by Kate Young
“What is it about then? I know you and I haven’t been the best of friends lately, but we were really good friends once.” In middle school. “But I thought we shared a mutual respect. I realized when you were rude to me at the police department, you were stressed out, and I got it.” Oh, cue the guilt. “We were always friendly up till then. And we’re both businesswomen working to make a name for ourselves here in our little town. I’ve even offered to share my scoops.”
I kept my eyes trained on her dark brown irises as I sipped from my cup. We had been friends once. I had admired her tenacity in her work. Respected her for going after what she wanted in life—though not a fan of her desire to use Quinn as a bargaining chip. It certainly wouldn’t be a method I’d use. But I’m sure other people wouldn’t approve of some of my methods either.
“You’re right. And again, I was out of line the other day. You have a gorgeous figure and a perfect ass.” I gave her the “I hate you” look women gave their friends, which everyone understood was a compliment.
She smiled. “I better have. My grueling daily squat routine isn’t for fun. And like I said, I completely overlooked what you said. Come on.” She placed the mug on the desk with a thud. “I need this.” I could tell she meant it. “And let’s face it, so do you. Plus, I’ll owe you one,” Piper dangled at the end.
“Okay. I’ll do it. But”—I smoothed out my fashion ponytail and gave Piper a point-blank stare—“I will not discuss anything about Harper or the incident at my parents’ house.”
“Fine,” she said, nodding eagerly. “No problem.”
“And I want the contact info for Charles Hammond. I want to get his take on what happened at the hospital.”
“Sure thing.” She dug through her bag and took out her phone. Within a few seconds, my phone pinged with a shared contact. One thing I could say was positive about Piper Sanchez. She took her work seriously and gave it everything she had. Her work was her life, and I could relate to that.
I decided to push, just a little. “And speaking of owing me—”
“What?” She pursed her lips.
“If anything about Harper crosses your desk, I get it first.”
“Oh my God!” Piper rolled her eyes. “You know I can’t promise that.”
“I’m not asking for that. All I’m asking is for a heads-up. No one will ever know where it came from. And I’m not saying you can’t run it. And”—I leaned forward—“if we see this works out, we might be able to help each other moving forward. I could send tidbits your way.”
I could see her contemplating the possibilities of a working relationship. “You know this could be brilliant. Two powerful women running this town behind the scenes.”
I smiled and nodded. “Exactly. Women helping women.”
She nodded. “Girl power.” She held up her pinky as she had in junior high.
I laughed and linked my pinky with hers. “Girl power.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Piper took several shots of me at my desk and in front of the office before she left. I had to give her credit; she came across as an excellent journalist and extremely professional. I actually felt pleased about the article now. Who knew? It might even bring in some business.
Speaking of business, I needed to find out who “Charles,” or Charlie, as Harper had referred to him, was and what his role was in all of this. When I called him, he answered on the first ring and sounded downright gleeful to meet with me, which gave me the strange jumpy sensation in my stomach again. I had to get a grip on that.
I decided that I’d get us some refreshments before he arrived at the office. I’d intended on buying scones and perhaps some granola when the smell of pumpkin spice lattes convinced me to add them to my order. They would be better than the pods in the office. I was on my way back from the coffee shop, with a carrier containing two lattes and two ginger scones, when I spotted LJ coming out of Smart Cookie. He crossed the street, chewing on a large black and white cookie. I wondered why he hadn’t returned my calls. The behavior was unacceptable.
Determined to catch him before he went MIA again, I intended to charge across the street and demand an audience. He’d claimed to be willing to do anything to help Harper. Time to put up or shut up. I was sick of chasing him down, and besides, I might still harbor a little irritation that he’d not lifted a finger to come to my aid, or even shouted for help, at the hospital.
I tapped my foot impatiently, waiting for a break in the traffic, when I noticed him opening the door of a big white van. Something inside me went still. Moving down the opposite side of the street, I stood behind the bed of a large four-by-four truck just as the van pulled out and slowly rolled down the road. “Hewitt Electric,” written in big, bold blue lettering down the side of the van, caused my heart to race. The same company that Gran and I had spied leaving Ross’s house the night of the charity event. The night someone killed Leonard Richardson.
Amelia called just as I crossed the street, heading back to my office. My heart hammered in my ribcage as my mind reeled with what I’d just witnessed. “Hey.”
“You sound out of breath. Ah, I hear street noise. I thought you’d be home taking it easy.”
“Nope. Back at work today.” I waved and smiled at Mr. Newsom, who owned the hardware store, as I passed by. He’d been staring, and I didn’t want to add any more grist to the rumor mill.
He grinned broadly, waving as he adjusted his orange and brown plaid hat, his hand on the door as he got ready to open up. “You all right?”
“Yes, sir.” I paused. “Thanks for asking.”
“How’s ya mom and them? A shame all this mess your family is going through.” His rosy cheeks shook in time with his head.
“They’re hanging in there.”
“And you are too, I guess. Bless your heart. My wife and I saw the horrible attack on the news. Be careful, ya hear? A woman on her own is a scary scenario in this day and age.”
