by Joyce Lamb
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Noah Lassiter pulled off the side street and fell into place a few car lengths behind Charlie Trudeau’s royal blue Escape. He had no idea if following her would lead anywhere, but he needed to know what she was hiding about Laurette’s hit-and-run. Maybe nothing significant, but he sensed something was off, had seen Charlie hesitate when he’d asked her if Laurette had said anything before she died. That split second had told him that Laurette had said something. Something that could lead to her killer. And that’s why Noah was here—to find a killer.
He’d already questioned as many guests as possible at the Royal Palm Inn. Before coming to see Charlie, he’d hit the continental breakfast, the workout room and the lobby. When he’d spotted the police officers making the rounds with their own questions, he’d had no choice but to abandon his quest. Not that he’d learned anything. The encounters Laurette had had with other guests had been the “hello, it’s a nice day” kind in the hall or elevator. The only hint he’d gotten that all had not been normal with Laurette was from Charlie Trudeau. Whatever Laurette said to her before she died was the key.
And, he had to admit, he couldn’t stop thinking about Charlie. She was so much like Laurette at first glance, yet so much not like her. When he looked at Charlie, he didn’t see a woman he wanted to be friends with. He saw a woman he wanted to seduce.
Seduction. Hmm. Something he hadn’t thought about in years. Sex, of course. He thought about sex all the time, had had plenty of the meaningless kind to relieve tension, to forget his troubles for a while and just feel. He had certain female friends who seemed more than happy to respond to his booty calls. Sure, they dropped the usual hints about commitment, but he’d made an art out of acting clueless. Truth be told, he’d never thought he’d look into a woman’s eyes and feel the desire to touch her in a way that wasn’t intended to lead to getting them both off. But when he looked at Charlie Trudeau, he imagined trailing fingertips over skin and glorying in the silken friction. He pictured framing her face with gentle hands and letting no more than their breathing connect.
Sappy stuff, really. For him, anyway. The king of no-strings, don’t-call-me-I’ll-call-you hookups. Yet, thinking about it, thinking about resting his forehead against hers and doing no more than nuzzling her cheek with his nose, had him growing heavy and hard.
Okay, he thought. Get a grip, buddy. You’re working here.
Focus.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Charlie rang her parents’ doorbell and waited until her mother, wearing a simple, white cotton dress that contrasted with her dark hair and eyes, silently gestured her inside, her expression flat. Her father wasn’t the only one pissed off.
Charlie swallowed hard. No fear. “Hello, Mother.”
“Your father is in his office.”
Charlie paused in the foyer, breathing in the white linen air freshener. Everything in Elise Trudeau’s house was white and brand-new. Carpet, walls, furniture. Three months ago, the color of choice had been a buttery yellow. A year before that, off-white. Always understated, like her simple diamond jewelry and expensive strappy sandals, and never more than a year old. Redecorating had become Elise Trudeau’s vocation once she’d finished trying her damnedest to raise three proper daughters who, unfortunately for her, had very strong minds of their own.
“He’s waiting.”
Charlie took a fortifying breath and turned. Might as well go for it. “I don’t suppose you have a sister you’ve never mentioned before.”
Elise stepped back, her lips parting in shock and her dark eyes widening. “What on earth—”
“The woman who was hit by the car near the newspaper told a friend that she was coming to Lake Avalon to meet family she didn’t know. Us.”
“That’s . . .” she trailed off, shook her head. “That’s absurd.”
Yet her pale cheeks and slim neck flamed red, tightening the knot in Charlie’s stomach. She knew the signs. She’d been pushing her mother’s buttons for years, damning the consequences. The woman was going to blow, and part of Charlie enjoyed watching it happen. It felt powerful. All it took was another tiny nudge.
“It’s a simple question. Yes or no would suffice.”
Elise lashed out with an open palm.
Fury and fear rage equally inside my skull. She can’t know. How could she know? All these years, so many, long, lonely years. No one can find out. They’ll hate me, know once and for all who I really am. I strike out blindly, without thinking. Rena. Oh, God, Rena. What have I done?
Charlie came back to herself to find her eyes watering from the sting. She thought she’d been braced, but the slap carried more power than usual. And this time, taunting her mother had paid off in an unexpected way. She had a name now. Rena. Would that be Aunt Rena?
At the same time, the flash into her mother’s head had shown her that Elise wasn’t simply unreasonably angry all the time. She was afraid, too. They’ll know once and for all who I really am? What the hell did that mean?
“Don’t ever speak to me of this again, Charlotte,” Elise said, her voice shaking. “Do you understand?”
Putting a hand to the heat on her face, Charlie managed a small, humorless smile. “A simple ‘no’ would have been just as effective.”
Elise stepped forward, and the threat of more violence forced Charlie back automatically. Old habits. Her hip bumped the table near the door, stopping her retreat, and then her mother was nose to nose with her and hissing. “I’ll warn you only once. If you mention this in front of your father, I’ll . . .” She clenched her hands at her sides.
