Sky High (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 2)

by Susan O'Brien

  “It’s a surprise,” I said, knowing a new Disney movie would suffice if necessary. Skipping school to see actual (fake) princesses might make me the best, worst mom around.

  “I don’t like surprises,” she said.

  Me either. But I could almost guarantee they were coming our way.

  The only fun part of learning that we were going to Florida was telling the kids, who jumped up and down, hugged, and screamed so much I was afraid their oatmeal might make a return appearance. And that was before I told them they’d stay with Aunt Liz, go to Disney World, and play on the beach. That stunned them into wide-eyed silence, followed by more ear-piercing revelry. The closest they’d been to a beach in years was a sandbox, and thinking about the Gulf made me nervous. They were both good swimmers, but still…I wouldn’t be there to overprotect them. On the upside, they’d probably have more fun than ever.

  Discussing the beach distracted Sophie from thinking about Bobby, the class fish, so I kept both kids at home and sheepishly emailed their soccer coaches and called the school about their absence.

  Dean and I agreed to meet at the airport. He’d take a taxi and, since my kids still needed booster seats, I’d leave my van in economy parking. We each made our own flight reservations, and I miraculously secured a three-seat row.

  The process made me think of my late father, “Grampy,” who had died unexpectedly of a heart attack when Jack and Sophie were four and two. He’d lived with us after Jason’s death, and he’d been more of a father figure than a grandfather to them.

  Every time I saw a plane overhead—which was often in my Northern Virginia suburb—I thought of him. I avoided flying, though, knowing it would conjure emotions I wasn’t ready to face. Now there was no escape, and Dean might be along for the ride. My anxiety eased when I considered Dad might have extra influence on our safety from heaven.

  Please keep an eye on us, Dad, I requested. All the way there and back.

  We made it to the terminal early, a near-miracle for our family. The kids were fascinated by the variety of transportation modes available: van, bus, moving sidewalk, escalator, and AeroTrain. Surprisingly, Jack and Sophie were easier to pull along than our suitcases, which is why I’d checked our bags immediately.

  “Hey there,” Dean greeted us after we’d loaded up on drinks, snacks, and gum. The kids were all smiles in anticipation of junk food and electronic games at thirty thousand feet.

  I hugged Dean, awkwardly introduced him as Mr. Summers, and reminded the kids that we’d be working while they spent time with Aunt Liz.

  “Working on what?” Sophie asked.

  The truth (a possible murder case and controlling my libido) wasn’t appropriate.

  “Solving a mystery,” I offered.

  “By the way, you guys can call me Dean. Okay?” Nice timing. Distraction was my favorite parenting trick.

  They nodded.

  “Is this your first time in an airport?” he asked them.

  “Uh huh,” Sophie said shyly. Before long, she’d be talking his ear off. If he sat across from us, I wouldn’t give her an aisle seat.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “We love it,” Jack said.

  “Especially the stores,” Sophie added.

  “The junk food selection is mind blowing,” I explained, shaking our plastic bag of goodies.

  “Guess what? We’re missing school today,” Sophie told him.

  And we were off to a great start, final destination unknown.

  I’m not sure if it was my dad’s way of looking out for me, but the kids were so busy during the flight that the tears I was sure would flow (mine) never threatened to erupt. Thankfully, neither did the kids’ behavior. We made two trips to the bathroom, tried new iPad games, admired beds of clouds and southern landscapes, and noshed on peanuts, chocolate-covered raisins, pretzels, M&Ms (divided evenly, including by color; I ate the strays), and gum. Secretly, I called this lunch. I kind of wished we could fly forever.

  Dean witnessed little of this thanks to his seat near the front of the plane, which I was too busy to visit. It was a magnet for young flight attendants, however, which I’m pretty sure had everything to do with his looks and nothing to do with customer service. After he stopped by our seat to say hello, they backed off a little. Good thing, I thought. Otherwise I might have to retaliate with spilled juice or some other messy distraction. Truthfully, I’d cleaned our hands and surroundings first thing, and I’d do the same before we landed.

