Meant to Be: Southern Heat Series

by Jenna Harte

  He sat and pulled out his phone to get the number Sydney had given him for Detective Fletcher.

  “Fletch, here.”

  “Detective Fletcher, this is Detective Mitch McKenna of the Charlotte Tavern Police in Virginia. I’m calling regarding Doctor Sydney Preston.”

  There was a brief pause, and Mitch imagined the detective trying to remember Sydney. To Mitch, Sydney was unforgettable, but he supposed, in New York, there were thousands of beautiful victims of crime.

  “Attack at Memorial Hospital.”

  “That’s right. Doctor Preston is currently on a sabbatical down here and we believe was the intended target of another attack.”

  “Intended?”

  “A nurse was stabbed yesterday, but we believe the attacker thought she was Syd… Doctor Preston.”

  “That changes things.”

  “Yes. I was hoping to talk to you about who you looked at. I’m happy to share what we’ve got as well.”

  “Can you hold on? I’m just walking in and have the file at my desk.”

  “Sure. Thanks.” Mitch poked the files on his desk with his pencil. He had a few cases, mostly involving theft. He imagined it was nothing like what was on Detective Fletcher’s desk.

  “Okay. Doctor Preston. We looked at several men but don’t have anything hard. Witnesses, including Doctor Preston, didn’t have details. There was no helpful evidence left at the scene. How about down there?”

  “Same. It was raining. The victim didn’t see her attacker. Syd… Doctor Preston reported she hadn’t seen hers either.”

  “That’s right. We looked at her male acquaintances, but there’s nothing solid on any of them.”

  “What about the doctor who followed her from Jordan? A Doctor Singer.”

  “Yeah, he was high on my list. He has an alibi. It’s soft, but hard enough to keep us from going further.”

  “And Doctor Andres?”

  There was a pause, and Mitch imagined Fletcher was reviewing his notes.

  “Longtime friend. She stayed with him after the attack. Same thing, soft alibi. Says he was running in the park. She insists it wouldn’t be him.”

  “Did you ever have Jagger Talbot on your list?”

  “As in G.W. Talbot’s grandson?”

  “Yes.”

  “No. Why would he be on the list?” Fletcher’s voice held both surprise and intrigue.

  “He’s currently in Charlotte Tavern. And he and Sydney are acquaintances.”

  “I don’t know anything about Charlotte Tavern, but that sounds like more than a coincidence.”

  “That was my thinking. I’ll be talking to him.”

  “Don’t let the Talbot family lawyers know or you won’t get within a mile of him.”

  Mitch knew Jagger came from a famous-for-being wealthy family, but for the most part, he’d known him as the kid he’d hung out with during summers. Still, Jagger was no dummy, and Mitch would need to tread lightly if he wanted to interview him.

  “I’d appreciate hearing about it if it leads to anything,” Fletcher finished.

  “Will do.” Mitch hung up and then dialed the Marriott Hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, D.C. The hotel was able to confirm a shrink conference but needed a warrant to give confirmation that Doctor Andres was in attendance. He needed to talk to Patrick in person but wasn’t looking forward to driving to Washington, D.C. and back. First, he’d pay Jagger a visit and make arrangements for another officer to check on Sydney while he was gone.

  Charlotte Tavern was a small, rural city nestled at the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains in central Virginia. For the most part, the town was populated by what the rest of the nation would call country folk. Over the last ten years, it had become a popular retirement spot for Yankees wanting less harsh winters, although Charlotte Tavern got at least one good snow a year. The outskirts of town were dotted by horse farms and large estates owned by the rich and sometimes famous. For the most part, the only year-round residents of these homes were the caretakers.

  Such was the case of the Talbot estate, bought by Jagger’s grandfather, G.W. Talbot, during the 1970s, when Secretariat made horse racing popular. The horses had been sold off long ago, mostly because old man Talbot lost interest and his son, Jagger’s father, who, as far as Mitch knew, had never been to the farm, wasn’t interested either.