“What?” Charlie prodded. “Hit me again? You might want to use your fist next time. You’ve always hit like a girl.”
Elise’s dark brown eyes narrowed dangerously, but before she could strike out again, Reed Trudeau walked into the foyer behind her.
“Elise.”
Charlie’s mother stiffened at the sound of his voice, and her eyes clashed with Charlie’s, issuing a silent warning, before she moved back.
“Charlie?” her father said.
She edged out from between her mother and the wall, careful to avoid Elise’s glittering glare, and glanced at her father, noting the tightness in his jaw. From the fire back into the frying pan. He gestured in the direction of his office before turning away. As she fell in step behind him, she sensed her mother’s eyes boring into her back and told herself she didn’t care. Yeah, right. That hadn’t worked her whole life.
In his office, her father stood with his back to her, silently staring out the window behind his desk while she closed the door. He’d shed his suit jacket and tie but not his trademark red suspenders. As he turned to look at her, she braced, expecting him to start yelling any second. Instead, he compressed his lips into a thin line and reached into his pocket to pull out a pristine handkerchief.
Charlie stood frozen as he walked around the edge of his desk and approached her. Gently, he grasped her chin, and she slid helplessly into his memory.
The story with Charlie’s name on it tightens my gut around a starburst of pain. I fumble for a Rolaids and breathe through the rage making everything feel like it’s vibrating. The anger quickly yields to something bigger: regret. Thirty-eight years of working my ass off, of sacrificing every minute with my family, of being known as The Beast, and this is how it ends.
She blinked back into the present, slightly dizzy, and looked into her father’s eyes as he dabbed at her cheek with a corner of his hanky. “Looks like she nicked you with a fingernail,” he said softly.
Her throat thickened with the familiar yearning for him to be her hero again, her Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mocking-bird , the tall, handsome man who fought the good fight and protected his children from evil. He’d been that man until her mother started lashing out, and her hero let her down.
He sighed, and the scent of liquor that washed over her surprised and worried her. This man didn’t drink while the sun was up.
“Why do you insis
t on goading her?” he asked.
She tried to smile, to get a grip. “It’s more fun that way.”
He pocketed the hanky while he returned to his leather desk chair and sat down heavily. A sigh that seemed to come from the tips of his toes huffed through his lips.
His calm made Charlie uneasy. She’d never known him to be so composed before tearing into her or anyone else.
He ran a finger over the newspaper spread out on his desk, over the headline that told all of Lake Avalon that a crook operated in their midst.
“It’s a good story,” he said. “Tight, well-sourced. It sticks to the facts, avoids sensationalism. Like something I would have burned to write in my younger days.”
Charlie stared at him. A compliment? “I . . . thank you.”
“How did you do it?”
She took a breath, confused but relieved that he wasn’t screaming at her. “Last night was David Adams’s last shift on the copy desk. He’s leaving the paper to be a lawyer.”
He nodded and pursed his lips. “When I first saw it, I was livid.” He turned the chair so he could look outside at the rippling, sun-glistened surface of the river. “I stomped around, slammed some doors, yelled at a few people, and then I came home and sat down right here, looked outside and saw it all slipping away, everything I’d worked so hard to maintain for nearly forty years. But then I realized that it’s okay that it’s over. I’ve grown tired of the fight.”
His wording alarmed her. It’s over? It couldn’t be over. “It’s only one story.”
He twisted the chair toward her with a squeak of leather. “We’ve been struggling for quite some time. Your mother and I took out a second mortgage on the house last year to shore up the paper’s financials. The loss of even one advertiser would have done us in. Unfortunately, that crook Dick’s is our largest. We’ll be lucky if we’re able to publish on Monday.”
Charlie opened her mouth to respond but found no words as the consequences of what she’d done crashed into her. She’d killed the paper, single-handedly. Killed her father’s legacy. Cost Lew his health insurance when he needed it most. Cost countless co-workers their jobs.
“I should have told you, instead of trying to shield you from the worry,” her father said. “I just never thought you’d . . .” Shaking his head, he opened the center drawer of the desk to withdraw a roll of Rolaids. He popped two antacids into his mouth, and the crunch of them between his teeth vibrated inside Charlie’s head.
How many jobs? How many people were screwed? “I’m sorry,” she whispered. So inadequate, so lame. So stupid. Why hadn’t this occurred to her? “I’m so sorry.”
“Everything’s gone,” he said, still chewing. “The pension fund, everyone’s retirement funds. Everything. I thought I could put it all back before anyone missed it. Ironic, isn’t it? You’re so much like me. Idealistic to the point of being foolish.”
Her head started to spin. “There’s nothing left? For anyone? Not even their own money?”
“We probably won’t be able to make Friday’s payroll.”
She sat forward, refusing to let this happen. She’d fix it, take away his reason to drink during the day. “Fire me. Make it public. I’ll apologize to Dick’s, in front of the whole town. I’ll take the story back, say I made it up. You can say I had a psychotic break or something. Whatever it takes.”