My smile nearly faltered. “I appreciate your concern. I’ll be careful, and I’ll let my folks know you asked about them. Have a nice day!” I continued up the street.
“You poor thing,” Amelia said. “I couldn’t help but overhear all that. Everyone should mind their own business.”
“Can’t argue with you there. But then again”—I paused and let a couple pass me—“if everyone minded their own business, we wouldn’t have eyewitnesses, and no one would have rushed to my aid the other day.”
“Well, that’s true, I guess. I never thought of it that way. Any news from the police?”
“They’re still investigating. They said the guy might’ve been paid to attack me.”
“Oh my God! Who would do that?”
“They’re not sure if there is any truth to the allegation. One of his gang members rolled over when he got picked up on another charge. The member could be attempting to make a deal for leniency. I’m being careful just in case. But I refuse to alter my life because of some lowlife. I will not live in fear.” I had my small sidearm in my shoulder bag, and after taking a safety course last year, plus all the time I’d spent at the firing range, I felt comfortable and confident with my piece. I decided to wait until we were all together before telling her about the black sedan I’d seen before the attack.
“Good for you! Guess who I just got a call from?” Before I could guess, she blurted, “LJ Richardson, and he’s asked me to come over and do a formal walkthrough of the property. He wants to put it on the market. He thinks he might need the money for Harper’s defense.”
I froze in front of the office door. “Amelia, don’t go over there by yourself. Promise me.”
“It’s my job, and like you, I refuse to live in fear too.”
Maneuvering the bag atop the cupholder, I managed to get the door open. “Okay, listen.” I placed the items on the desk. “The night of the charity event, when I was taking Gran home, we saw a man come out of a neighbor’s house and get into a Hewitt Electric van.”
“And
?”
“And I just saw LJ get into a Hewitt Electric van.”
“Oh my God.”
“Look, don’t freak out, and swear you’ll keep this to yourself.”
“You’re scaring me. But I swear.”
I perched on the edge of the desk and lowered my voice despite the fact I was alone. “I believe someone tried to poison Harper before the police took her into custody.”
“What?”
“And that’s not all. LJ was at the hospital when Spider attacked me and, from the footage I saw, attempted to stop Charles Hammond from helping me.”
Amelia sucked in a sharp breath.
The office door opened, and in walked Charles Hammond. “Amelia, I’ve got to go. Are we on the same page?”
“Same sentence, same word.”
“Good.” I placed the phone on the desk, then turned, smiled, and extended my hand. “Mr. Hammond. It’s nice to see you again.” I gave him a saccharine-sweet smile and hoped my eyes didn’t show my distrust in anyone who associated with the Richardson family—or the nerves I battled from the way he’d held me after my attack.
He took my hand in his. “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered from your injuries.”
I released my hand from his. “I believe I owe you thanks.”
He shook his head. “Not at all. Like I told you on the phone, I only did what anyone would have. I just wish I could have reacted sooner and saved you from such trauma.”
“That’s kind, but I don’t think anyone saw that coming, and I believe you did save me from a worse fate. The perp had a knife that he tried to use on the police.”
“I’d heard that.” He shook his head.
I pulled one latte from the carrier and, taking a bag containing a ginger scone, handed them over and waved toward the small seating area by the coffee machine. “Please, have a seat.”
After I retrieved my refreshments, I joined him, taking a seat opposite him. This felt more conversational than it would with me seated at my desk and him on the other side of it. “I’ll get right to the point, Mr. Hammond.”
“Call me Charles, please.”
“Charles.” I smiled. “I understand you are close with the Richardson family.”
He nodded. “I am. I’m currently working on a mystery that’s set in a small town much like this one, depicting a family much like theirs.”
“That’s exciting. My book club would love to sit down and chat with you. Do you have anything published I might be familiar with?”
He shook his head. “I’ve written a few short stories and a couple of anthologies. This will be my first novel.”
I took a bite of my scone and washed it down with a sip of coffee. “Ah, so ‘Charles’ is a pen name then?”
He inclined his head. “No. It’s my birth name. Why?” He held up a finger. “Right. You mentioned before that you googled me.”
I waved my hand. “To see what you’ve written. It came up with no hits. I found several Charles Hammonds, but none of them were you.”
“I’ve yet to create a social media presence. It’s probably something I need to look into. Clearly.” He took a sip of the coffee and smiled. “Future fans will be researching me.”
We both shared a fake laugh, and I detected a slight nervous tremor to his. Why?
“Is your story also loosely based on the Richardson murder?”
“I’m not sure yet. But if I don’t write about the murder and the family, someone else will.” He pushed his square-framed black glasses up on his nose.
“Before my attack, I noticed you and LJ having a conversation outside the hospital.” I wiped my hands on a napkin. “What do you think of him?”
“Ah.” He flushed a little when he smirked. “LJ is an interesting sort. He hasn’t decided whether he likes the idea of me writing the story or not. I found his disdain for his late father particularly interesting, along with his relationship with his, um, stepmother. And right now, he’s no fan of mine.”
“Care to elaborate?” I inclined my head as I crossed my legs, a motion he watched intently. I swallowed the uneasiness and tugged my skirt over my knee.
