Sky High (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 2)

by Susan O'Brien

  “It depends how they ended things.”

  “True. But Mia implied Bruce didn’t like him. What if there was some kind of pre-wedding confrontation?” I was throwing darts without a target, but we had to brainstorm. “And Mia’s parents. We haven’t talked to them. My aunt says they were crazy about Bruce, but you never know.”

  After Jason died, my dad admitted he’d had reservations about my marriage. He didn’t think it was his place to say anything, and I agreed, even after Jason died. I wouldn’t have listened anyway. I was in love, and ultimately, marrying Jason brought me Jack and Sophie. I tried not to think about “what ifs,” but they crept in anyway. What if Jason or I had given our relationship more attention? What if Megan hadn’t come to work at his office? What if I’d been prettier? Or sexier? Or more confident, for heaven’s sake?

  “Here’s Eva’s address,” Dean said, pointing to his laptop screen. “Looks like she’s still local.”

  “Perfect. Does anything else pop up for her?”

  He clicked a few links while I looked over his shoulder. “She runs her own real estate business, Moreno Properties.”

  Her website featured moderately priced homes, glowing client testimonials, and her home, cell, and office numbers. A department store-quality photo showed a pale, makeup free woman in her twenties with long, dark hair and a plain, white blouse.

  We browsed her website and learned she was hosting a first time homebuyer’s seminar that night. We were far too late to register, but that wouldn’t stop us. We’d have just enough time for dinner before showing up and extending the seminar’s Q&A. I couldn’t help wondering if there would be a natural opportunity to ask Dean a real estate question or two…and whether that would be sneaky or smart.

  The hotel recommended a nearby steakhouse for dinner, and I didn’t want to complain, so I settled for my usual salad and fries, wishing I could plop some baked, marinated tofu on the lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and carrots.

  “Sorry the selection’s not great,” Dean said. “I never realized how challenging that is.”

  “No problem,” I said. “I’m used to it. You get creative.”

  “You know, we haven’t even seen the beach yet,” Dean said. “Do you want to sneak in a swim tomorrow?”

  Oh, dear. Only if it was in the dark. Or in a wetsuit. It wasn’t bathing suit season, and for me, it hadn’t been since the ’90s.

  “Great idea.” In theory. I was glad I’d ordered a salad. “Let me check in with Liz before the kids’ bedtime and find out their plans—and tell her about our flight.”

  “Sure thing.”

  I excused myself and stepped outside. The temperature was comfortable, and a light breeze ruffled my blouse. I tapped a weather app on my phone and saw the wonderful/disturbing news. Tomorrow’s weather was perfect for whatever we wanted (or didn’t want) to do. At least Liz and the kids would have plenty of options.

  I still didn’t see a text from Kenna, so I checked my email, and there it was. Super Teddy, furry paws clasped under his cheek, head resting on Jack’s pillow. A blanket was tucked around his chin and cape. (Unfortunately, it was impossible to close his eyes. Hopefully Jack couldn’t relate.) A nearby index card read, “Hi Jack and Sophie. Had a fun day. Hope you did too. Get some sleep so we can have fun when you get back! Love, ST.”

  To savor the image for a moment, I enlarged it before sending it to Liz. There, blurry but discernible on Jack’s nightstand, was a tipped-over Corona bottle and a crinkled Chipotle bag. Apparently Kenna was living it up with Super Teddy, and she made sure I knew it. If I didn’t get home soon, he might be her new BFF.

  After forwarding the photo to Liz, I called with an update and explained our plans.

  “We’ll go to Disney tomorrow, then,” she said. “Do you want to pick up the kids there, since it’s near the airport?”

  “That would be perfect,” I said. “Is seven thirty too late? And are you really okay with packing all their stuff?”

  “It’s fine. I’ll make sure they eat dinner, and they’ll probably conk out on the flight after a long day.”

  Wow. That meant I’d have significant alone time in the car without any responsibilities or interruptions. What a luxury. Maybe I’d get lucky and run into traffic. I’d gas up early, just in case.

  “Thank you so much, Aunt Liz. One more favor. Please take a few pictures. I might die if I don’t see their first trip to Disney World.”

  She promised to do her best with her cell phone—plus buy one or two photos from the park.

  We talked a little more about Jack’s trouble sleeping and their long, tiring day at the beach.

  “I’m not sure he could stay awake if he wanted to,” Liz said.

  Phew.

  Their sleepy voices on the phone put me at ease and made me want to hug them a million times. I blew them kisses, breathed a sigh of relief that their day had ended well, and returned to Dean a little too relaxed.

  “So,” I said, “about our trip to the beach. Let’s do it.”

  Eva’s seminar ended promptly at nine, and we entered her office lobby while everyone else exited, most of them holding folders, pamphlets, and real estate goody bags. I guess they weren’t just for kids’ parties anymore.

  “Did you forget something?” she asked when she saw us swimming against the tide.

  “Oh no, we couldn’t attend the seminar,” I said. I introduced myself and Dean and watched a look of interested surprise cross her face. As soon as I mentioned Bruce’s name, though, her expression turned serious, and she busied herself with cleanup.

