Why would Dunk Duncan be attending Sullivan’s funeral?
Her chest clicked with nervous excitement even as she tried to force her attention back to the service. Mercifully, the funeral was short…ish. When the generic minister dismissed the crowd, she stepped over the Grim person and hurried down the aisle, keeping her eye on Dunk.
“Octavia? I thought you might be here.”
She turned around to see a bespectacled, well-dressed man. Her memory chords pinged, but she couldn’t place him.
“Oh, honey, don’t tell me you don’t recognize me.”
And then the voice registered. “Emmett?”
He grinned. “Atta girl.”
She grinned and hugged him. Emmett Kingsley had cheered with her in college. They’d been fast friends, but she hadn’t seen him in years.
“How long has it been?” she asked.
“Only yesterday, because neither one of us has aged a day.”
“True. What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping to see you. I heard about Sullivan’s death and remembered he was your brother-in-law. I’m so sorry, by the way.”
She gave a dismissive wave. “I barely knew him. What are you into?”
“I’m an events coordinator, which is how I know everything that happens in this town.”
“I’m sure you’re good at it.”
“I am. Are you and Richard still in Louisville?”
“Yes. In fact, he’s waiting for me in the car. We have to get back.” She glanced to where she’d last seen Dunk, but he was gone. She felt deflated.
“We have to get together soon,” Emmett said.
“Come to Louisville, we’ll have lunch.”
“I take it you don’t visit Lexington much.”
“No.” She craned to look for Dunk—a man of his height should be easy to spot.
Emmett leaned in. “Did you see Dunk?”
Her attention snapped back, but she decided to play coy. “Dunk Duncan? He’s here?”
“Yeah. He runs a swank investigative agency downtown—I guess Sullivan was his competition.”
She snorted. “From what I hear, Sullivan’s agency was in a strip mall and he kept company with questionable people.” But Dunk was a P.I.? That was kind of sexy.
Emmett nodded over her shoulder. “I believe your family is waiting for you.”
She glanced back to see Linda looking her way expectantly. “Yes, I’d better go.”
He gave her his card. “Don’t be a stranger.”
She said goodbye, then made her way against the crowd back to the front of the chapel. She felt a tug on her dress and looked down to see Maggie.
“Careful, hon, this is Chanel. What is it?”
She pointed to the closed casket. “My daddy is in there asleep.”
Octavia sighed and leaned down. “I know. You will miss your daddy so much.” Although a parent dying didn’t seem quite as hurtful as one walking out and never looking back. “But you have to be very strong and help your mommy not to cry.”
“Do you have a little girl?”
“No.”
“Why not?’
“Because I don’t like children.”
Maggie bit her lip. “I’m a children. Don’t you like me?”
Octavia worked her mouth from side to side. “Maybe a little. You remind me of someone I used to know.”
Maggie’s eyes widened. “Who?”
“Me.” She poked her in her chubby stomach and made her giggle. When she looked up, Linda was watching them. She straightened. “Sis…I’m sorry, but something came up and Richard needs to get back to Louisville.”
Linda nodded. “It’s fine. I understand.”
She gave her a quick hug.
“Thank you for the money,” Linda whispered.
“You’re welcome,” Octavia said, eager to get away. She loved her sister, but her situation seemed hopeless and she just wanted to put some distance between them. And see if she could catch Dunk before he left. She said goodbye to the kidlets, avoided the neighbors and the rest of the motley assembly, and exited to the lobby. She scanned for Dunk, but didn’t see him in the waning crowd. Defeated, she walked out into the parking lot. Couldn’t something go right today?
She stopped and looked around. That was strange—the Mercedes wasn’t parked where it had been before.
Irritation sparked in her stomach. She pulled out her phone and texted Where are you? to Richard.
“Octavia? Oh, my goodness, I thought that was you.”
She looked up and up and up into the handsome face of Dunk Duncan. Her body felt electrified, but her tongue remembered to play it cool. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”
“We used to,” he said smoothly. “I’m Dunk Duncan.”
She feigned surprise. “Dunk! Of course! You look so…mature.”
His jaw tightened, but he masked his annoyance that she hadn’t acknowledged his preserved good looks. “You look the same, maybe better. Are you still in Louisville with what’s-his-name?”
“Richard Habersham, and yes, I am. Richard was just named one of Louisville’s top ten attorneys.” She fixed an innocent expression. “What do you do?”
His chest puffed. “I have my own investigative firm.”
“Ah. So you knew my brother-in-law?”
“In passing. I’m here out of professional courtesy. Unlike Sullivan, we only take on high-end cases.”
“Oh? So there are dicks, and there are dicks?”
He pursed his mouth. “Something like that.”
“And how’s Tiffany?”
“Bethany?”
“Right.”
“She’s good.”
But not great. Her phone buzzed.
“Do you need to get that?” he asked.
“Excuse me just a moment. It’s probably my husband. He’s so attentive.”
She glanced at the screen, then squinted and read it again. Things are bad, I have to disappear, need to sort things out. Stay with Linda for now.
“Octavia? Are you okay?”