  We were greeted with blinding sun, a warm breeze, and rustling palms as we dragged our luggage to the nearby car rental agency, where Dean and I requested plain sedans (no red, please) with navigation systems, and I rented booster seats, afraid of how they’d look and smell. (Kids get carsick a lot, especially when parents bribe them through flights with crap. Oops.)

  “You’re staying at Smyth Lodge?” I asked Dean before we parted ways.

  “Yep. They’ve got lots of rooms. Want me to reserve one for you?”

  “That would be great. Non-smoking. Let me give you a credit card.” Probably not the best way to start a relationship.

  He paused but accepted my shiny new company Visa. If he checked my balance or spending habits (which would not only be nosy, but also against the law), he wouldn’t learn anything too incriminating. My biggest splurge—raised-print business cards—was defensible, I thought. A lot more defensible than my actual credit card bills, which revealed a weakness for new health foods, especially desserts. Amazing that it’s possible to ease and create a guilty conscience all at once.

  I was glad my kids’ definition of “fun” included riding in a “new car” with “new seats.” (The booster seats smelled and looked innocent, but I used my last two precious antibacterial wipes to clean them off anyway.) I blasted the kids’ favorite satellite radio station and opened our windows for what we nicknamed a “wind party,” although it wasn’t the same without our minivan’s sunroof. While we waved our hands in the air like we just didn’t care, I kept an eye out for Dean on the highway, wondering what he’d think of our traveling celebration. As always, no one relieved my stress like Jack and Sophie. No one worried me like they did, either. Which is why I didn’t want to arrive at Liz’s, only to say goodbye.

  Ten

  Liz’s rectory, which was relatively child-safe except for the giant ocean outside, brought back memories of my childhood visits, when I’d cherished our conversations and the activities at church next door. Thanks to our Skype visits and her recent stay in Virginia, Jack and Sophie seemed comfortable enough with her. Liz would be wonderful company, I knew, but once the excitement faded and bedtime came around, their attitudes might change.

  “How is Mia doing?” I asked, knowing the answer would also shed light on how Liz was feeling.

  She looked away and then back at me. “She’s almost too upset to speak. Thank God she has her parents, Lydia, and her bridesmaids. Everyone’s staying a few more days.”

  “How about Lydia?” I asked. “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s moving forward with having Mia tested as a donor,” she said. “I’m extremely concerned with how little she can eat. Worrying about Bruce might sap all the energy she has left.”

  “Has there been any more talk about whether her mediumship can help?”

  “So far, it’s not providing any leads, and that’s really hard on everyone. I don’t know what to think about it.”

  “I’m sorry. She and Mia can call me anytime,” I said. “Please tell them that. And you’ll keep me posted on anything you hear, right?”

  “Oh, you can count on it.”

  We spent two hours unpacking, eating dinner, and reviewing everyone’s needs and schedules. Then I reminded Liz that she could reach out anytime, day or night, too. I wasn’t sure whether hearing from her or not hearing from he
r would scare me more.

  Not long after I pulled away from the cottage, she called. I answered with the rental car’s Bluetooth, which I’d set up before I left.

  “Everything’s fine,” Liz assured me. Phew. “Jack just wants to know where you put Super Teddy.”

  Oh, no. Everything was not fine. In my rush, I’d forgotten to bring his favorite stuffed animal. He’d been sleeping with it when I packed, just like he had for almost his whole life. How would either of us sleep knowing I’d made such an awful mistake?

  My first instinct was to turn the car around, but that wouldn’t solve much. Super Teddy was a thousand miles away in Virginia, and I was no substitute.

  What could I tell Jack? That Super Teddy, who wore a red cape, was afraid of flying? Or that his superpowers might throw a plane off-kilter? Maybe Kenna could FedEx him to Florida. But that would still mean a night without Super Teddy.

