“Don’t you have to get going, Austin?” Betty interrupted, poking his leg. “Don’t let your team down. You know they need you.” She looked at us.
“You’re right, Grandma. Thanks.” He stood, took his cap, wallet, and phone off a credenza, and offered to walk us out.
“Before you go, Austin,” Dean said, “where were you the night before Mia’s wedding?”
“Where was I? I don’t see why that matters.”
“Austin was with me when that young man went missing,” Betty interrupted. “He had a softball game at seven, and then he came home, and we watched the news. We went to bed early that night.”
Austin nodded in agreement. “Same thing we told the police.”
“Which newscast did you watch?” I asked.
“The ten o’clock local news,” Betty said, “and then we turned in. Right, Aussie? I had a ladies’ group the next morning.”
“That’s right, Grandma, and I drove you.”
“How many cars do you two have?” I asked.
“Just one,” Betty said. “I don’t drive much anymore, so Austin is my chauffeur.” She patted him on the back. “He’d never do anything to hurt Mia. He’s been sweet on her for so long. He wouldn’t put her through anything like this. Please tell her we’re sorry for her loss.”
“Will do,” I said. We thanked them for their time and stepped onto the porch with Austin.
“Don’t you need your softball stuff?” Dean asked him.
“Nah,” he said. “I keep my bat and glove in the trunk.”
Dean shook Austin’s hand, and I did too. Knowing he was in a rush, we let him pull out before walking to our car, noting his license plate as he drove away.
“Thoughts?” I asked Dean quietly before we got in.
“He seemed like an okay guy. A little nervous about that night. Not someone who’s going to take shit or go quietly. Grandma Betty was covering for him like crazy, too.”
My thoughts exactly.
Twenty-One
It was starting to feel essential to talk with Mia and her parents, but our timing couldn’t be worse. I turned to Liz one more time while Dean started the car and got the heat going.
“Call Mia in the morning after nine,” Liz suggested. “She’s having trouble sleeping, and she needs to rest, but she’s usually up by then.”
I asked Liz to fill me in more on Austin.
“What’s your impression of him? She must have talked a lot about him.”
“She was falling in love with him, but like I said, he just wasn’t ready. Everyone was relieved when she met Bruce and he distracted her from heartbreak. He really swept her off her feet.”
That was the same expression Austin had used.
“How did he do that?” I asked. “Was it all emotional, or was he spending money on her, too?”
“That’s a good point. He was showering her with compliments and everything else—jewelry, expensive dates, and a beautiful engagement ring.”
“Did Mia mention Austin at all before the wedding?”
“Not to me. Why?”
“I’m just curious. Do you know of any non-wedding-related stresses in Mia’s and Bruce’s lives, financial or otherwise?”
“No. I certainly hope not. Taking care of Lydia and the wedding was enough. They both have good jobs, especially Bruce.”
“Okay. I hate to ask this, Aunt Liz, but has the funeral been planned?”
“I’ll let you know the details as soon as I get them, but they’ll depend completely on Lydia’s health and the schedule at Mia’s church. It could be weeks before the actual burial is held.”
“Okay,” I said. “Well, I should go. I’m in the car with Dean, and we’ve got more to do.”
“Tell him I said thank you,” she said. “And if you see Mia, give her a big hug for me.”
I hoped I’d have the opportunity to do just that.
The night was young, but I wasn’t, which meant by the time we reached my house, I was starting to fade.
“Are you a football fan?” Dean asked as he pulled into my driveway.
“Not really.” Meaning I only know what down means if it’s in a rap song, a jacket, or expensive bedding. “You?”
“So, so. I’ll watch tonight’s game, though.”
“Who’s playing?”
“Bandits and Wolves.”
“Oh. Right. Actually, Kenna’s husband is a sports writer.”
“Really? Who does he work for?”
“The Washington Gazette. He covers football and baseball.”
“Must be nice.”
It was, if you like long, late hours and working feverishly while trying to “enjoy” games. The Gazette’s website was updated 24/7, and since athletes’ constant shenanigans were “news,” Andy was always on-call. The only upside was that if necessary, he could telecommute from home.
“It’s demanding,” I summarized, glad Dean wouldn’t be rude enough to say what many people, including virtual strangers, did: Can he get me tickets to games?
I peeked at Kenna and Andy’s house, which was mostly dark. All the kids were surely in bed.
“We could go watch the game somewhere,” Dean suggested. “Neither of us has eaten.”
“Okay.” I was tired, but dinner sounded great. I wouldn’t mind a beer, either.
“You could come over to my house. We could get some work done while the game’s on.”
With the exception of watching football, that sounded fascinating. Maybe I’d do without the beer. I wanted to run on all cylinders while I checked for evidence of Ginny.
“Do you cook?” I asked.
“Nothing you’d want to eat.”
“Not vegetarian? Or just bad?”
“Extremely limited. I boil pasta well, and I pour a good bowl of cereal.”
