in the back of the activity room. “I’m sorry. I’m keeping you.”
“No problem. But I probably should get her to lunch. I’m sure she’s hungry.”
His chiseled lips curled into an easy smile. “So am I, so I understand exactly how she feels.”
Sure he did. Although if I hadn’t thought he was Virginia’s errand boy, I might have wanted to believe him.
“I hope you’ll join us again. The next aerobics class is Friday.” He pointed at the card in my hand. “But if you’re interested in a personalized, one-on-one session, give me a call.”
One-on-one sessions—was that what up and coming gigolos were calling their services?
“I’ll do that.” When they featured ice cream cakes in hell.
I slipped his business card into a pocket of my tote bag and made my way over to Gram.
“Ready for lunch?” I wasn’t, but a deal was a deal.
“I’m ready.” She looked back at Jake, making his way toward the rear exit. “Did I hear Jake say that he was hungry, too?”
“Something like that.”
“Maybe we should ask him to join us and make it a threesome.”
“Not a chance.”
* * *
&
nbsp; After grabbing a quick lunch, we rushed home so that I could freshen up and change back into my safari suit. A little worse for wear, but if I was going to be on the hunt this afternoon, I might as well dress the part.
Since this hunter didn’t have a great sense of direction, I headed back to the courthouse to get a street map of Port Townsend. As long as I was there, I ran a background check on Jake Divine. Surprisingly, he didn’t have a blemish on his record other than a ten-year-old speeding ticket. After I found his last known address in Port Townsend, I went online to print some driving directions. Just in case I happened to find myself in his neighborhood later.
Patsy arched her eyebrows at me as I passed her desk. “Heading out?”
I waited for some safari suit-related snark and got nothing back other than Patsy’s usual dose of condescension. At least someone around here didn’t feel compelled to take a cheap shot.
“I have subpoena delivery duty, so I’ll probably be gone a couple of hours, depending on how easy it is to find the place.” And what I could find out about Jake Divine.
She smirked. “Good hunting.”
Et tu, Patsy?
Leaving the Prosecutor’s office, I noticed Steve sitting alone on a wooden bench outside Judge Navarro’s courtroom. He wore his charcoal gray suit so I figured he was scheduled to testify for the prosecution this afternoon.
The eyes of the Chimacam County Sheriff’s deputy at the security desk tracked me as I crossed the gold and black checkerboard landing. After a week and a half on the job, he should have recognized me as no threat to anyone on the third floor.
I smiled at the deputy.
His stony expression didn’t change.
Leaning forward on the bench, Steve rested his forearms on his thighs and didn’t look much more welcoming. “Late lunch or are we off to stalk some unsuspecting doctor’s wife?”
I reached into my tote and waved the white envelope with the county seal under his nose. “I’m on official County Prosecutor business.”
“Uh huh. Then where are you going to go?”
“I might go for a latte. Want one?”
“Cut the bullshit,” he said, lowering his voice as he pulled me to the railing next to the stairs.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
With one hand on the railing, Steve edged so close I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. “You know exactly what I mean. Chow Mein, every time I turn around you’re looking for trouble, and if you’re not careful, it’s going to find you.”
“Are you trying to scare me?” If he was, he knew exactly what to say.
“I’m trying to tell you that I want you to deliver the subpoena and come right back to the office.”
“No mocha latte?”
His gaze softened. “It’s not on your diet.”
Bastard. “What if I came back with a couple of filets and made you dinner?” With a dollop of conversation for dessert.
He stared at his black oxfords. “Uh—”
The last time I’d heard less enthusiasm about me cooking a meal, I’d been married.
“I want to talk to you about a few things.” About a lot of things. I just hoped I wouldn’t be the only one doing the talking. “Will you be home later?”
“I have football practice tonight, then ….” Watching one of the administrative assistants climb the stairs, he shook his head. “I don’t know when I’ll be home.”
I didn’t want to think about who would be keeping him out late tonight.
“Can I get a rain check on those steaks?” Steve asked.
“Sure.” I pasted a smile on my face. “No problem. See you later.”
Crap! I sounded like I’d be waiting up for him. “Or not.”
The corners of his eyes tightened like he was trying to read me. “Is everything okay?”
“Yep. Everything’s terrific.” I headed for the stairs before I said anything else that I’d regret. “Have a good evening.” Or not.
* * *
Forty minutes later, I served the subpoena on the owner of Geektek, the Port Townsend computer repair shop where Shea’s boyfriend had worked before he was arrested for aggravated assault on May 19th.
Mission accomplished, I stopped for a skinny latte at the Supreme Bean, my favorite espresso stand on the Port Townsend waterfront. Then I followed the directions I’d printed to 1118 Blair Road—Jake Divine’s address according to the Washington State Department of Licensing—and parked in front of a sprawling rambler with such an immaculate lawn it could have doubled as a putting green.