She looked up, could feel that her face was on fire. “I’m fine,” she said, thoroughly exasperated with Richard and his long hours. But just because things were bad at the office didn’t mean he was going to ditch her in Lexington. “I just need to call him back.”
“Okay, well, it was really good to see you.”
His gaze swept over her hungrily, and she felt her body loosen in response…dammit, he still affected her. “Good to see you too, Dunk.”
As soon as he was out of earshot, she pressed the speed-dial button for Richard, and got his voice mail. She disconnected and tried again…and got his voice mail again. “Richard, I don’t know what’s going on,” she seethed, “but you simply must call me at once!” She stabbed the End button, fuming. What had gotten into him?
“Octavia?”
She turned to see Linda standing in the door of the funeral home. “Can I speak to you for a minute?”
She tried to hide her irritation—her sister was having a bad day, too. “Sure.”
Linda bit her lip as she approached. “I hate to bring this up, but the office manager just stopped me. I wrote a check against your check I deposited this morning.”
“And?”
“And…I called my bank. There seems to be a problem with your check. It was returned.”
Octavia scoffed. “It bounced? That’s im—” She stopped as a horrible thought worked its way into her head. Things are bad, I have to disappear.
No…he couldn’t…he wouldn’t.
She walked out of earshot, pulled out her phone and called their accountant, threatening the receptionist’s longevity if she didn’t put her through pronto. She knew something was wrong as soon as Frank Bruno’s voice came on the line.
“Octavia…hello.”
“Frank, what the fuck is going on?”
He sighed. “I warned Richard this was going to happen.”
“What was going to hap
pen?”
“I...well...”
“Just tell me!”
He cleared his throat. “You’re bankrupt.”
A croaking laugh escaped her. “That’s not possible.”
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s true.”
“Frank, we have savings accounts...and investments...and a huge home!”
“Not anymore. Things have been bad for a while. I’m sorry.”
Her vision dimmed. Richard’s bad moods, long hours, and angry phone calls now made more sense. Ditto for all the calls from credit card companies, the ones Richard had told her to ignore.
“Where’s my husband?” she whispered.
Frank sighed. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
Her heart stalled in her chest.
“Octavia?”
She looked up to see Linda staring at her with concern.
“What’s wrong?”
She’d been appalled by Linda’s predicament—husbandless and broke…what modern woman allowed that to happen? It was simply unthinkable that she could be in the same boat.
And yet…she was.
Chapter Six
“WHAT AM I going to do?”
Linda gripped the steering wheel and turned her head right to take in the sloppy, shuddering mess of her sister sprawled in the reclined passenger seat of the van. Remembering the waterproof mascara Octavia had given her, she thought her sister should’ve been so kind to herself. Her face was streaked black from hysterical tears, her red lipstick smeared past her nose, her dark hair standing up from Octavia literally pulling at it.
Linda was stunned—she’d never seen her sister display so much emotion. Octavia was the one who shrugged off unfortunate events as if they had no bearing on her. When their father had sat them down to tell them their mother had left on her own accord and wasn’t coming back, her thirteen-year-old sister had stood and jammed her hands on her hips and declared, “Who needs her?” The next day her sister had announced she’d changed her name from Susan to Octavia, and told Linda there would be no further mention of their runaway mother. And that was that.
To see her sister so emotionally distraught was like seeing the sunrise at midnight—it went against the natural order of things. At a loss, Linda could only draw upon her maternal skills. “We’ll figure it out.”
Which only elicited another cry of dismay from Octavia and a renewed round of boo-hooing.
Linda pursed her mouth and decided that, like when Maggie was upset, it was best to just let Octavia wear herself out. She looked back to road and sighed. Leave it to Octavia to upstage her on the day of her husband’s funeral.
Linda glanced in the rearview mirror at Jarrod and Maggie, who seemed transfixed by the adult tantrum in the front seat.
“Is Aunt Tavey upset about Daddy?” Maggie asked, her eyes wide.
“No,” Jarrod said with a snort. “She’s upset because her husband left her.”
“Left her where?”
“With us,” Jarrod said miserably.
Anger sparked in Linda’s stomach that her children were being exposed to such a spectacle when they should be grieving for their father, but she allowed that for now it gave them all a welcome distraction. She suspected the situation wasn’t as dire as Octavia portrayed it to be. Their accounts were most likely overdrawn due to Octavia’s unbridled spending. Richard would probably come back for her when he had a chance to cool off.
Hopefully.
She tried not to think about the pickle the bounced check had left her in...she told herself she was no worse off financially than before Octavia had given her that money. And right now the canyon in her heart took priority. It was incomprehensible that she’d just sat through Sullivan’s funeral...that he was never coming home.
That the world kept turning.
When she pulled into her driveway, the street was lined with parked cars full of people, waiting for them to arrive. Nan Boyd and others stood on the stoop holding Pyrex covered casserole dishes and Rubbermaid cake totes.
Octavia roused herself to snap, “Who are all these people?”
“Friends and neighbors,” Linda said. “Armed with food and good intentions.”
Octavia sniffed. “If they were your friends, they’d leave you the hell alone.”
