Keeping Katie

by Stella Quinn

  “A nudge, huh.” That didn’t sound romantic at all. She was surprised at how disappointed that made her feel. Still, he was a fiend with crossword clues, and he used to write mystery novels for a living…he had to be better at solving the case of her missing sister than she would be on her own.

  “I’m not sure how I feel about you using my sister to push yourself out of your sulk-fest.”

  He winced. “Ouch. Was that insensitive? I’m sorry. I’m a bit out of practice.”

  She smiled. “However …”

  “Yes?”

  “I am going to magnanimously allow you to accompany me to SantaCal and throw your celebrity writer status around.”

  He grinned. “You need me.”

  “I need my sister,” she said, loving the way he totally understood when she was being serious and when she was being facetious. “You are just a tool.”

  “I am cool with that,” he said. “It’s nice to feel useful.”

  She frowned. “Hey, Anton, about you feeling guilty about profiting off your book, Strain X. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  It was his turn to frown this time. “Katie, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

  She raised her eyebrows at him. “And neither do you, Nostradamus. You wrote a book, not a prophecy. Stuff happens, okay? It happens, we deal with it, we move on wiser and kinder.”

  He snuck another piece of donut under the table into Rose’s mouth as though Katie wasn’t totally aware of what he was doing. “I know you’re right…but sometimes knowing something in your head and knowing something in your heart can seem like totally different things. Anyway, enough about me, the point is that I’m ready to emerge out of my time-out. Your sister did mention my penname in her letter, so I’m thinking now may be my chance to use my creative skills for good instead of—”

  “Don’t say evil. That would be both melodramatic and untrue.”

  He winked at her. “I’m a tad partial to melodrama. It goes hand in hand with a creative brain.”

  She bumped her shoulder against his. “I’m a tad partial to cold, hard reality. It goes hand in hand with a logical brain.”

  “Sounds like we make a great team, Katie Shields.”

  Yeah. Sounds like, she thought. “Okay,” she said.

  “Okay?”

  “Let’s go to the bank, hotshot. You can wow me with your mad bank-teller schmoozing skills.”

  She took a deep breath as she gathered Rose’s lead into her hands and followed her new mystery-solving buddy across the thick, trimmed turf. Yeah. As though she hadn’t already had the socks wowed off her already.

  Chapter 12

  “I’d like to make a transfer of some funds, Cath,” Anton said to the manager of the Main Street branch of SantaCal Bank.

  “Of course. Why don’t we take this into my office? Your friend can take a seat—oh, I’m sorry, ma’am, we don’t allow dogs in the bank.”

  “She’s a therapy dog,” said Katie beside him. “I have a license to bring her into buildings; here, let me get it out of my purse.”

  Cath took a second look at the massive golden girl sitting neatly at Katie’s feet. “Oh my. Don’t tell me she’s one of Carol Graves’ dogs?”

  “That’s right.”

  “She must be related to my grandson’s Boris. My grandson has epilepsy, and Boris has changed that little man’s life for the better. Your dog is welcome, young lady. Thank you for explaining.”

  “Er...thanks.”

  “Now, are you happy to take a seat while Anton and I transact his business?”

  “She can come with us,” he cut in. “It’s fine.”

  “Of course. This way.”

  Anton winked at Katie. Cath had been looking after his deposits here since he was a teenager, banking his first paycheck from the seafood restaurant where he’d bused tables. Of course, Cath had been a teller than. And a brunette, if he remembered rightly. She’d called him sir back when he was a gangly fifteen-year-old with the confidence of a tadpole, and he’d puffed up proud as a bullfrog. Today, she was a silver-haired, silver-tongued branch manager with an enviable reputation for business acumen.

  “Haven’t seen you lately, Anton,” Cath said as she settled herself behind her desk. “Been hidden away in your study cranking out your next masterpiece, I expect.”

  He shot a sideways glance at Katie. “Something like that. Look, I got you back here on false pretenses.”

