“Stop it how, specifically?” Dean asked.
“I don’t know. Bruce said he convinced the dude to meet him and talk. At the bachelor party, he said not to worry about it—that it was all taken care of. He didn’t want to talk about it, so I let it go.”
“Do you think that’s where he went? To meet this guy?”
“I don’t know. I’m really worried that if he did, they got into something physical.”
“Have you told the police?”
“Not yet, but I will as soon as the other guys aren’t around. Bruce never wanted Mia or his mom to know, and his dad thought it was behind him. I promised to keep my mouth shut. But Bruce is my best friend. He’s done so much for me. I have to say something if it could save his life.”
“You’re doing the right thing,” I reassured him. “What’s the father’s name?”
“I don’t know. The daughter’s name is Andrea. Andrea Morgan. She was from Smyth Lake.”
We gathered as many details as possible and encouraged Todd to tell the police everything. I left messages for Detective Allen and Frank, neither of whom picked up, to ensure they were aware. Ten minutes later, we were at my front door, which was flanked by potted, yellow mums and opened by another mum. Mine.
If Mom’s rushed cleaning methods were anything like mine, I knew better than to open any closets in front of Dean, for fear he might be injured by falling jump ropes, soccer balls, and spooky Halloween decorations. (Hello, doctor. This is rather embarrassing, but my friend’s skull was hit by a skull. My skull. I mean one I had hidden. I mean…) So I hung his jacket on a banister and quietly re-introduced him to Mom.
I’d barely noticed her appearance when I left, but now I tried to see her from Dean’s perspective. Bottle-brown bob. Diane von Furstenberg dress. Trademark pink lipstick. Manicured nails. Style came naturally to her, while the “natural” look was all I could muster. My salon routine consisted of occasional trims and firm instructions: “I have to be able to put this in a ponytail.” Graduating from Sophie’s rainbow selection of hair ties to ones in the brunette family was a major accomplishment.
“I made a fresh pot of decaf,” Mom said as she lifted her bag to go. “And I left oatmeal raisin cookies in the kitchen.”
Cookies? I pictured our giant, bear-shaped tub of animal crackers. Maybe Mom had made an emergency call to Kenna. That would be embarrassing and totally called for.
“Thanks, Mom. Let me walk you out.”
And leave Dean unattended in my house. Holy moly. Dean shook her hand, said goodbye, and dazzled her with a smile she’d probably rave about later.
I quickly guided him to the living room sofa and set out the cookies. Since he had quite an appetite, I hoped they’d keep him occupied.
You never really know with oatmeal raisin.
On the porch with the door closed behind us, Mom coped well with the news and promised to call Aunt Liz before driving away. Then she literally pushed me back inside.
If the mood hadn’t been so somber, I think she would have slapped my butt and said “Go get ’im.” She was president of the “Let’s Get Nicki Married” club—and the only member, thank goodness.
“Ready to go to Florida?” Dean asked as I sank into the living room couch. I hoped whatever was under the cushions (remotes, raisins, Hot Wheels, doll parts, whoopee cushions, etc.) wouldn’t poke us, stain us, shock us, or worse.
“What do you mean? Can’t we hire someone to check things out for us down there?”
“Sure. But I don’t think Frank’s going to like that. Plus, Florida is where the police will have the least resources, so it might be where we can make the most difference. I understand if you can’t go, though. You explained to Frank about Jack and Sophie.”
I was quiet. “Florida still has reciprocity, doesn’t it?”
Reciprocity meant Florida and Virginia agreed to let private investigators follow cases from one state to the other under certain circumstances.
“It does,” Dean confirmed.
My wheels were spinning a hundred miles per hour, considering all the options. The kids had school the next day, and I had work, but nothing I couldn’t delay or take on the road. Liz was on her way back to Florida, which meant the kids might have somewhere safe and fun to stay. I’d hate for them to miss school, but I’d also hate for them to miss food and shelter if Sky Investigations failed.
“I want to go,” I said. “But I have to work things out for the kids big time.”
“Of course,” Dean said. “I’m surprised you’re even considering it.”
“It’s partly because Liz lives in Florida. I wonder how far she is from Smyth.”
“Let’s see,” Dean said, pulling out his phone. “Where does she live exactly?”
I recited her address in Siesta Key.
“Nice,” he said when he saw an aerial view of her beachside church and rectory. I’d looked it up many times, dreaming of taking the kids to see her, Disney World, and Siesta Key’s powdery sand and turquoise waters. Dean’s eyes were a similar color, and seeing him there was a fantasy that had been running a little wild lately.
Liz’s home was about forty-five minutes from Smyth Lake and the college. We spent several minutes searching for Bruce and Mia’s engagement announcement and anything about Andrea Morgan. The announcement was easy to find, but there wasn’t much else. Going to Florida seemed like a necessity.
Dean emailed Frank, asking to discuss Florida and travel. Then he told me he’d write up everything we’d learned and, with Frank’s okay, pass along our report to the police. I offered to start running background checks on Bruce and his associates. I’d also review information Mia had emailed me, although she’d apologized for having so little, saying she and Bruce were about to merge everything, such as bank accounts and credit cards, but they were waiting until after the honeymoon, when her name would be changed.