“They’re only being nice,” Linda chided. “It’s expected that I let them in.”
But she understood how Octavia felt. All those forlorn faces staring at her and tromping through her house, whispering about what might become of the young widow and her two children. She should eavesdrop, though, just to see if anyone had any insight.
She fumbled for the garage door opener and watched as the door rolled up to reveal more of their piled up clutter to their neighbors. But she was past the point of caring. She eased the van into the vacant spot that was barely big enough to hold the vehicle, then turned off the engine and hit the button to lower the door. She and the kids shimmied out and she was halfway to the door leading into the house before she realized Octavia wasn’t with them.
“I’m staying here,” Octavia said, laying her head back.
Linda saw the wisdom in her sister skipping the forlorn pleasantries and didn’t try to change her mind. Octavia undoubtedly wanted privacy to take Richard’s phone call when he eventually broke down and reached out to her. With any luck, all would be resolved by the time the last plate of macaroni salad had been consumed.
For her part, Linda pasted on a smile and opened her door to the flood of well-wishers, telling herself the gathering would at least postpone the inevitable loneliness that waited behind her bedroom door. She spent the next few hours floating from person to person, shaking sweaty hands and accepting stiff hugs and murmuring the same banal comments over and over.
Yes, Sullivan is in a better place. Yes, life is short. Yes, we’ll be fine.
Bullshit, all of it, she thought while downing her third—or was it her fourth?—cup of bad coffee. Sullivan was not in a better place—he was across town lying in a cold grave in a hilly section of a rundown cemetery. And life was short only for some; the people who ran roughshod over others—her parents, for example—seemed to endure. And she was almost positive she and the kids were not going to be anywhere close to fine.
“What can I do?” came a familiar voice behind her.
She turned to see Oakley Hall, still in his dress uniform from the funeral, which she knew he’d worn out of respect for Sullivan, even though her husband was no longer on the force. His eyes were pained and pleading for her to give him a task.
Her heart surged with affection, then she glanced around at the hangers-on who seemed to have no intention of leaving, even as dusk fell. “Can you clear a room?”
He smiled and nodded. “Why don’t you disappear with the kids, and I’ll herd everyone out and lock up when I leave?”
She reached out to squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
His words hovered around her like a security blanket. Accepting Oakley’s help would be so easy. If any man could step into Sullivan’s place, it would be Detective Oakley Hall, who would sacrifice himself to take care of his fallen friend’s family. But no man could step into Sullivan’s place—she owed her husband that much.
“I’m going to lie low for a while,” she said. “I’ll call you when I come up for air.”
His mouth tightened, but he relented.
She turned and went in search of the children. Maggie was under a table with Max, tying bows in his ear fur. Jarrod was sitting on the couch holding his UK basketball and watching a sports show, ignoring all the commotion around him. Both children looked lost, and for a split second, Linda was furious with Sullivan for not taking better care of himself, for leaving his children fatherless. They didn’t know yet what they had lost, but she did.
She clasped Maggie’s hand and beckoned to Jarrod, then led them both to Jarrod’s bedroom. Max trotted behind them, his head hanging low. Lin
da sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Maggie onto her lap. Jarrod refused to sit, began bouncing the ball on the floor.
Linda gritted her teeth against the unnerving noise that did little to help the headache hammering at her temples. “Uncle Oakley is going to say goodbye to everyone for us, so we can get ready for bed.”
Thump, thump, thump went the ball. “He’s not our uncle,” Jarrod blurted.
He was already suspicious of a man trying to take this father’s place—fair enough. “You’re right,” Linda conceded, “but he was like a brother to your father.”
“I want to sleep with you, Mommy,” Maggie said, snuggling closer.
“You’re not a baby,” Jarrod said, bouncing the ball harder.
“We can make an exception for tonight,” Linda said, although she recognized it was as much for her as for Maggie. She wasn’t looking forward to sleeping in her and Sullivan’s bed alone.
Thump, thump, thump. “Then I’m going to sleep in the van,” Jarrod announced.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Linda said.
“Why not?” he shot back.
“Because Aunt Tavey’s going to sleep in the van,” Maggie said.
“No one is sleeping in the van,” Linda said firmly. Then she looked at Jarrod. “I want you here, in your room, in case Maggie or I need you.”
Thump, thump, thump. Thump, thump, thump. “Okay,” he agreed. Then he set down the ball.
A small victory, but she would take it.
“Are we going back to school tomorrow?” Maggie asked.
“I think that’s a good idea if you want to.” Linda extended her glance to Jarrod. “Or you can wait until Monday and see how you feel.”
“Stacy Keller’s mom is supposed to bring cupcakes for her birthday,” Maggie said, clearly not wanting to miss out on the sugary fun.
“There’s a ball game tomorrow between the fifth and sixth grade boys,” Jarrod mumbled. “Coach said he might put me in.”
It was a good sign that both kids wanted to get back to a normal routine—wasn’t it? “Then I think you both should absolutely go to school tomorrow.”
Two Guys Detective Agency (humorous mystery series--book 1) Page 5