  Cath raised her eyebrows. “Oh, this is exciting. Is this for your plot? Do you need some inside banking knowledge? How many inches thick is the steel door of our safe? How many alarms we have in the building, that sort of thing?”

  He chuckled. “Not quite. We’re um...more interested in how many young single men of dating age you might have employed here.”

  If the bank managers eyebrows rose any higher, they were going to disappear into her stylish silver pixie-cut. “I don’t understand.”

  He looked over at Katie for help.

  “Cath,” said Katie. “You must know my sister, Veronica Shields.”

  “Well, now I know why you look a little familiar. I don’t think I caught your name.”

  “Katie, Katie Shields. I’m trying to track Veronica down.”

  “She hasn’t worked here for months. She moved out to head up the loans department at Maple Ridge.”

  “Yes. I know. But she’s taken some personal leave and didn’t let me know where she was going, and I’m trying to find out where she might be.”

  “And with whom,” cut in Anton.

  Cath looked perplexed. “I don’t know how I can help.”

  “Vee, I mean Veronica, told me she was a little involved with one of the guys on staff here. She said it ended awkwardly. We’re hoping to find out who he might be so we can ask him if he’s heard from her.”

  Cath sat back in her chair, her hands steepled in front of her. He saw the moment she figured out who the guy was that Katie’s sister had been involved with.

  “Come on, Cath,” he said. “Let’s have his name.”

  She pursed her lips. “I can’t give it to you.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  “Privacy rules, of course.”

  Katie stirred beside him. “Cath, I’m worried about my sister. I’ve tried every avenue I can think of to get in touch with her, and she’s nowhere. I’ve checked her home, her workplace, the new gym she goes to. No one’s seen her. It’s not like her to not respond like this.”

  “Look, I can see you’re worried. Here’s what I can do. I will contact the person in question. Do you have a number you can give me? If he’s happy to talk to you, he can give you a call.”

  Anton looked at Katie. It was a good outcome, even if it meant the frustration of not being able to question the guy right this second.

  Katie pulled a card from her purse and handed it over to the bank manager. “Thank you, Cath. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem. I can send your sister a message via our internal system too, if you like. Nothing that will get her in trouble with management...just a suggestion she give me a call when she gets a moment. That way, in case she is checking her work messages, I can let her know you’ve been in looking for her.”

  “Thank you.”

  The spring that had been in Katie’s step earlier in the day had well and truly rusted itself stiff.

  “Looks like our interrogation will have to wait,” Anton said.

  “I shouldn’t have built my hopes up.” Katie sighed.

  “Cath will make contact. We’re further ahead now than we were an hour ago.”

  “You’re right, I know. I’m just feeling a bit blue about it.”

  Feeling blue was something he totally got. “I might have a remedy for that.”

  “Yes?” She looked up at him, and he felt a surge of protectiveness. He’d be putting his hand under her arm to support her down the street any second now if he didn’t get a grip. This was the modern world, not some nineteenth-centu
ry drama.

  He steered their footsteps away from Main Street and in the direction of the narrow headland that formed the southern rim of the cove. The cliff walk began in just a hundred yards, and there was something he wanted to show her.

  “I’m not sure if you’ve seen the photo section of my page in the Cove to Coast Herald,” he began.

  “Sure I have. Beach views, mountain views, garden views. People pick an image from their Reel Life account and share what it is about that local spot that makes them feel good.”

  “Yes. Okay, so...I have a little secret—and it’s only slightly creepy.”

  She chuckled, and he noticed a little of that spring was back. “Only slightly? Does creepy have a graded scale?”

  “Sometimes I try and find where the photo was taken. I stand exactly where I think the photographer stood, and I try to feel what the photographer felt. A few months ago, they were some of the only happy moments I had, imagining being someone else.” He hoped he wasn’t oversharing. Maybe he was being arrogant, thinking a washed-up thriller writer with a barely remembered psychology degree could offer support to anyone.

