by HELEN HARDT
I waited a few seconds, hoping he’d get back to normal.
When he didn’t, I said, “Roy?”
He blinked. “Yeah?”
“I think I lost you there for a minute.”
“What? No, I’m fine.”
He hadn’t been fine, but if he wanted to play it that way, I’d go along. Despite our closeness the last few days, I hardly knew the man.
The waiter returned then with our wine. He opened it and poured a tiny portion for Roy to taste. Roy pronounced it fine, so he poured me a glass.
I liked Beaujolais. It was simple. I wanted tonight to be simple. That strange episode Roy had a few minutes ago, though? That had been anything but simple.
After the waiter left again, I regarded him. “What’s going on, Roy?”
“Nothing.”
“Bull.”
“I’m just concerned. About everything. You know. I’m a suspect in my father’s murder, for one.”
I nodded. I hadn’t forgotten. My work so far had all been about that. But this dinner… I sighed. I’d so wanted this dinner to be like the Beaujolais—simple.
But this was Roy Wolfe.
It would never be simple.
“Is there anything you want to talk to me about?”
“My sister.”
I nodded. “What about her?”
“I don’t think— I don’t think she murdered my father.”
“I don’t think so either, though if what Rock says is true—Lacey filled me in—she sure had a motive.”
“I know. But so did we all, if you want to go that route. He didn’t sexually abuse Rock, Reid, and me, but he sure abused us physically. And mentally. And emotionally.”
Mentally? Emotionally?
Physically, yes. I knew about that, and I ached for Roy and the others for it. Mentally, though? Emotionally?
Roy Wolfe was more complex than I’d imagined.
“I’m so sorry all of you had to go through that.”
“We lived,” he said, “but I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend the rest of my life in prison for something I didn’t do. And I don’t want my siblings to either.”
“Rock has an ironclad alibi.”
“The rest of us don’t, including Lacey.”
I nodded. I didn’t know what to say.
“I need help, Charlie.”
His voice wasn’t weak. It was strong. He was asking for help from a position of strength.
“What can I do?”
“I need to remember, silver. I need to remember.”
My skin went cold. “What do you need to remember, Roy?”
“I need to remember what I saw, but God, I don’t want to remember.”
“What you saw? What are you talking about?”
This was it. This was what I sensed upon our first meeting and what got stronger the more time I spent with Roy Wolfe.
He was hiding something, and now…
Now he wanted the key.
That painting in the lobby when I’d first interacted with Roy. It was so beautiful and haunting. Something was hiding in that painting, and I’d been looking for a key.
Until Roy had said, “There is no key.”
“Does this have to do with your father?” I asked.
“Yes, my father. My father and…someone else.”
My phone buzzed. Damn! Not now. But it was Lacey, probably about work, and this was still my first week on the job.
“Go ahead and take it,” Roy said.
“No. This is more imp—”
“I said take it.” His tone wasn’t angry, but it was harsh.
I bit my lip. What to do? I answered the call. “Hi, Lace.”
“I’m sorry to bother you this late,” she said, “but I had a breakthrough, and Rock wants us all to meet back at the office.”
“I’m at dinner. With Roy.”
“I hate to interrupt your dinner, but this is big. Really big. Roy needs to come too.”
“Can’t you tell me over the phone?”
Crap. Did I really just say that to my boss who was paying me quadruple what I’d been making before?
“Sorry,” I said. “We’ll be there.”
Back at the office after nine p.m., still dressed in my uncomfortable work clothes. Rock and Lacey were both in jeans, but Reid, of course, still sported his tailored suit. He probably hadn’t gone home yet.
“Thanks for coming,” Lacey said.
“Thanks for dragging us away from a nice dinner,” Roy said sarcastically.
Rock went rigid. “Hey.”
“I don’t mean any disrespect to any of you,” Roy said, “but I’m starving. All I had was some bread and a few calamari.”
“We can order in,” Lacey suggested. “Rock and I have already eaten.”
Roy suppressed an eyeroll. Don’t ask me how I knew. I just knew.
Lacey turned to me. “Can you order us some food?”
This time I suppressed an eyeroll. I understood the importance of what was going on, but I had just been at dinner. And now I was supposed to order food for the group? At nine o’clock at night?
Still, I said, “Sure. What do you want?”
“Anything,” she said. “Whatever sounds good to the rest of you. I’m not hungry.”
“Pizza?” I suggested.
“Works for me,” Reid said.
“Me too,” from Roy.
I ordered the food quickly.
“Now,” Roy said. “You’re going to tell Charlie and me why you interrupted our dinner.”
34
Roy
Reid regarded me, his eyes wide.
“That’s right,” I said to him. “Charlie and I were having dinner together.”