“Only that I’m not sure he’s decided if he’s a fan of yours or not. And obviously”—he lifted his brows—“I am.”
I cleared my throat and decided not to touch that last remark. This was a business meeting, and I planned to keep things professional. “LJ seemed to be on board with Harper’s desire to hire our company to help with the defense discovery and investigations. What changed?”
He shrugged. “The guy’s fickle with trust issues.”
“Okay.” I thought it was more because he was afraid I might discover the secret he harbored and perhaps would swing the investigation his way. “After my accident, I managed to get up and speak briefly with Harper. She insisted that I speak with you.”
His eyes grew more serious. “Did she?”
“Yes.”
“She didn’t say why?”
I gave my head a small shake.
“Not surprising. Harper is …” He paused and tapped his index finger against the paper cup. “Troubled. She battles with a lot. Her life hasn’t been easy.”
I shifted to angle my body more toward him and placed my arm across the back of the chair. “What are you saying exactly?”
“All families have secrets, Lyla.” His light brown gaze locked with mine. “Some are benign, and others are dark and sinister. I wonder if you know which your family harbors.”
“My family?” Had Harper wanted me to speak with Charles because of my family and not about the case?
“This town isn’t as it seems. Secrets here are like wounds beginning to fester. And some folks won’t be happy when they reach the light of day. I’d be careful if I were you. You don’t want to get caught in the cross fire.” He leaned back against the chair.
I studied him. “Are you threatening me, Charles?”
His brows went up. “No. I’m trying to warn you. Your own family isn’t what they seem. All I’m aiming to do is help.”
I picked my cup back up. There was something about the way he spoke that had me on edge. I let out a small chuckle to cover my nerves. “You shouldn’t concern yourself with my family.”
Something I couldn’t discern flashed across his face before he smiled. “I concern myself with all families. Each family has a story to tell. One day, you may want to unearth yours. When that day comes, I’ll help you.”
I met his gaze and held it. “I wouldn’t hold out hope for scandal there, if I were you. It doesn’t get any more normal than the Moody family.” Even as the words left my lips, I could tell I hadn’t sold it, and the thought frightened me.
“Very well. We’ll let it go for now.” He took another sip of coffee. Irritation began to build within me. “The only thing I can imagine Harper Richardson was referring to is some notes I took while interviewing the family after the murder,” Charles said. He crossed his right leg over his left and took another sip from his cup.
“Would you be willing to share the interview notes?”
“I can do better than that. I’ll get you into the house to ask the questions yourself. Beatrice mentioned you came by earlier. Perhaps we can make a deal of sorts.” My opinion of this man was rapidly deteriorating. I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I’m working for the defense, and it wouldn’t help my client’s case having a writer looking over my shoulder to profit from her misfortune. I do have a reputation to uphold, Mr. Hammond. Plus, I worry I might be making a deal with the devil by agreeing.”
His head fell back in time with his deep belly laugh. “My sources at the Sweet Mountain Gazette informed me that you’ve already made a deal with the she-devil willing to sell her very soul for a story. I have contacts everywhere.”
“Yikes. Don’t think much of Piper, do you? And there’s no deal.” I wondered if Piper knew he had eyes on her as well. She would if she didn’t already. Or had I misjudged her, and she’d betrayed my confidence? Per
haps Charles had replaced Quinn as her boy toy. Somehow I doubted Piper would choose a man over her career. But what was done was done.
“What’s that expression?” He raised his finger. “Ah. ‘The juice isn’t worth the squeeze.’”
“Ouch.” I smirked. Guess not an item or partner in any capacity. Good.
He rose. “You’re right to wonder about the family, on the right track there. Perhaps ask the question why. Why did the Richardsons move to Sweet Mountain? Why did Leonard want to control the household? Why did his family despise him? And if you want to be brave, ask yourself why your family has hidden so much from me? Do a little digging. What might you unearth?”
The gloves are coming off. “Perhaps you should ask the question why.” I got to my feet and smiled, fighting my warring instincts to throttle him until he told me everything he knew and my annoyance that he dangled so-called knowledge about my own family. “Why am I such an impertinent blowhard? Why do I think so much of myself? What creds can I lean on for validation?”
A glint lit his eyes. He took a step toward me. He didn’t seem angry; he seemed excited. “Ah. I see. You think a little too highly of your skill set. You’ve been doing this—how long? And yet you still don’t know the most important facts?” he said.
I bared my teeth in a mock smile. “It’s funny. I was having the same thoughts about you.”
“Oh?” The fire in his eyes dared me to continue. He was enjoying this interlude, and strangely, though I hated to admit it, so was I. It was a battle of wits. He wasn’t that much my senior—ten years, give or take. And we seemed equally matched.
My breathing sped up to match his. “Yes. I wouldn’t concern yourself about my competency. You have enough on your plate, attempting to build a career. You, sir, are no Truman Capote, and this isn’t the case to alter that fact.”
I would not let this man have the upper hand. Could not.
He laughed. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
The door opened, and Uncle Calvin strolled in. He paused when he noticed Charles. “Hello.”