  Like many of the wealthy families that owned land and property in Charlotte Tavern, the Talbots’ farm was a vacation home to get away from their busy lives in New York. When Mitch was in his teens, Jagger spent most of his summers in the area. Mitch had always been wary of the rich folk, mostly because they kept to themselves and always seemed to look down their noses at the local residents. But Jagger hadn’t. He and Jagger, along with Chelsea’s brother Brian, had become fast friends and spent most of their time together during the summers, swimming in the quarry, fishing, exploring the woods, and doing all the things boys enjoy doing.

  Jagger had developed an interest in girls earlier than Mitch, but Mitch soon learned to appreciate spending time with the opposite sex. While they still fished alone, most of the swimming was done with the companionship of blossoming teenage girls. But once they graduated from high school, Jagger rarely visited Charlotte Tavern. In fact, Mitch couldn’t remember seeing him there since that last summer when they were both seventeen and Mitch had finally lost his virginity, apparently later than most boys.

  Now Jagger was moving to Charlotte Tavern permanently. Mitch knew Jagger’s grandfather had died recently and wondered if he’d inherited the house. Jagger’s world, like Sydney’s, was in New York. For most city Yankees, southern living was too slow. Even his brother-in-law, Drake, occasionally whisked Lexie away up North, usually saying something about needing good pizza and a Broadway show. It made no sense to Mitch. They had pizza in Charlotte Tavern, although why have that when you can have barbecue?

  Jagger had also suggested he was ready to leave his womanizing ways behind and find a wife. Mitch didn’t quite believe that. Jagger was still young, just over thirty, like Mitch. It was strange he was willing to give up big city life, unless it had to do with Sydney.

  The idea that Jagger might be the one stalking and trying to hurt Sydney didn’t make sense to Mitch. But he had expressed an interest in Sydney, and, like her, had packed up from New York and relocated. It was too much of a coincidence.

  Mitch pulled through the gates of the Talbot Estate, driving along the tree-lined road. He remembered the exterior, including the driveway, had been used in a period-piece movie several years ago. He parked in front of the house and half-expected footmen to meet him. But no one came. In fact, it was Jagger, not the usual butler, who answered.

  “Hey, Mitch.” Jagger looked beyond Mitch at the Charlotte Tavern assigned police vehicle. “Is this a professional call?”

  Mitch nodded. “Yes.”

  Jagger frowned but opened the door wider to let Mitch in. “Excuse the mess. I’m having work done, but apparently, none of the workers are coming today.” He sounded annoyed. “I have coffee. It’s been sitting a bit, but it’s still hot.”

  “Sounds good.” Mitch followed Jagger through the expansive foyer toward the back into a kitchen larger than his house. “Is it just you here?”

  “For now.” Jagger grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. “I have staff coming in a week or so.”

  Staff. The idea of it boggled Mitch’s mind. That world was so different. It was Sydney’s world. It had been Drake’s world, although he seemed to have adjusted to just having a housekeeper while in Charlotte Tavern.

  Jagger handed Mitch coffee. It tasted like it had been sitting but was still a better quality brew than he usually bought.

  “Should we talk here?” Jagger motioned to a set of bar stools sitting at the corner of a large island.

  “This is fine.” Mitch pulled out a stool and sat.

  Jagger did the same, sitting kitty-corner to him.

  Deciding to get right to it, Mitch avoided small
talk. “Where were you yesterday between two and three in the afternoon?”

  Jagger’s brows rose over the rim of the coffee he was sipping. “That sounds ominous.”

  There was no missing Jagger’s disappointment in being considered capable of committing a crime. But Mitch was on the job. He couldn’t let personal feelings get in the way. And if he was honest with himself, while he’d known and liked Jagger when they were younger, he didn’t really know him as an adult, except what he heard about Jagger’s exploits from residents who liked to follow him in the tabloids.

  Jagger let out a breath. “I was here, where I always am these days.”

  “Anyone see you?”

  “No.” The disappointment morphed into annoyance. “What happened?”

  “What about in New York. On December fifth?”