The case was so serious and overwhelming that it felt surreal.
“We’re sharing the load, you know,” I reminded Dean. “Don’t go easy on me just because I’m new at this—or because I have kids.”
He smiled and moved closer on the sofa, resting his arm on my shoulders. I bit my lip and held his gaze—along with my breath.
“You’re right,” he said. “We’re definitely in this together.”
More than anything, I wanted to reach up, squeeze his hand, nestle in, and become inseparable for a while. I almost indulged. But then I imagined Jack or Sophie coming downstairs unexpectedly. They’d never seen me date, never mind kiss, a guy. Their concept of romance was limited to family stories, fairy tales, and friends’ marriages. Dean was something I’d have to explain. Eventually. I hoped.
“I can’t,” I said. “The kids...”
“Is there somewhere private we can go?” he whispered.
Did he mean a bedroom? I was no Mia, but that wasn’t happening. I wasn’t even sure that part of my body worked anymore. Meanwhile, our home’s first floor was open space except for my office, which had French doors. I’d loved that floor plan until now.
The other options included the patio (too cold, no matter how warm he could keep me) and the basement, which consisted of a toy-strewn playroom, storage areas, and a full bath. Not exactly appealing or romantic, unless you counted the bath. Again, no way. I’d stick with Mr. Clean and Mr. Bubble for now, thank you.
“We should probably get some sleep,” I said. “I mean, I should walk you to your car.”
Confusion—and possibly a touch of hurt—flashed in his eyes, and I regretted not suggesting the basement. Maybe being surrounded by dolls and action figures would have been okay. Eat your heart out, Barbie, I thought. Dean would put Ken to shame.
He stood and took my hand, and I grabbed my keys and a baby monitor, just in case I spent more time at (or in) his car t
han expected. Maybe that’s what dating would be like as a single parent—reminiscent of my teen days, making out on porches and in cars, hoping my family and neighbors wouldn’t see. In passing, I wondered if adults get hickeys. Kenna would have a field day with that.
I closed the door behind me with a gentle click and followed Dean all the way to the driver’s side.
“I haven’t told the kids about you yet,” I said quietly. “I mean, they know about you, but not that we’re...”
“Involved?”
That was a good way of putting it.
“Right. To them, you’re my teacher and friend.”
“There’s no rush,” he said, leaning on his car.
But rushing was so tempting. Rushing to connect with him. Rushing to make him part of my life. Rushing to…
I glanced up at Jack’s and Sophie’s windows, making sure their lights were off and their curtains were closed. Then I checked the houses nearby, including Kenna’s. Her living room light was on, and the street lamps seemed brighter than ever. Privacy was hard to come by these days, and as a PI, I couldn’t complain.
“Call me in the morning, okay?” I said. I stood on my tiptoes and gave him a kiss that was longer than planned.
He leaned in, and the entire world disappeared until we resurfaced for breaths of crisp, sense-sharpening air. He wrapped his arms around me for a few luxurious moments. I wished I could fall asleep right there, listening to his heartbeat.
I pulled back slightly, met his eyes, and spoke without thinking.
“I wish you didn’t have to go.”
His soft laugh floated toward me in a mist. “We’re going to spend a lot of time together. Maybe more than you want.”
But we’d probably spend it doing everything but this.
Kenna’s words about getting to know him rang in my ears. Traveling together on business might be the best way to consider moving forward…and away from my past. Could I risk getting hurt again? Maybe. Could I risk having my kids lose another male role model? I wasn’t sure.
I gave him a lingering peck and then a playful wave over my shoulder as I walked toward the house, not feeling a bit of the cold surrounding me.
Inside, I had a message from Lydia flashing on my cell phone, which I’d left on the coffee table. I felt guilty but relieved that I’d missed the call. What could I say to a mom who was suffering so terribly? I’d lost my father and my husband, not a child. And no one, thank God, to violence.
“You have to help us find Bruce,” she pleaded on the voicemail through her tears. “Not for my sake. But for him. For Mia. Please, just trust me. I know it.” She didn’t even say goodbye. Just “Thank you” and a click.
My eyes watered, and I held back feelings that went beyond words. The warmth I’d felt just moments before with Dean was now uncomfortable heat. Too much emotion at once. I’d studied so many criminal cases. So many atrocities. Yet reality still left me speechless.
Bruce’s family needs to know what happened, I thought. They need to know if, how, and why he suffered—and that someone will be held responsible.
Logic told me that with the discovery of Bruce’s car, the police should—and would—take care of it. But like Lydia, I trusted instinct more than reason, and my intuition aligned with hers.
Meanwhile, there was someone else I hadn’t consulted. Someone whose gut I trusted almost as much as my own. It was too late to call her, but I dialed anyway.
Nine
“You know I’m on call 24/7,” Aunt Liz said when I apologized about the time.
As a priest, she didn’t get time off unless someone filled in—just like a doctor would ensure someone is always available for patients. Emergencies happen at all hours, and priests provide a different kind of critical care.