  “I haven’t seen Bruce in a couple years,” she said as she folded a cardboard display of properties and estimated mortgage payments. “I doubt I can help.”

  She put the display in a closet and got out a light jacket. There was still plenty to do—plates of cookies to put away, stacks of paperwork to straighten, and a giant whiteboard to erase. But she put on her coat, tucked dark strands behind her ears, and pulled keys from her pocket.

  “I know it’s been a long night,” I said. “But we’re only in Florida today, and we’d really appreciate a few minutes of your time.”

  “What do you want to know, exactly? And why?”

  I glanced at Dean and explained that Bruce was missing, but I didn’t provide many details. “When was the last time you were in contact with him?”

  “I haven’t seen him since college, but he’s emailed a few times asking to see me. I always turn him down.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, basically because he’s a prick.”

  I smiled and gently asked her to elaborate.

  She looked at Dean and then back at me.

  “Would you like me to step outside?” Dean asked.

  “Yes,” we both responded. That got a smile out of Eva.

  “I hope I never see Bruce again,” she confided once Dean was out of sight. “He’s a creep who used me in college. We dated for six months and broke up when he moved, and he emailed me occasionally asking to get back together. I knew what he wanted, and it wasn’t a relationship. Finally, I stopped responding. He emailed on my birthday this year, September 28, and I ignored him and changed my email address. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

  She added that she’d closed her old email account and deleted its data, so she couldn’t retrieve what he’d sent.

  “I’m sorry to ask this, but was he ever violent in any way?”

  She fiddled with her keys and stalled. “Sort of, yes. I don’t want to get into it. I was an idiot to date him. Young and stupid.”

  I tried to make her comfortable saying more, but she stayed mum, so I asked if she’d reported him, either to the school or the police, and she said no. She alluded to Andrea’s case and said taking action seemed hopeless.

 
“Do you know of anyone else who dated him or was mistreated by him?”

  “No, thankfully.”

  “Do you feel safe from him now?”

  “I guess. But it’s weird that he’s missing.”

  She looked around, as if he might be here.

  “We didn’t expect to find him in Florida. We only found you because we did some background research. I’m sorry if we scared you.”

  “It’s okay. Can you tell me if you do find him, though?”

  “I hope so,” I said. I gave her our business cards. “And I hope you’ll keep in touch if you think of anything that might help. Or if he gets in touch with you, of course. The police would want to know, too.”

  I jotted down Detective Allen’s contact information on the back of my card, took two of her cards from a display, and offered to walk her out.

  The silence on the way to her car was comfortable but full. After thanking her, I watched her get into her Mercedes and listened as she locked its doors. Then I waved goodbye and turned toward Dean’s rental, where he sat in the glow of a reading light.

  My feet moved slowly as I worked to identify a familiar, nameless emotion. Then I realized it wasn’t one; it was two.

  Fury.

  And determination.

  Fifteen

  “Hi,” I said to Dean, who had left my door unlocked. Must be nice.

  He looked out his window as Eva’s headlights swung past.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “A pattern is definitely emerging with Bruce,” I said. “Eva really didn’t want to give specifics, but he mistreated her. She hasn’t seen him since college, but he was still emailing her occasionally as of two months ago. And she’s scared of him.”

  “No way. Why was he emailing her?”

  “Trying to start things up with her again, apparently,” I said, not hiding my disgust. “I don’t know how Mia got mixed up with someone like this. But at the same time, I do. I think he’s a slimy, great actor.”

  I fiddled with my cell phone and swiped at my email, noting a two-sentence message from Lydia: “Must talk. Please call,” followed by her hospital phone number.

  We did need to talk. But there was no way I could give her or Mia this update. I didn’t want to tell Frank the latest about his son, either.

  “I got a call from Frank while you were inside,” Dean said.

  “Really? Gee, I was just thinking about how I don’t want to call him.”

  Apparently anger was like alcohol for me. Once it was in my system, I didn’t think much about what I said, and I wasn’t sure how long it would take to sober up.

  Andrea and Eva couldn’t be Bruce’s only victims. His alleged mistreatment of women, and what it might mean for Mia and others, hit a nerve that I could only relate to Jason, whose behavior was light-years away from Bruce’s. But whether Bruce was dead or alive, there was no way I’d let Mia live with a lifetime of questions.

  “He wants you to call Lydia.”

  “Me specifically? Why?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say. He just said she has something to tell you.”

  “That’s strange. Lydia just emailed me and asked me to call. When she asks about Bruce, what am I going to say? I can’t tell her what we know. Not yet.”

  He shrugged. “Say we’re not any closer to finding him.”

  Unfortunately, that felt like the truth.

  Lydia was still in the hospital, and we were repeatedly interrupted by medical staff checking vital signs, IVs, and more.

  “It’s so hard with Bruce gone,” she told me during a quiet moment. “I just want to know he’s okay. He’s my whole reason for living. Without him, I just…” Her voice sounded weaker than I remembered. “I need my son.”

  “The best thing you can do for him is take care of yourself. Is everything set up for the transplant in the hospital?”

  “Yes. It wasn’t easy to arrange, but as soon as Mia’s labs come back, we’re on.”