  “Oh, Anton.”

  It took him a moment to work out that she’d put her arm under his. She was supporting him as they walked the scenic track. How he loved the modern world.

  “Take a look,” he said.

  Before them, beyond the guardrail that separated the cliff edge from the walking path, roared the Pacific Ocean. From the lookout on the headland, the full force of ocean rollers swept by, unfettered by the shallows of the bay. White seafoam flew from the waves, and gulls skimmed, wings outstretched, from crest to crest.

  “Photo by David,” he quoted. “My third instalment of Happy Snaps. He wrote in to tell me he’d walked here every day for three months after he was released from Gold Coast General Hospital after a car accident. His injuries were so bad his medical team weren’t sure he would walk, so when he could…he came here to celebrate it, every single day.”

  Katie’s arm was still firmly tucked under his, and Rose had looped around to his other side, so he was bound there, between them, held firm.

  “Huh,” she said. “That’s a lovely thing for him to share.”

  “It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it, being so grateful to be able to use your legs.”

  Her eyes were on the distant horizon. “His relief, his pride, his excitement… I think I understand why you find these photographs so comforting, Anton. I have a view of my own that I spend time with when I need to take a moment. Sometimes I go there when I’m happy. Sometimes I go there when I’m sad. Something about the scope of it, the scale of a view that has mountains and oceans, farmland and city…it helps me find perspective, I think. The world is bigger than me and my thoughts. Sometimes I need to remember that.”

  He took in a long, salty breath and blamed the hot sting in his eyes on the sharp breeze. “Where is this view of yours?”

  She smiled. “Nowhere you could go to see it. The control tower has an observation deck, a hundred feet above the runways. It’s magic there…but it’s a magic only authorized personnel can access.”

  “Take a photo someday, would you?”

  “Someday,” she murmured.

  “I think I’m beginning to understand that you and Rose must be a formidable team in the therapy department.”

  Her shoulder was warm against his. “We try. Sometimes it’s not enough, but we keep trying anyway.”

  She was right. Trying mattered…so why had he just given up? The world wouldn’t crumble if he failed, and nor would he. For the first time in a long, long time, he thought about placing his fingertips on his keyboard, and typing out those scary, thrilling words…

  Chapter 13

  Thursday, Katie worked the long shift and had no time for the refuge, no time for Prince, and precious little time for Rose. Thursday was supposed to be a half-day but turned into a full shift when Fabiana called in sick. She was slammed at work—the summer tourist season was heating up and joy flights to spot whales or visit vineyards seemed to be on every visitor’s agenda.

  Joy flights. Who could deny anyone the simple joy of watching whales breach in the pristine waters off the Californian coast? Certainly not her, even when she was near dizzy with recording flight vectors and approach angles and runway line positions.

  She’d worked late into the night reading every single one of Anton’s—well, Tuna Yango’s—crossword clues and answers, hoping to see something, anything, that made sense.

  She’d learned nothing—not about her sister or about how to solve these pesky black-and-white grids that everyone she knew seemed obsessed with.

  “The wife’s sent in a hummingbird cake, Katie. Might want to help yourself to a slice before the vultures pick the Tupperware dry,” said Andy over her shoulder.

  She dropped her pencil. “Not the one with the caramelized coconut shreds clinging to the sides? The cream-cheese icing with a hint of lemon?”

  “That’s the one. My Carmelita bakes like an angel. Better get into the staff kitchen.”

  Katie glanced at her watch. Lunch had been a long, long time ago, but the staff kitchen was gossip central, and casual chatter was about as easy for her to decode as crossword clues. All those how are you, and haven’t see you, and what are you doing on the weekend comments which she found so difficult to answer. “I’m off in five minutes, Andy. If there’s any left, I’ll wrap it up and take it with me. Peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches followed by a slice of Carmelita’s cake sounds about the best dinner I can think of.”

