by Lauren Runow
After sitting in his desk chair, I open the top drawer and see a very organized file cabinet drawer. Everything is color-coded and labeled clearly. There’s a purple file with a tab that reads, Mrs. Sexton. I pull it out, and the receipt for my ring, the bill from City Hall, and the copy I was looking for is all in there.
I’m making a copy on his home scanner when I glance down at the open file drawer. One very thick file is labeled, Marina Sexton.
He told me he had done all his own research of his mom’s accident, but seeing the worn-out tab and folded edges of the well-used file makes my stomach fall. He really does have it.
Even though he’s been very open about his mother’s accident—well, as open as someone might want to be—I have more questions, especially after meeting his father and Missy, but it’s such a hard topic to segue into.
I bite my thumbnail and look behind me. Tanner only left a few minutes ago. I could just take a peek. He told me the file is here, so I assume it’s not confidential. I just have a few personal questions that maybe I can have answered without having to upset him.
It’s curiosity that killed the cat, yet a cat has nine lives, so I let my curiosity get the best of me.
Taking the file out of the drawer, I place it on the desk and open it with anticipation running through my veins. Newspaper clippings sit atop the stack of papers, and a picture of his mom is splashed across the front page. She was a beautiful woman, someone you could tell was full of life. I see where Tanner got his blue eyes and blond hair.
I flip through the papers, turning each one and skimming the details. Photos of the three boys standing strong together at her funeral break my heart, especially the sight of the fourteen-year-old with floppy hair and a tear-filled face.
I can tell which one is Bryce just by the photo and the way he already looks like he has the world on his shoulders. Losing your mother is hard enough, but after meeting his father, I can’t imagine what the boys endured just to keep their mom’s memory alive.
To my surprise, Tanner was able to obtain a copy of the police report as well. This must be what he took from his father’s office years ago when no one would tell him the details.
There are copies of shorthand notes and a long typed-out report. I read the story he’s already told me.
Edward Sexton was on the phone with his wife when she said a deer jumped in front of her vehicle. The accident was investigated over the course of three days. An autopsy and toxicology report show the driver wasn’t impaired at the time of the accident. Foul play was ruled out.
I flip through photographs from the accident. The series starts with the road she was driving on when the car drifted off-road, then flipped over an embankment, and landed upside down in the brush forty feet below. It’s no wonder she didn’t survive the crash. I spare myself the section that shows her bruised and bloodied body after it was extracted from the marsh.
A memory of words Missy spit when we were at dinner repeats in my head.
“And it got her pushed off a cliff.”
It was such an odd choice of words, and it has been nagging at me for days. If a deer jumped out and her death was an accident, then why would Missy say she was pushed off a cliff?
I flip the report to see more photos of the car. The car is demolished. I wonder if the deer was on the scene as well. I don’t see one. I look at the photos again. I’ve never seen an accident like this. One where the driver died on impact. One where the victim was my mother-in-law. It’s hard to explain this feeling I have. It’s like something is pecking at me, pushing me to keep looking. I have no idea what I’m looking at really. It’s just something that won’t stop.
“You had your sights on our family dollar way before my mother’s death. You might have a hold on my father, but you do not own us brothers.”
I wonder if Tanner has this nagging feeling, too.
A photo catches my eye, and I stare at a portion that’s seemingly buried under a bush at the base of the cliff, but it still makes me think. I know the car is totaled, and the tire rims are bent to all high hell, but one tire stands out to me because it’s completely gone. And I don’t just mean bent or ripped off. I mean, gone … with the rim and everything.
I hear the lock start to turn and quickly shut the drawer, not wanting Tanner to think I was snooping around.
In his hands are the bag of bagels and a Duane Reade bag. I curiously eye the plastic bag as he reaches in and pulls out a pair of cutting shears and a buzzer.
“What are those for?”
“My wife is going to give me a haircut.”
I raise a brow. “I don’t know how to cut hair.”
“There’s no one I’d rather cut my hair than you.”
I nearly drop my blanket. “You want me to cut off your hair? Like, all of your hair?”
The sexy smirk on his face means yes.
I rise. “Are you out of your mind? I love your hair.”
“No, you don’t,” he states matter-of-factly.
Okay, he’s right; I hate it. But, “I love everything about you.”
“Except for my hair.”
“I’m not doing this.” I cross my arms.
With a steady gait, he walks up to me and peels the blanket from my shoulders. With his lips on the base of my neck, he speaks into my skin, “If I’m going to let you sign a contract saying you don’t love me for my money, then I am going to let you cut my hair because I know that would make you happy.”
I groan as his hands dance around my hips.
“I don’t want you to change for me.”
“Sweet Harper, I’ve been changing at an impossible rate since the moment I met you. Besides, it’s time I grow up. I’m a married man who needs his wife to give him a haircut.”
“Fine. But, if you don’t like it, we’re growing it back.”
When I told my principal about our wedding plans and how I was requesting a few days off, to my surprise, he came back saying congratulations and gave me the full five days off. I’m not one to call in sick or take long weekends, so I have a ton of days banked.