As I walked up the concrete paver driveway, I heard barking announcing my arrival and noticed a flutter of curtains at a large picture window. The front door swung open two seconds later.
“Yes?” said a petite woman around my mother’s age.
Unlike my mother, she wore Birkenstocks, minimal makeup, and by her shoulder-length salt and pepper waves, I assumed that her follicles were chemical-free.
“Mrs. Divine?” I asked.
“Yes?”
“Hi, I’m Stacy,” I said, borrowing the name on the tag of the nose-ringed girl who had made my latte. “I went to school with Jackson. Is he home?”
I took a visual inventory of the foyer behind her. Framed family photos hanging next to museum quality prints, a Persian area rug, a brass stand in the corner with an oversized golf umbrella, a BMW in the driveway of a horse acre lot. It all added up to Jackson Divine coming from less than humble roots.
Her mouth puckered. “You know Jack?”
Either that’s what they called him at home or he’d changed his name. To reinvent himself in Port Merritt with a sexier persona?
I brightened my smile to counteract the pucker factor. “Is he around?”
“He hasn’t lived with us for several years.”
“Oh. I’m just here for the day, so I thought I’d look him up.”
Jake’s mother frowned as she lowered her gaze, assessing me. If I’d known I’d be posing as an old friend of his, I would have lost the safari suit.
“You’re a little different from Jack’s other friends,” she said.
I was sure that was an understatement. I shrugged. “In a good way, I hope.”
“Sure, I guess.”
Not exactly a ringing endorsement but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“Sorry,” Mrs. Divine stepped back, swinging the door open. “Would you like to come in?”
“Thanks.” I stepped through the foyer and followed her to a newly remodeled kitchen that was larger than my first apartment.
“Could I offer you some tea? I was about to have some myself.”
“Yes, that would be wonderful.” Especially if it provided me an opportunity to look around while she fixed the tea.
“Have a seat anywhere,” she said, pointing to the adjoining room with a buttercream leather sofa and loveseat, flat screen TV, built-in oak book shelves, and a wood stove in the corner.
“Great room.” Except for the Rottweiler barking at me from the other side of a pair of French doors.
“We like it.” She rapped on the window. “Bruno, no.”
“So, what’s Jake … Jack up to these days?” I asked, checking out the collection of photos on the bookcase as Bruno continued to bark at me.
“He’s working in Port Merritt and doing very well. Manages a senior center there.”
So he told a little fib about the job. There were worse things a son could tell his mother. For instance, that he was a killer for hire.
I studied a holiday picture of the shaggy-haired cutie, standing next to a shiny new bicycle. “I always knew he’d be going places,” I said, wishing Bruno would find a nice cat to torment.
“He’s a real go-getter. Always has been.”
He certainly seemed to be, just not in the way that typically made a mother proud.
I held up the photo over Bruno’s slobbery protests at every muscle I moved. “He looks like an angel here.”
Ignoring Brun
o, Mrs. Divine’s gaze softened. “He always was a good boy. With a few minor exceptions. Of course, boys will be boys.”
She obviously didn’t know much, including the company her good boy had been keeping.
On the next shelf there was a picture of a man in his forties with two teenagers. The boys looked like they could be brothers. “This is a great picture. When was it taken?”
“That was a fishing trip back when Jack was a senior in high school. Those boys were inseparable back then—all three of them.” She handed me a steaming cup, then turned to the dog. “Bruno, please. Sit,” she said as if she were negotiating with a toddler.
“What’s his name again—the boy with Jack?” I asked while Bruno ignored her and clawed at the door.
Mrs. Divine knit her brows. “If you were a friend of Jack’s you’d know Wesley.”
If she moved an inch toward those French doors to sic Bruno on me, I was dropping my Darjeeling on her Indian rug and running to the Jag for my second aerobic workout of the day.
“I was a year ahead of him and didn’t spend a lot of time with Wesley.” I could probably pass for thirty on a good day, and she was squinting at me without glasses. Something less than 20/20 wouldn’t hurt my cause. “I don’t think he was in our journalism class. What was his last name?”
“Straitham.”
Bingo. “That’s right. Wesley Straitham.”
“Hmmmm … I don’t recall Jack taking journalism in high school.”
“Really? I do because I sat right behind him,” I said with an innocent shrug. I needed to change the subject and fast. “Is this your husband?”
Frowning at the barking Rottweiler, Mrs. Divine nodded.
“Nice picture.” Please don’t sic your dog on me.
She gave him a hand signal. “Bruno, down!”
The Rottweiler finally sat, strings of drool hanging from his jowls as he gave me the death stare, daring me to make one false move.
Wendy Delaney - Working Stiffs 01 - Trudy, Madly, Deeply Page 16