  After contemplating flying Kenna to Florida with him (unless they sold seats just for teddy bears, which would be awesome), I came to a painful realization. Super Teddy wouldn’t be joining us, and it was probably a good thing. After all, Jack was seven. Before long, he’d be invited to sleepovers, and it might be awkward to bring an unexpected “guest.”

  I took an exit, parked in a fast food lot, and gave the conversation my full attention.

  “Can you put Jack on speakerphone, please?” I asked.

  “Of course.” I heard a click and the echo of open space.

  “Jack,” I said. “I’m going to be honest with you. I accidentally left Super Teddy at home. I’m so, so sorry. But honey?”

  “What?” Thank heaven he wasn’t crying. Yet.

  “I know you’re going to be okay. You know what I bet Super Teddy would tell you?”

  “No.”

  “That on this trip, you’re going to be Super Jack. You’re going to be a strong superhero who sleeps by himself.”

  “But I don’t want to do that.”

  Ugh.

  “You and Sophie are sleeping in the same room, remember?” Liz interrupted. The guest room had twin beds. “So you won’t be by yourself.”

  “Right, Jack,” Sophie added sweetly. “I’ll be there.”

  “What do you think about that?” I said. “Does that help?”

  “Sort of,” he grumbled. I didn’t blame him. Super Teddy was such a big part of our lives that I almost believed he was real, and he definitely had superpowers. He gave Jack peace, so he comforted me, too.

  “I have an idea that might help,” I said. “Can I call you right back?”

  We hung up, and I speed dialed Kenna, hoping she was home.

  “Nicki?” she answered.

  “Kenna. I need a favor,” I said, skipping the small talk.

  “Anything. What is it? Are you in Florida?”

  “Yeah. We’re fine.” Sort of. “But can you run over to my house and text me a picture of Super Teddy?”

  “Uh, yeah. You didn’t bring Super Teddy?” She was appropriately appalled.

  “I know, I know. He’s probably still on Jack’s bed. If not, call me.”

  “Got it. I’ll text you in a few. Love you guys. And be nice to yourself. You probably feel worse about this than Jack does.”

  Hm. Spoken like a mom whose kid sleeps solo.

  I pulled through the drive-thru and got a decaf coffee to fill time. Then I called Dean while waiting for my phone to beep with Kenna’s text. He had checked in, and my room was reserved down the hall. A key card was waiting at the desk. Note to self: No pajama runs to the vending, ice, or laundry areas, unless you have on full undies and makeup. That included a bra. Dean wouldn’t understand the post-breastfeeding, tired-boob look, and I needed to preserve his innocence. I think my boobs were trying to make up for the sleep I lost while using them.

  “Call me when you’re settled in,” he said. “We can meet for dessert if you’re up for it.”

  That sounded dangerous, both in terms of calories and defining “dessert.”

  Five minutes later, Kenna’s text arrived, and it was a keeper.

  Super Teddy was leaning on Jack’s pillow, living it up with a chocolate milk and Double Stuf Oreos. He was holding an index card that read, “Everything is great here! Have fun in Florida! I’m saving treats for you and Sophie! Love, ST.”

  Perfect. And just what I deserved.

  Ha! Lifesaver! THANK YOU! I texted back.

  I just hoped Jack would feel the same way.

  The proof would be in the pudding. Jack agreed to sleep with the photo printout under his pillow, and I considered my own sleeping arrangements. Given my years of independence, staying separately from Dean would either be really easy or really freakin’ difficult.

  After a smooth drive and check-in process, I settled into my sparse, clean, but non-luxurious room with a queen bed, flat-screen TV, microwave, mini fridge, and equally mini bathroom. The AC was on—loudly—so I turned it down and put my suitcase and carry-on bag on a nearby vinyl chair. I was not coming home with bedbugs.