“Hey, don’t knock that stuff. They’re staples at my house. But we can get takeout if you want. There’s a Chinese place nearby and a couple pizza places.” I knew their numbers by heart.
We settled on Chinese food and checked the menu on Dean’s phone.
Despite Kenna’s warnings not to discuss “tofu and lentils” around him, which she called two of the grossest words (and foods) in the world, I chose broccoli, rice, and tofu. Dean got sesame chicken and a side of eggrolls. He politely asked the clerk if the eggrolls were vegetarian (they weren’t), but at least he tried.
“What station do you listen to?” Dean asked as he backed out. He turned on the radio and encouraged me to choose one.
Uh-oh. Would I really expose him to tofu and dirty lyrics in one night? Too tired to overthink it, I chose an old school station that wasn’t too offensive. Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing” was on. Slightly embarrassing, but nothing compared to what my other favorite stations might play. Next was Bobby Brown’s “Every Little Step.” More comfortable.
Dean eyed me and smiled.
“This is your style?”
“Sort of. It’s the tip of the iceberg.”
“Really?”
“Actually, my kids and I have our own disco ball.”
“Nice.”
“I’m thinking of installing it on our basement ceiling.”
“You know what that means, right?” he said.
“What?”
“Next time, dinner’s at your place.”
Visiting Dean’s house was like sightseeing at a cool, new attraction, except I couldn’t show how riveted I was.
Aston Martin and motorcycle in the garage.
Sparkling, black granite countertops and dark kitchen cabinets.
Worn leather furniture and a humongo TV.
A flat-topped, wood trunk used as a coffee table.
Photos of family an
d friends everywhere, including one I’d seen years ago of his late mother, Jaqueline.
And no sign of Ginny or her SUV.
Dean picked up a remote and clicked a few times, startling me as whistles and grunts flew from speakers mounted on walls. Surround sound definitely made me feel like I was in the middle of the game.
“Sorry,” he said. “I should have warned you.”
“It’s okay. Your speakers would go well with my disco ball.”
He set our takeout on the trunk and went back to the kitchen.
“What can I get you to drink?” he asked, partially hidden by the open, stainless steel refrigerator door. “I have water, OJ, Pepsi, and beer.”
“Whatever you’re having is fine, thanks.”
He returned with forks and open beer bottles, set them down, and hit the power button on his laptop nearby, which I recognized from the hotel in Florida.
“I’m just getting it going,” he said, “but let’s not work yet.”
“I don’t even know if I want to eat yet,” I said. “You have so many photos. Is it okay if I walk around and look at them?”
“Of course.”
We got up, and I inspected each one with genuine interest, asking about his family and friends.
When we got to the one of his mom, he wrapped his arms around me, clasping our hands in front of us.
“You know who that is,” he said quietly.
“Your mom, Jaqueline.” I tried to pronounce it with the French accent he’d used in the past. “I hope I got it right.”
“You did pretty well.”
Her hair was a darker shade of blond than Dean’s, and he’d gotten his blue eyes from her. I complimented her beauty and asked him to tell me more about her.
She was enjoying a successful modeling career, he said, when she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer at thirty-two. She fought it with dignity and died a peaceful death with her family, including twelve-year-old Dean and his ten-year-old brother, by her side.
“The older I get, the harder it is to remember our time together,” he said. “But I’ll never forget the feeling she gave me of being loved.”
He sniffed, and I nodded, tears coming to my eyes. Loss was part of life, but I was afraid of facing it again or having the kids suffer its effects. It was hard to accept that Dean had so many years without his mom. I hoped his father was amazing.
I thought of my dad, who had died three years earlier, and longing radiated from my heart. It was odd, but I still looked twice at anyone who resembled him, as if he might show up and say hello. Saying goodbye simply wasn’t an option.
“Are you…okay now?” I asked. “I mean, how did your family get through it?”
“Minute by minute. Hour by hour. Day by day. You get through it because there isn’t another way. You know that.” His voice had dropped to almost a whisper.
I turned, wrapped my arms around his waist, and sighed.
“I’m so sorry, Dean.”
He guided me to the sofa, paused the game, and shifted to face me, his muscles stretching the seams of his green Polo, revealing a glimpse of the angel tattoo he’d gotten in honor of his mom.
“I don’t talk to people about her,” he said, “but I’m comfortable with you.”
“I feel the same way about you,” I said. If “comfortable” included having a butterfly swarm in my stomach so massive it might escape when I spoke.
“You know,” he said, squinting at me. “I haven’t thought about anyone else since I left last year.”
“Me either.” I hadn’t thought about anyone else since Jason died. I squeezed his hands and held my breath. Moments ago, I’d been about to bawl, and now I was full of hope. The range of emotions possible in two minutes never ceased to amaze me. Usually, the kids were responsible for my jumps from negativity to joy. This was different.
“This case has really made me think about…” Dean started.
I heard the familiar sound of a garage door rising and looked at the entrance to Dean’s kitchen.