I purposefully didn’t say we were on a “dinner date.” I wasn’t sure how Charlie would react to that, and I didn’t want to rock the boat any more than I already had. I’d let her inside my head a little, and though it was uncomfortable, I felt pretty good about it.
But I didn’t want to scare her. Not now. Not when I needed her.
Not when I loved her.
I had to take it slow and easy with Charlie Waters.
Hell, I had to take it slow and easy with myself. I was a fucked up mess, and Charlie deserved a hell of a lot better than a fucked up mess.
Reid didn’t reply.
“Anyone have anything to say about that?” I asked.
Four heads, including Charlie’s, moved side to side.
“Good. What’s up?”
“We were eating dinner, and Lace remembered something on that signature page.”
“Yeah,” Lacey said. “There were three signatures. One was Derek’s, I assume, and the other was the woman Blaine mentioned, the one with an unusual name. Then there was a third.”
“A third?” Reid asked.
“Yeah. The agreement was between three people. I can’t remember the woman’s name. Not yet, anyway. But I’m pretty sure the other man’s name was James.”
“First or last?” Reid asked.
“First. I can’t recall the last name. I just remember thinking at the time that it was the same name as James Earl Jones. I’d just watched a documentary that he narrated, so he was in my head. You know, his voice kind of permeates you.”
“You don’t think it was James Jones, though?”
“No. That I definitely would have remembered. It just came to me while Rock and I were eating, and we had a documentary on TV.”
“Narrated by James Earl Jones?”
“No, someone with an English accent, actually. But you know how things just remind you of something and then pop into your mind, right? That’s what happened. I’d watched a documentary, I can’t even remember what it was about, the night before, and James Earl Jones’s voice was in my head, and I saw the name James on the page.”
“James,” Reid said. “James. Who did Dad know named James?”
“Probably about a million people,” Rock said. “But at least it’s a start.�
�
“Someone with whom he’d be entering into some kind of confidential settlement under the table,” Reid said. “That might narrow it down a little. I know most of his business contacts.”
“Any named James?” Lacey asked.
“Several that I can think of offhand, and I’m sure there are more. I guess I start making calls.”
“James,” Charlie said softly. “I always liked that name. It sounds so strong and regal.”
I smiled. She was sweet.
“Of course,” she went on, “we have the most regal name of all right here in this room. You know that Roy means king, don’t you?”
I nodded. “In French. Yeah.”
Rock and Reid both stared at me.
“What?” I finally said.
Rock cleared his throat. “Okay, so Reid’s going to search for contacts named James. You might want to add Jim, too.”
Jim.
I jerked my head.
Jim.
Father Jim.
And I knew who we were looking for.
35
Charlie
Roy went white.
I stopped myself from showing my surprise.
No one else seemed to notice. Was it possible I already knew this man better than his own brothers did?
I itched to touch him, to soothe him, offer him comfort. Comfort for what?
Why had he tensed up? Gone pale?
Rock and Reid kept talking, Lacey adding bits and pieces as well, but I’d stopped listening. I focused on Roy, his needs, though I had no idea what those needs actually were.
My phone buzzed, and I nearly jumped out of my seat.
“Everything okay?” Lacey asked.
“Yeah, fine. It’s just…the pizza’s here. I’ll go down and get it.”
Roy stood then. “I’ll go with you.”
I nodded, and the two of us left the conference room.
When we stepped into the elevator, I flashed back to the first time Roy and I had gone downstairs to pick up food. Only days had passed, but it almost felt like a lifetime. So much had happened since then.
He didn’t talk. We just descended—
Right as we hit the first floor, he fell against the wall, grasping at the small railing inside the elevator.
“Roy! Are you okay?”
He nodded. “I was just thinking about…”
“About what?”
“About one time. In an elevator.”
I’d been in an elevator with him several times. Never had I seen a reaction like this one.
“You okay?” I asked. “You want to wait here, and I’ll get the pizza?”
He shook his head. “I’m okay.”
We walked together through the lobby and to the locked doorway. We grabbed the pizzas from the delivery guy and then locked back up.
“Still warm,” I said. “Good. I’m starving.”
“I’m sorry about our dinner,” Roy said.
“Why? It wasn’t your fault, and this is important. We need all the information we can get to figure out who’s responsible for your father’s murder.”
He nodded and then walked away from me…and toward the painting that had caught my eye my first morning here.
I followed him, standing a few feet behind him. “It’s so beautiful,” I said.
“The key,” he said softly.
“What?”
He turned to me, his dark eyes taking on an almost wild look.
“The key,” he said again. “I think I may have found it.”
“The key?” I wrinkled my brow. “Oh, right.”