  I reviewed my notes about Bruce, Mia, Lydia, Frank, the groomsmen, the bridesmaids, and our target in Florida—Andrea Morgan’s father, Eli, whose address Dean had found. Then I brushed my hair and teeth, touched up my makeup, and pocketed my cell phone and key card. Ready as I’d ever be to talk with Dean.

  I’d never been to Dean’s home in Virginia, and something felt ultra-personal about visiting his hotel room, even though he’d only been in it a few hours.

  He’d left the bathroom door open, and I could see his shaving cream and razor neatly placed on a washcloth. An open, red toiletry bag hung on a towel rack, leaving toothpaste, shampoo, mouthwash, and deodorant on full display. All major brands. No evidence of itchy scalp, stinky breath, or clinically significant sweating. Not that I expected—or delivered—anything close to perfection.

  “Everything go okay with dropping off the kids?” he asked.

  “Yeah, but it was hard to say goodbye.” I wasn’t ready to confess my Super Teddy failure.

  “I’m sure,” he said. “Jack and Sophie are adorable. And fun.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “You were great with them.”

  He smiled. “Are you ready to work? We can order dessert if you want.”

  I wasn’t hungry, but I ordered apple pie to be polite, and he chose cheesecake. We discussed our accommodations and how to approach Eli Morgan, who lived about ten miles away. Dean had talked with Detective Allen in Virginia and learned Eli was already being questioned and watched by Florida police. Allen wouldn’t share details, so we wanted to get to Eli as soon as possible, preferably before he was arrested or legally advised to keep his mouth shut.

  Simple, online research showed Eli was a divorced, nine-to-five banker who frequented his local tennis club, which posted player rankings and photos on its website. He was pictured with his doubles partner, and they were fit, middle-aged, tournament champions. Eli’s appearance was more “country club” than “killer”—not that he couldn’t be both—and his local criminal record was clean, other than two minor speeding infractions.

  Our plan was to get up early, stop by the hotel’s continental breakfast, check in with the local police, and head for Eli. We’d probably observe for a while in case he left to exercise before work, but it was likely we’d knock on his door around eight. Satellite shots of his home showed a large, stucco single family with a lap pool and expansive, landscaped grounds.

  “Okay. This is more of an interview than an interrogation,” Dean said. “We want to get everything we can out of this guy, while obviously showing the utmost respect for his daughter.”

  “Of course,” I said. “I’m really nervous. I’ve never questioned anyone about something like this.” Just uttering the words rape and sexual assault was difficult.

&nb
sp; “He’s probably more nervous than you are. The police are talking to him about someone he may have wanted to hurt or kill.” True. “And if he’s innocent, we’re on his side,” Dean continued. “We want the truth, not someone to blame. Hearing that might help him relax.”

  “Mmm hmm.” I was lost in worrisome thought.

  “Confession,” Dean said, squeezing my hand and locking eyes with me. “This case is a big stretch for me, too. We were upfront with Frank, and he wanted us anyway. We’ll do what we can.”

  I wished that put me at ease. It was one thing to let Frank down. It was another to disrupt a possible homicide investigation, a transplant, and (oddly least of all) a marriage. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake.

  “What are you going to wear?” I asked to relieve tension. It was a tiny yet pertinent detail.

  “Slacks, an oxford, and a tie. Maybe a jacket. He works at a bank, so I don’t think that’ll be too formal for him.”

  “Okay.” I had navy pants and a light blue blouse that would work. A jacket was questionable, since the Florida heat and my nerves would have me sweating bullets.

  I nibbled apple pie while Dean finished his cheesecake. I rarely had an appetite around him. Not for food, at least. Dating was one heck of a diet.

  “We should go to bed,” I said without thinking. Holy Freudian slips. “We have to get up early, and it’s been a long day.” As evidenced by my foot-in-mouth problem.

  Dean grinned. “It sure has. I’ll walk you to your room.”

  He carried our tray to the hall, set it down, and held my hand.

  I wasn’t used to the tingly reactions he created, and I never wanted to be. I wasn’t sure which was better, the small things that build anticipation…or the results of them.