If I didn’t think Tanner was gorgeous already, I absolutely do now that he let me cut his hair. I was so nervous about him hating it. I kept it longer than he was probably expecting and buzzed the bottom with the trimmer for a neat look. It was a little crooked, but when he came home the next day, I knew he had gone to the barber for a cleanup.
I wasn’t mad for two reasons. One, I’d already known I was awful at haircuts. Two, did I mention he looks impossibly gorgeous?
While he is spending the day planning an amazing trip to Saint Lucia for the two of us, I told him I had to run errands before I leave the country. If he knew I was going to see my dad, he’d want to come with. I snuck one of the photos from his mother’s accident out of the file and quietly left the house.
I feel bad about keeping anything from Tanner, but I don’t want to mention any of my thoughts about his mom’s accident until I get my dad’s opinion. Odds are, I’m a thousand percent off.
“What’s up, sweet pea?” Dad asks as he makes us a cup of Tetley tea.
“I have this nagging feeling about Tanner’s mom’s accident. Call it intuition or whatnot, but when I met his dad and stepmom the other day, something just rubbed me wrong. Things his stepmom said, the way his dad didn’t react. I don’t know. Something just felt off. Then, I found these photos, and now, I’m even more concerned. Or crazy. Possibly both.”
“I’m sure whatever you’re feeling is just nerves. You know, you’ve had a lot going on these past few days,” he jokes.
“That’s quite the understatement.” I open my purse and take out the photograph. “I just want you to see this. I want your opinion.”
He whistles through his teeth. “Shit. That’s …” He seems to have lost his words as he takes in the accident.
I brought the picture of the car in the brush, forty feet off a cliff and smashed to pieces.
“Is this his mother’s car? How
did you get this?”
I bite my lower lip, ashamed to admit it. “I found it in his drawer. Tanner has the entire accident report. This was his father’s.”
“Does Tanner know you took this? He might not like you digging into his past, especially so early. Let him tell you on his terms.”
“He has. We’ve talked all about it. I know I should talk to him, but I need your expertise first. Look.” I lift the photo, pointing to it. “Look at her back tire.”
I wait for him to view what I’m seeing. He takes the picture into his hands. His head tilts to the side as he blows out a breath. He doesn’t patronize me. He’s actually looking like I asked him to. He squints his eyes, and I know his wheels are starting to turn.
“Apparently, a deer jumped out in front of her, and that’s how she crashed. They know this because his father was on the phone with her when it happened,” I say.
He glances up at me in question, waiting for me to continue.
“Yes, the car is pretty beat up, but tell me, have you ever heard of an accident like this where the wheel came completely off?” I point to the spot on the photo where the wheel is disengaged.
“Deer can damage cars more than you’d expect—”
“Where the tire is missing is the least damaged spot on the car. If she hit a deer there, it would be smashed in. If the force of the accident did rip the rim from the axle shaft, then there would be massive damage there to allude to that. Yet there’s none.”
My dad tilts his head, and I know he’s seeing what I see. “Where was the wheel?”
“I don’t know, but it wasn’t in any of the pictures that I could see. The report just says it was lost on impact. What are the odds of the wheel coming off like that?”
He takes a deep breath in, sighing deeply, shaking his head. “You know … I mean … it wouldn’t be impossible, but looking at this, I agree. Something doesn’t fit. Each wheel has five lug nuts to keep that rim attached to the axle. The odds of all of them breaking loose are very slim, especially since there’s minimal damage to that portion of the car.”
“Then, how would the tire come off?”
He hands the photo back to me, running his hand down his face, inhaling a deep breath. “Sweet pea, are you sure this is something you should be looking into?”
“You think it, too? Someone tampered with that tire. Someone wanted her to crash.”
I know my dad has dealt with people in the mob. His upbringing in Long Island City was a breeding ground for kids who wanted to make a quick buck and could be lured into a life of crime. Unscrewing lug nuts is probably small potatoes compared to stories my father has heard.
“Harper, I’m going to say this once. If someone did mess with the car, they are not people you should be investigating. I don’t want you getting involved in this.”
“So, you agree with me. You think someone caused her accident?”
“I don’t want you getting involved.”
“But I am involved. It’s Tanner’s family. I think his dad and stepmom set this up. And your actions are proving you agree with me.”
“Honey, just back off of it. If they did this, who knows what else they can do? I’ve seen much worse, and I don’t want you getting mixed up with any of it. Your mother and I moved here to get you away from that life. Here I thought, you’d met a nice kid from the West Coast, and it’s the same shit coming back at us.”
“It’s too late. I love Tanner. He’s my husband now, and if his mom was murdered, he deserves to know the truth. His stepmom said some things at dinner when she and Tanner got in an argument. It struck me odd then, and now, I just know. I feel it in my gut.”
He places his hands on top of my shoulders, bringing his head down to meet my eyes. Nothing but seriousness radiates back at me. “You’d better be absolutely sure before you say anything. You could open a can of worms that you don’t want anything to do with.”