“For the church. Not for me,” I said.
“Especially for you,” Liz corrected me. “And we need to talk. I’m beside myself about Bruce. I want to drop everything and fly back to Virginia, but Mia convinced me to stay here, at least for tonight. She said you and Dean are helping.”
I sympathized and asked for her opinion on whether to proceed.
“Oh, Nicki,” she said. “I’m going to have to pray about this.”
“I understand.”
How long was that going to take? I didn’t want to rush God or anything, but I kind of needed an answer soon.
“Would you like to pray together?”
Uh, no thanks. I was more of the silent, pray-on-the-go type. Although after Jason and my father died, I’d done some pretty loud praying (if you could call yelling praying) while the kids were asleep.
“How about if I do it?” she offered, saving me from discomfort.
She strung together a nice collection of words, and we ended with a joint Amen.
Then I asked again what she thought. Should Dean and I stay involved? With the case, that is.
She took a deep breath. “What do you think, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” I said with a sigh.
“Me too. If I had to vote. But you and Dean have to make the call.”
“Mmm hmm.”
“The kids can stay with me,” she offered. “I could take them to Disney. I’m sure some of my colleagues can fill in temporarily. You know, helping you might be the best way I can help Mia. I’ll even pay for their plane tickets. You’d be doing me a favor by saying yes.”
As generous as her offer was, imagining time without the kids was painful, not a relief. A Disney trip would both help and make it worse. I didn’t care if I ever saw a princess, real or imagined. But it would be a dream come true for Sophie. She was still young enough to semi-believe in her favorite, Jasmine. And Jack…would his first roller coaster ride be without me?
When I opened Sky Investigations, I knew these moments would come. Times when I’d miss significant milestones because I’d be working. Mom, Kenna, Andy, and others had offered to fill in and videotape everything from soccer games to recitals. But I’d been in denial that it would really happen…that I’d be absent…and that the kids would notice, especially so soon.
I closed my eyes and considered Mia’s and Lydia’s pain. This was why I became a PI. To help victims and their loved ones. And to support my kids, whom I loved more than anything in the world. I didn’t want them to miss school, but…
“Okay,” I relented. “Thank you.”
“Thank you,” she said.
I stayed up almost all night doing background research on Bruce’s case and packing for Florida. I had to haul summer clothes out of “storage” (trash bags shoved in the corner of an unfinished room). I wasn’t sure the kids had bathing suits or waterproof shoes that fit. Hopefully everything would stretch. Most of their shorts had that ability, thanks to elastic waistbands that tightened or loosened with interior buttons. Come to think of it, I needed that feature on most of my pants. Maybe that’s how I’d make my first million. Adult, adjustable clothing. (I can’t be the only non-pregnant woman who’s tempted to shop in the maternity section.)
In the “we better not freaking need these” category, I packed a thermometer, various children’s medicines, my bathing suits, and every beach cover-up I owned.
After a two-hour nap, I showered, researched post-911 travel regulations, measured and weighed our luggage, unpacked a few items, and loaded a carry-on bag with “these better not get lost or we’re screwed” necessities, including my iPad, which I topped off with new kids’ apps and shows. I also texted Kenna an update and gave her protected online access to the stripper photo, asking for her input.
I did it all without knowing if we were going anywhere, but also knowing that if we did, we’d be prepared—and if we didn’t, our summer clothes would be folded and organized before returning to their storage corner.
Sophie woke at seven, and I texted Dean at
eight. As a former military guy, maybe he was an early riser.
Ready for Florida if you are, I texted. The next flight leaves at noon. My kids can stay with my aunt in Siesta Key.
I didn’t mention where I’d bunk. Liz had room for me, but Dean couldn’t stay there, and if he stayed near Smyth, I’d probably join him. Unpredictable coming and going from Liz’s might upset Jack, Sophie, and (most of all) me.
I’m emailing Frank now, Dean responded. We’ll get the latest and then decide. I’ll copy you. And I got in touch with the Parks and Rec guy who found Bruce’s car. Not much to go on there. It was found in a normally deserted area, and he immediately reported it to police.
Kenna also texted back.
Don’t know the stripper, but those are our shorts. Would love it if my classes were responsible for that booty. Can I ask club managers if they recognize? Won’t include any details or forward the photo.
I answered yes and kept an eye on my messages while making Sophie oatmeal with almonds, dates, and raisins. I waited until she was fully dressed with her teeth brushed to explain that she might stay home from school. Sticking to a routine was the best way to prevent arguments, especially about outfits. I wasn’t picky, but wearing a princess nightgown to Florida wasn’t going to fly. Literally.
“Why am I staying home?” she asked. “Is Jack sick?”
Occasionally one child was so sick that I skipped taking the other to the bus stop, which was out of eyesight. I wouldn’t let either of them walk alone. Or together without me. I trusted them, but not the world, and Kenna couldn’t always help.
“No, sweetie. He’s fine. I’m letting him sleep because we might have special plans today.”
“But it’s my day to feed Bobby,” she whined. Oops. He was the class fish. “What are our special plans, anyway?”
Sky High (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 2) Page 8