  “Lydia, was there another reason you wanted me to call? I got the impression there was.”

  “Yes, and please forgive me for asking. You remember the male spirit who stepped forward for you? Someone with the letter J?”

  Oh, no. Not this.

  “I remember, but please don’t worry about that now.”

  “Well that’s my point. I don’t want to worry about it, but he keeps pestering me. It’s actually making it hard for me to rest. He’s insisting on getting a message to you, and I’d appreciate it if you’d let him. Are you okay with that?”

  No, I wasn’t. But I was more uncomfortable with preventing her from resting.

  “Go ahead, Lydia. It’s okay. I’m listening.”

  I turned down the volume on my cell phone, hoping Dean couldn’t hear Lydia’s side of the conversation. Often I had it on full blast so I could tune out the kids’ rambunctious play.

  “Nicki, there’s a Jason stepping forward for you,” she began. I looked out my window into the darkness, feeling trapped. “Do you know a Jason?”

  “Hang on,” I said, turning to Dean. I covered the mouthpiece and whispered to him, “I’ll be right back.”

  He lifted his shoulders in a “Huh?” gesture. I opened the door anyway, stepped out, and closed it behind me. Then I walked a few feet, turned away, and raised the volume. If I had to do this, I needed to hear every word.

  “Jason is my late husband,” I said. “He died five years ago.”

  “Do you have something of his? Oh, I don’t know what this is. Wait. Something like a…”

  Child? Yes. Life insurance policy? Yes. Apology? No.

  “Like a cake pan?” she continued.

  My heart stopped. I was a terrible cook who only baked twice a year, and it was on my kids’ birthdays. I always used a hand-me-down pan from Jason’s mom—the one in which she’d baked his cake every year. It was our family tradition.

  “I do,” I said. “I bake with his mom’s pan on my kids’ birthdays. But why would he tell me that?” It seemed so pointless. Gee, thanks, Jason. Big news. Maybe you could tell me why I have a broken heart.

  “Because it’s validation that it’s him. Do a lot of people know you have that pan?”

  “No.” And definitely no one Lydia could have asked. I guess that made sense. Come to think of it, it was one of the most harmless secrets about me. Thank goodness Lydia (or Jason) wasn’t spouting embarrassing things. (“Did Jason ever buy chocolate-flavored condoms?” “Do you secretly despise your school’s PTA?” “Did you pee in the hotel shower this morning?”) Then I’d really want to end the conversation.

  “I’m also getting that when you use that cake pan, he’s with you and the children.”

  That was nice. Maybe something I could tell the kids. Daddy is with you on your birthdays. But still. Would Jason annoy a gravely ill woman to tell me that? I took a deep breath and thanked Lydia for the message.

  “Nicki, we’re not done. He wants to apologize to you and the kids for causing so much pain. Does that make sense? He takes responsibility for something he did.” It was selfish of me, but all I could picture was him with Megan, and I didn’t feel forgiving. “She…Megan?...thought you were separated. Getting divorced. He lied to her. I’m not sure what that means, but that’s what I’m hearing.”

  “Okay.”

  “He lied to her. She never would have done that to your family otherwise. Please tell her family she didn’t know. Does that make sense to you?”

  “Yes, it does.” In some ways. In other ways, it’s utterly crazy. On top of it, I was being asked to reach out to Megan’s family. With information from “the other side.” That kind of private investigation was all new to me.

  “There’s something else he wants you to know. He and Megan are bot
h okay and at peace. And he wants you to see something. Something in a red box.” I heard rustling. “Excuse me.” More rustling and other voices. “It’s time for my medication, Nicki. I have to go. But think about a red box. You must have one somewhere.”

  Think about it? I’d be obsessed with it. I’d rip apart my storage corner, closets, and junk drawers. Jason had given me jewelry in red boxes. I stored photos in colorful boxes. We even had an old, red trunk. Did a red eyeglasses case count? I had my work cut out for me.

  “I’ll do that, Lydia. Thank you. Have you talked to Frank today?” I asked.

  “No, he called, but I couldn’t talk, and I have to go now.”

  So she didn’t know about Bruce yet, which meant Mia might not either.

  “I hope you get some rest tonight,” I said. “God bless.”

  “You too,” she said. “Please call with good news soon.”

  I felt like lying down on the asphalt, looking up at the stars, crying, and talking back to Jason. But no matter how incredible Dean was, I didn’t think he’d understand. So I pretended I was still on the phone and strolled around the parking lot, mumbling to myself and wiping my eyes and nose. I hoped Dean couldn’t see that in the dark.

  Was that really you, Jason? If you came to apologize, why didn’t you give me what I’ve always wanted—an explanation? And you better help me find that box. While you’re at it, how about arranging some help for Mia and Lydia, too?

  After one lap around the empty lot, I glanced at the car, where Dean was leaning on the driver’s side door, gazing at me, bemused. I’d never even heard him get out.

  “Done with your call?”

  “Yeah.” I lowered my phone to my side. “Sorry about that.”

  “What was it about?”

  Too bad I hadn’t been mumbling about what to say to Dean.

  I approached him in silence and decided to go with honesty.