  Jagger’s expression asked, Seriously? “I’d have to check my calendar. That’s around my grandfather’s death, so I was probably meeting with lawyers. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “There was an attack at the hospital yesterday.”

  Jagger sniffed. “And because I’m an outsider you think I did it?”

  Mitch shook his head.

  “I read about it in the paper this morning. I don’t even know that woman. And by know, I mean not even as an acquaintance.”

  “I know. I don’t believe she was the target. Sydney was.”

  Jagger stopped his mug mid-raise. “What?”

  “I believe the perpetrator was after Sydney.”

  “Why?”

  “Did you ever ask Sydney out?”

  “Jesus, Mitch. You really think I’d hurt Sydney? Anyone?”

  He didn’t. Not really. But one lesson Mitch had learned well was no one could be trusted. Even his instincts were suspect. “I’m just following leads.”

  “And a lead brought you here? Because I asked Sydney out?”

  “When?”

  “What?”

  “When did you see Sydney last?”

  Jagger dragged a hand over his face. “Sunday. I stopped by Sunday morning. She was just getting back from a run and we talked in front of her place.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  Jagger gave him the stink eye. “You know what we talked about. Is this really about this attack or are you just mad that I’m interested in her?”

  “This is about the attack.” If he said it enough, he might believe it.

  “We talked. I asked her out. She said no and I left. I’m sure that’s what she told you too.”

  “You’re not a man who’s usually rejected.”

  Jagger laughed. “Not often, but it wasn’t the first time.”

  “She said you were annoyed.”

  “Did she? Well, I was. But not because she said no. I was annoyed because the reason she said no was that I’d seen her friend a couple of times.” He shook his head. “Of all the women—”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Julia is beautiful and fun, but… well, you know me. She had a harder time than most when I moved on. The fact that she still impacts my life is irritating.”

  “Sydney isn’t a woman you love and leave.” Mitch couldn’t keep the censure from his tone.

  “No. And as I told you, I’m ready to settle down. My life is in the middle of drastic change.”

  “So you’ve come to Charlotte Tavern to find a wife?”

  “I’ve come to start a new life. I’d like a wife to be a part of it, but I’m not in any hurry. I’ve always liked Sydney, and I’m certain she would have said yes to my invitation had it not been for Julia, so I know she likes me. Whether it would be more, I don’t know.”

  Mitch’s stomach soured. The idea of Sydney and Jagger together made him sick, even though, in reality, they were ideal for each other. They came from the same world and, yet, were somehow able to adjust to small town living.

  “Why did you ask me about New York?”

  “Sydney was attacked in New York in the same way Jenny Taggard was attacked yesterday.”

  “What? Jesus.” Jagger jerked back, his eyes round. His shock appeared genuine, but Mitch knew it wasn’t necessarily.

  “You didn’t know?” Mitch studied Jagger’s face and body language, looking for signs of deception.

  Jagger shook his head. “Like I said, I was dealing with my grandfather’s death then. Sydney and I run in similar circles, but we didn’t see each other all the time or necessarily keep in touch. Who did it?”

  “We don’t know. But the fact that it happened again here suggests whoever it was followed her from New York.”

  “Ah. I get it.” Jagger scoffed. “That’s why you’re here. I’m from New York and now in Charlotte Tavern.”

  “You have to admit, not many New Yorkers come here. How many actually know of it?”

  Jagger leaned forward, pinning his heated gaze on Mitch. “Did you talk to Patrick Andres? He’s from New York and was visiting Sydney. And, if I’m not mistaken, they have a long history.”

  “He’s my next visit.”

  Jagger shook his head, turning to gaze out the window without really focusing on anything outside. He finally returned his attention to Mitch. “I get that you have to do this and that we’ve been out of touch for a long time. But I don’t hurt, bully, or disrespect women.”

  He nodded noncommittally and set down his mug. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “That’s it? You don’t believe me?” Jagger forcefully set his coffee mug down, the black brew sloshing over the edge.

  Mitch held his hands out to the side and tried to look apologetic. “It’s just the job.”