  “Oh, Katie. Fabiana called, says she really wants to make up for her lost hours. You want a day off tomorrow? You can have it.”

  “Oh Andy! I would, thank you!” A whole day! She could drive up to Maple Ridge and go and stand at the Police Department enquiries desk and ask—no, insist—that they take her missing person complaint seriously. She could stop by Vee’s work and her apartment, maybe loiter around the neighborhood looking for curtains that twitched…that sort of thing.

  She stepped out onto the observation deck as soon as she’d signed out, for once ignoring her favorite view in all the world, and texted Anton.

  Going on a stakeout tomorrow. Might be an all-day thing. Interested?

  His answer wasn’t long in coming. She’d packed up the last piece of cake and was slipping it into her purse when her phone bleeped.

  At last, I get to dig out my trusty sidekick costume.

  She smiled. I don’t want to drag you away from your crossword clues.

  Drag me, I insist. Can you pick me up from my place?

  Sure. Seven a.m. too early for you?

  That’s perfect. The old lighthouse keeper’s cottage, down on the southern headland. You’ll need to punch in the code EricP to get through the driveway gate.

  The lighthouse keeper’s cottage? Holy moly, Anton lived there? It was one of the most beautiful homes in Redwood Cove, and she could only imagine how amazing the views were.

  I’ll have Rose with me, is that okay? She loves a road trip.

  Why wouldn’t it be okay?

  Jeepers, it would have been quicker to call. She could feel a repetitive strain injury coming on in her thumbs with all this texting. She took a breath, then hit the little telephone icon. Maybe she could do casual chatter with the right motivation.

  His deep voice was saying hello in her ear a moment later.

  “Rose has a thing for cats,” she said by way of greeting. “If you’re going to have a seventeen-year-old tabby snoozing in the sun on your front doorstep, I’ll keep Rose in the car.”

  “Rose the wonder dog has a flaw? Well, well. Tell her to chill: there’s no cat, tabby or otherwise.”

  “Great.” That was all she had to say, so why wasn’t she hanging up already? Because she didn’t want to, that’s why. “So.” She cleared her throat. “EricP? You named your door code after someone?”

  His chuckle did something thrilling to her eardrum. “Crossword nut,
remember? Anagrams are my favorite thing. EricP is an anagram of Price.”

  “Anton Price.” It seemed weird saying a name she had seen emblazoned over half a dozen books on Uncle Roly’s shelves.

  “I know, right? It’s like my name doesn’t belong to me anymore.”

  She giggled. “Tuna Yango better not be your fallback position. That name is the worst.”

  “Ouch.”

  He didn’t sound overly hurt. “Busy day?” Wow. Of all the lame conversation starters, that one had to be the lamest.

  “The usual. Went for a run. Sorted out some photos for this week’s news column. Turned to the letter G in my recipe book.”

  “Erm…you cook by letter?”

  “Sure. G has a lot to offer a guy. Gnocchi, goat’s cheese souffle, green beans, and gravy.”

  “Do you move to H after that?”

  “Where would the fun be in that?”

  “I guess,” she heard herself murmur. Fun. When was the last time she’d just done something for fun? “I, er…I guess I’ll see you soon.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Her phone beeped once as she was sliding it into her bag, and she checked the screen.

  A message. From Anton.

  X

  X? X marks the spot? X as in the kiss mark you’d write at the end of a letter? Katie stared at her screen for a long second, then sighed and shoved her phone away out of sight. If there was anything her last lackluster relationship had taught her, it was that she shouldn’t jump to conclusions. She and Anton were mystery solving buddies...which, sure, was nice. It was more than nice. Were they friends? Yeah, it felt like they were moving towards friendship; the way Anton joked, the way she felt comfortable ribbing him…that was friendship wasn’t it?

  But this other thing she was feeling—this thrilling urgency to see him, talk to him, be near him—that was the undecipherable bit. The bit she was sure to get wrong, and the bit likely to do the most damage when he left. Like how everyone she loved always left.