I stared at the painting. The first time I’d seen it, I’d told him I sensed something hidden, and I was looking for a key. “You said there isn’t one.”
“But there is now,” he said, his voice taking on a faraway sound.
“Where? Where is the key, Roy?”
He pointed to his head. “In here.”
He said nothing more as he walked to the elevator. I followed him in silence. We ascended in silence.
When we returned to the conference room, I handed out the pizza on paper plates.
Roy didn’t speak for the rest of the meeting.
I ended up at my own place that evening.
Roy hadn’t invited me to his place, and I hadn’t invited him to mine. I sensed that he needed to be alone. Could I have been wrong? Possibly, but not likely.
My tummy was sticking out from overindulgence in the pizza. It was so late, and I’d been so hungry that I’d gorged on four pieces. Now I had a night of indigestion ahead of me.
I rooted around for the Pepto-Bismol, Roy’s painting never leaving my mind.
The key.
The key was in his head.
I was right. Roy was hiding something. Maybe he hadn’t realized he was hiding it. Now he knew.
Something had occurred to him while we were on the elevator—something that had made him react by clamping onto the wall.
Then the painting.
The key.
He wasn’t ready to talk about the key yet. That was obvious. But he had asked me to share with him the names of the therapists I’d found who practiced guided hypnosis.
He was ready to pursue something.
Maybe.
I had to go to work tomorrow. Would Roy be there? He didn’t always come into the office.
So I’d go to him. I set my alarm for an hour earlier.
Tomorrow morning, I was going to Roy’s.
I was going to help him find the key.
36
Roy
Elevator.
The elevator.
How had I forgotten so much?
How?
Easy. I’d forgotten because I’d had to live with what I’d seen. What I’d encountered. What I could never unsee.
Not unless I shoved it into a locked chest in the farthest part of my mind.
I’d done it.
All this time, I knew it was there, but I never allowed myself to see it. So many years had passed that I almost convinced myself it was my imagination. Just a horrible image that I’d once created.
After all, I was an artist.
A creator.
Creations weren’t always beautiful. Sometimes they were vicious. Sometimes they were ugly.
Sometimes they were from the depths of hell.
The elevator.
The goddamned elevator.
James.
James Earl Jones.
Reid’s contacts named James.
Named Jim.
Jim.
Father Jim.
Why did I abhor Father Jim? Father Jim wasn’t one of those pedophilic priests the church protected. Father Jim had never touched me or my brothers. Or my sister, as far as I knew.
He’d baptized all of us, given us our first communion.
In return, Derek Wolfe had kept his parish alive with massive donations.
Donations to a church, to the nearby convent, to their food pantry and their shelters.
Derek Wolfe, who hadn’t given two shits about the hungry and the homeless.
Why?
Why?
Why?
The key.
The key.
I had the key now.
All I had to do was insert it into the lock, turn it, and…
Find the truth.
The truth I’d been hiding.
The truth that had fucked with my mind for so damned long.
Was I ready?
Even if I was ready, would it help the current situation?
It might.
It might not.
But one thing was certain.
It could help me.
I could finally be free of what plagued me. What was always there, in the back of my brain, fucking with me.
Fear cloaked me.
What if I needed it? Needed it for my art? What if I was only able to create because of my struggle?
I couldn’t give up my art.
Coul
dn’t.
So only one thing to do.
Bury the key.
37
Charlie
I inhaled deeply, adjusting my dark red skirt. I’d splurged on several new suits when Lacey had offered me the new position, but I’d been a little wary of wearing the red.
Today, though, I wanted to knock Roy’s socks off so he’d talk to me. It was early, and he might still be in bed, but I rang for him anyway.
“Yeah?” came his voice from the intercom.
I cleared my throat. “It’s me. I mean…it’s Charlie.”
Nothing for a moment. Then, “Come on up.” The door buzzed open.
I kept myself from hyperventilating in the elevator.
The elevator.
Although not this building, the elevator was where Roy had freaked out last night. What was it about an elevator?
I’d come here for one reason—to help Roy find the key. Whatever the key was. The key, I was sure, was some kind of metaphor. We weren’t looking for a real key, of course. But what was the key a metaphor for?
Roy was ready to open up. He’d asked me for the names of the therapists who could do guided hypnosis.
I sighed. It wasn’t my place to try to get information out of him, but here I was anyway, clad in daring red—
The elevator door opened. I walked slowly toward Roy’s door.
As I lifted my hand to knock, Roy opened the door.
I sucked in a breath. He was wearing nothing but a pair of white lounging pants. His abs smacked me upside the head. He was so magnificent. His hair was a mass of disarray hanging around his shoulders. Smears of paint—blues, mostly—striped his chest, arms, and hands.
“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I woke you up.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t sleep.”