  “Really?” Jagger’s voice was even, but there was no mistaking his anger and hurt. “You can do that? You can separate the fact we used to be good friends? I thought we were still friends.”

  “I can’t let personal—”

  “So it’s true what everyone says.”

  Mitch gnashed his teeth. He loved being in a small town. And small town talk was often helpful in crime investigation. But he didn’t much like being the subject of talk.

  “You’ve lost your soul. You don’t care about anything but yourself.”

  That wasn’t exactly true. Mitch cared about his family. But he was certain Jagger was talking about Mitch’s steadfast commitment to keep everyone at a distance. “Don’t leave town.”

  “I have to go to New York for a few days next week.”

  Mitch stared at him, hoping his expression was stern enough to make him back down, but Jagger held his ground. He didn’t have anything to tie him to the case, and therefore no good reason to keep him from leaving. “Let me know when you go.”

  “Yeah, right. You know your way out.” Jagger nodded in the direction of the front door.

  Mitch cursed as he got in the car. Although he still kept Jagger on his list, he hated having to put his old friend through this. Grief and stress over his grandfather’s death had clearly worn at Jagger. But sometimes highly charged emotions caused people to do things they might not otherwise do. It was strange how important settling down and finding a wife was to Jagger. Perhaps after a life of rejection from his father, and now losing his grandfather, Jagger snapped when a potential life mate turned him down. It sounded far-fetched, but stranger things had happened. And so, Jagger stayed on the list.

  This case shouldn’t be that hard. How many New Yorkers were in Charlotte Tavern?

  He swore again as he thought of one more person. Lexie was going to light him up when she found out Mitch had talked to Drake. But Mitch was nothing if not thorough, and so he couldn’t simply dismiss his brother-in-law. And maybe Drake would know something that could help.

  Mitch pulled into the driveway and sent a silent prayer that Lexie was out with one of her hospice patients, leaving Drake alone, working in his home office.

  “Hey, Mitch. Come on in.”

  Mitch had a hard time hiding his guilt as he followed Drake to the kitchen. Then, as if remembering what Mitch
had caught him and Lexie doing there, Drake suggested they go out on the sun porch.

  “Can I get you coffee or something?” Drake motioned for Mitch to sit on one of the sunny chairs.

  Mitch shook his head. “I’ve got to talk to you about an attack that happened last night.”

  “Jenny Taggard?” Drake didn’t get as far as he did in business without curating an impenetrable poker face. But he looked genuinely perplexed.

  “I have reason to believe Doctor Sydney Preston was the intended victim.”

  Drake sat back, but his brows remained furrowed in a puzzled expression. “Is she okay?”

  Mitch nodded. “The thing is, Sydney was attacked in a similar fashion at the end of last year in New York.”

  It only took a moment for Drake to realize why he was being questioned. “So, whoever attacked the nurse had been in New York at the end of last year. And how many New Yorkers have ever heard of Charlotte Tavern, much less come here.”

  “Right. Look I’m sorry, Drake, but—”

  Drake waved Mitch’s apology away. “It’s fine, Mitch. It would be worse for both of us if you didn’t come talk to me.”

  Relief wove through Mitch. “Do you think Lexie will see it that way?”

  Drake laughed. “Not a chance.”

  Mitch frowned. “I guess that was too much to ask. So, can you tell me where you were yesterday between two and three in the afternoon?”

  Drake didn’t hesitate. “I was trying to force Lexie to eat scrambled eggs. She usually likes them.”

  “She stopped eating eggs?”

  “There’s something about the pregnancy that’s making food taste bad. It makes it hard for her to eat.”

  “Is she going to be okay?” As big a pain as Lexie could be, Mitch couldn’t have asked for a better sister. The case slipped away as worry about Lexie pushed to the forefront.

  “The doctor doesn’t seem too worried.”

  But the tension in Drake’s jaw told Mitch he wasn’t convinced. “Can she see another doctor? Maybe Sydney can help.”

  “Lexie thinks I’m being overly protective.” Drake blew out a breath. “I probably am. What do I know about medicine? She’s a nurse after all.”