I place my hands on his. “I know, but if it was Mom, wouldn’t you want someone to stand up for her, bring her potential killers to justice? Tanner’s mom deserves that. I know it just by the way she raised the man I love.”
“Well”—he nods, keeping his eyes pinned to mine—“how are you going to tell him your theory then?”
24
TANNER
“You look older,” Paul says with a pout on his face.
“Is that a bad thing?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Don’t rush it, kid. Soon enough, you’ll have lines like this and a ball sack that drags on the floor.”
Thank God there’s no one in the bar at this hour.
Paul is filling up the cooler. “It takes me twenty minutes to take a piss, and my chest looks like I can play connect the dots. Just make sure you keep your hair. That’s my only saving grace. Blessed with a thick mane. Those bald bastards look ten years older.”
“You’re sick, old man.”
He gives an accusatory point. “Just because you’re married and you got a fancy haircut doesn’t mean you won’t soon be a sick old man, too. You’ll just have a prettier wife and some change in your pocket.”
With a raised glass, I cheers him. “To my pretty wife.”
He waves me off. “Just don’t fuck it up.”
That’s the plan. Harper hasn’t been home all day, so I brought my sketchpad to The Den to get out of the house. The bar is open, but it’s still early for his usual crowd.
When Harper texts me that she’s on her way, I pack up and head home to start dinner.
I put on the sauce I know she loves and start a pot of water for the pasta. When we look for a new apartment, we’re gonna have to look for a place with a bigger kitchen and a real bedroom. I can’t have my wife sleeping in a room filled with art supplies. She needs a walk-in closet and an office to grade papers. If there’s a window with a view, I’ll get her a wingback chair, so she can have her own reading nook.
We haven’t spoken about whether we’ll stay in New York or San Francisco. Her job is here, and she loves her students. I’m sure she could work anywhere, but our life is in New York. Her dad gave me his permission to take her away, but I don’t know if that would make Harper happy. And her happiness is worth all the shares in Sexton Media. I’d give them up in a second.
She has to finish out the school year, so that gives us time to make the hard decisions. Once I tell my brothers I’m married, they’re gonna give me grief. First, for marrying a woman so soon. Second, for doing it without them. I have my reasons though.
My thoughts are interrupted by the front door opening. I walk over to my wife and kiss her hello. She looks happy to see me, but her smile wavers.
“Did you get everything you needed?” I pull her hand toward the kitchen island where I have a folder from the travel agent. Inside are pamphlets and brochures for everything we’ll be doing on our Caribbean honeymoon. “We have an overwater bungalow that has its own pool, living room, bar, outdoor seating, and butler. The resort has pools, entertainment, and restaurants, but we never have to leave the room if you don’t want. I rented a boat and an off-road vehicle because there are volcanoes I want to see. What’s the matter? You don’t like volcanoes?”
Her brows are furrowed, and her lips pout as she looks down at the floor and huffs. “I love volcanoes. I love everything about the honeymoon you’ve planned. I can’t wait to go.” The words coming out of her mouth contradict the look on her face.
“You have a funny way of showing it. What’s going on?”
She looks over my shoulder and at the pots that are steaming behind me. “You made dinner?”
I laugh. “Yes. A husband cooks for his wife.”
“Everything’s perfect.” She sighs.
I know my girl. I know she overthinks everything. She bites the inside of her cheek when she’s worried. She sighs when she’s melancholy, and she has a hard time looking me in the eye when she’s worried about upsetting me. She is currently looking at my chest.
I take her hands and pull her
over to the island where I have her take a seat. I take her coat off and drape it over the next chair where I take a seat.
“Look at me.”
My eyes keep a steady gaze on hers until she finally meets mine. When they connect, her icy blues relax as her shoulders fall. She briefly closes her eyes, as if resetting her emotions.
“Please don’t be upset, but I looked in your mom’s file. I swear, I wasn’t snooping. It was sitting there, and I just—”
“Harper, it’s okay.” I lean in closer, taking her hand in mine. “I told you it was there. I don’t mind that you opened it. Is that what this is all about? You thought I’d be mad?”
She turns and grabs her purse off the counter where she placed it. A photo from my mom’s accident, one I’ve stared at many times over the years, is now in her hands. I take it from her and take a deep breath, slowly letting it out.
Every picture in that file is ingrained in my memory. The car, the road, even the ones of her lifeless body. Everyone thought I was too young, too fragile to know the truth. When I took the file and went through it, I had to prove to myself that I could handle it. I stared at it until I was numb.
In many ways, I still am.
“Why do you have this?” I question her.
She’s gnawing at her cheek. “I took it to my dad to ask his opinion on something.”
My brows rise at the unexpected comment. She was in Queens today. Without me. “You lied about where you were going?”
“I did.” She nods. “Only because I had to ask him something serious, and I didn’t want you there. I could be wrong. I could very well be wrong, but …” She pauses. Her eyes look at mine so deeply, so full of conviction, that I have no other choice but to take her seriously. I’m surprised when she utters the words, “Is it possible your mother was murdered?”
I’ve never been kicked in the balls. I assume it would hurt less than the feeling radiating through my entire body right now.