“Uh-oh,” he said, shooting a glance in the same direction.
In that moment, I realized how vague “uh-oh” is. Uh-oh you’re getting robbed? Or uh-oh your garage door malfunctions occasionally?
In this case, it was “uh-oh” something else. “Uh-oh” someone else. Someone with a blond ponytail, a pink jacket, and a warm smile. Until she saw me.
“Hi, Ginny,” Dean said. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
Neither was I, and I could tell she wasn’t expecting me, either.
“Hi,” I said cheerfully, as if nothing was amiss.
Dean cleared his throat and introduced us.
“Ginny, this is Nicki. Nicki, this is Ginny. You might remember Ginny from our surveillance exercise a long time ago at the PI Academy. She was the FBI agent who helped.”
“I do, actually,” I said. “Nice to see you again.” I gave a little wave.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, giving Dean the stink eye. “You should have texted me.”
“This was kind of last minute.” He looked at me. “Ginny took care of the house while I was away, but she just got a new condo. She’s still moving her stuff out.” He looked back at her. “I thought you were done for the day.”
“I was. But I forgot my humidifier. The dry heat in my condo is killing me. I’ll be out of here in no time.” She bustled past us and up a flight of stairs, looking stylish in tight jeans, black boots, and a cute peacoat.
I smiled at Dean. “Awkward,” I whispered teasingly.
“I’ll explain in a minute,” he said, glancing at the steps. He un-paused the game and fast-forwarded to catch up.
Ginny trotted back down the steps with a humidifier under her arm.
“No way,” she said when she saw the TV. “21-21?” She set the humidifier on a table. “When I left home it was 21-7. I thought it was gonna be a blowout.”
“I know,” Dean said. He looked at me. “She’s a Bandits fan.”
“Do you want to stay?” I offered. “It’s fine. It’s almost the fourth quarter.” That was all I knew about football. There were quarters. And a halftime celebration that once featured a major wardrobe malfunction.
Ginny looked at Dean, who shrugged noncommittally.
“No. I better go. I have so much unpacking to do,” she said. “Nice to see you again, Nicki.”
“You, too.”
She was gone as quickly as she arrived, and I slowly lifted the remote off the trunk and hit pause.
“Everything okay?” I asked Dean.
I’d never seen him look insecure or guilty before, but he kinda looked both.
“What’s wrong?” I said, hearing fear in my voice.
“Nothing,” he said. He rested an arm on the sofa back and touched my shoulder. “I just hadn’t mentioned her to you yet.”
“What about her?” I said.
“This was our house. I mean we bought it together as an investment—to flip it—but we ended up waiting out the market a bit. So we let our apartment leases run out. She stayed here while I was away.”
“No big deal,” I said, relieved. “But that’s a huge commitment, buying a house together. How close were you guys when you did that?”
“Well that’s the thing, we were in the military together. After we left, we dated for a while. That’s when we bought the house. About three years ago.”
That matched what Kenna had told me.
“When did you break up?”
“Around the time I met you.”
It couldn’t be because he met me. Our relationship hadn’t been significant enough to have that kind of effect.
“Why didn’t it work out?”
Dean gathered himself for a moment. “A couple reasons
. First, both of our jobs involve travel, and it was hard to maintain a relationship, but there was something else. She wanted the whole deal. Marriage, kids, the white picket fence.”
Gee. That’s what I wanted too. Except I already had the kids, and I preferred a tall, no-gap fence to keep deer out of my yard. Without any thought, I inched (or centimetered) away. Just enough for me to realize I was pulling back.
“Uh huh,” I said.
“I didn’t want those things at the time, but after I met you, something started changing.” He looked around the room and then back at me. “Eventually I realized it wasn’t that I didn’t want a family. It was that I didn’t want a family with her.”
“Oh. Wow. Ouch.”
“Yeah. I’d just broken up with her when things got romantic with you and me. One of us had to move out, but I was going overseas, and it just made sense to let her stay here and take care of the place. It was all really new—the breakup and you, and I thought time away would give me perspective. I just didn’t expect it to be so long.”
“Did it help?”
“Definitely. After a while, Ginny got comfortable being friends, and we’re going to sell the place as soon as it’s ready. I wish I’d told you all this before. I just didn’t know when or how…”
“It’s okay,” I said. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“Nicki, someone just walked into my house like she’s living here,” he said. “I do owe you an explanation. I always want you to know I’m being upfront with you. I just didn’t want to, I don’t know, overshare right off the bat.”
“I appreciate that. I feel the same way.”
Speaking of upfront, I was sort of desperate to know whether having more kids was important to him. Parenting was the best part of life, but you couldn’t pay me a million dollars to have another child. Mine had just started school full-time, which meant I’d just started sleeping and showering semi-adequately, although that might be TMI. Talk about oversharing.
“Is it too personal to ask why you didn’t want to have a family with her?” I ventured.
Sky High (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 2) Page 19