His eyes met hers, cool and dark and sad. “You didn’t make it up.”
“But isn’t the livelihood of everyone who works at the LAG more important than a few screwed customers at Dick’s? Those people should really be carefully reading what they’re signing. They’re idiots.”
A bitter smile curved his lips. “The good of the many outweighs the good of the few?”
“Yes,” she said emphatically. “Yes.”
“Now you’re thinking like me, and that’s what got us right where we are.”
“Dad, come on. Don’t give up.”
He pushed up out of the chair and turned to stare outside as the wind blew through the palms and jacaranda trees. “It’s over, Charlie. We have to live with it.”
“Lew is sick. He needs health insurance.”
He nodded without turning. “I already let him know he isn’t fired. But this time next week, none of us will have health insurance.”
“Dad—”
“You can go,” he cut in softly. “Try not to provoke your mother on the way out.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Charlie gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands and fought the tears thickening her throat. Don’t cry, act. Somehow, she had to fix the mess she’d made before her parents lost everything. And they weren’t the only ones. Everyone at the LAG—friends, co-workers, people she’d known her entire life, people she loved—their lives were about to be turned upside down, ruined, because of her.
She couldn’t sit back and let it all fall apart. She just couldn’t.
Ten minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot of Dick’s Auto Sales.
Harsh, high-noon sunlight glinted on the chrome and shiny surfaces of new cars and trucks artfully parked in the glass-enclosed showroom. The smell of new rubber and window cleaner hung heavy in the air, and a Muzak version of “Stairway to Heaven” played through tinny speakers while salesmen loitered around the showroom’s perimeter. No customers meant they had nothing to do.
At the information desk, Lucy Sheridan, a middle-aged woman with curly black hair and a deep tan so even it couldn’t have been fake, tapped away on a keyboard. She looked up as Charlie approached, and her face registered her shock.
“I’m here to see Dick,” Charlie said with a friendly smile. Just pretend we don’t know each other.
Lucy pasted on an answering smile and reached for the phone near her hand. “Shall I tell him who’s calling?”
“Charlie Trudeau.”
Lucy’s finger trembled as she pushed the phone’s buttons, and her gaze stayed down the entire time she spoke into it.
A moment later, Dick Wallace strolled out of his office. He was a big man, bordering on fat but still able to suck his gut in enough that it didn’t hang over the waistband of his crisp, new Levi’s. He had thick, silvery hair combed back from his face and a wide, let’s-make-a-deal grin that could charm or intimidate, depending on his sales pitch.
He looked Charlie up and down, his shrewd, blue eyes cold above a feral, I’m-going-to-enjoy-kicking-your-ass grin. “Charlie Trudeau. You have a lot of nerve showing your face here.”
She straightened her spine, not about to back down, not with so many livelihoods at stake. “Dragging everyone else into our problem isn’t the way to resolve this.”
“Gee, I’m real sorry about that, but you told your story, then I told mine to my many loyal Lake Avalon business friends. Guess we all just have to live with the consequences.”
“The LAG is the main advertising outlet here. You can’t reach the majority of the public without it.”
“You mean the public that’s suing my ass for fraud? Or the public that’s canceling deals that were all but signed and sealed? The public that hasn’t stepped foot in my business all day?”
Charlie swallowed. “We can work something out. I’ll do another story. You can apologize and promise not to jerk people around anymore.”
He laughed heartily. “Oh, that’s rich.”
Desperation tightened the band of anxiety around her chest. “I’ll take the story back. Say I made it up.”
“The damage is already done. The lawsuits are piling up.”
“Then what’s it going to take?”
“I want to know who ratted me out.”
Oh, crap. Not that. “I don’t reveal my sources.”
“I know it was someone who works for me. Customers don’t know the details that you shared. Who was it?”
“I don’t—”
He moved like lightning and grabbed her by the throat—
I rip the newspaper in half and heave the pieces across the desk
at the moron standing there. He flinches back but makes no effort to catch the paper with its damning story. “How did this happen?” I shout at him. “How did you let this happen?” Whirling away, I bellow my rage. “I’m going to kill that bitch!”
She came back to herself plastered against a glass wall, the back of her head throbbing. Dick was in her face, spittle flying through thin lips. “. . . with me, Charlie Trudeau. I want to know who ratted me out or I’m going to snap your neck right here and now.”
A softly spoken “Excuse me” had the brute backing off so fast Charlie’s knees almost buckled at the sudden lack of support. Putting a hand to her already abused throat, she stared in shock at Noah Lassiter looming in the doorway.
Dick’s face flushed redder. “Who the hell are you?”
Noah gave him a polite smile. “If that’s how you speak to potential customers, I’ll shop somewhere else.” He shifted his steady gaze to Charlie. “Perhaps you’d like to join me?”
She slipped out from between Dick and the wall and preceded Noah outside, her legs far more unsteady than she ever would have admitted.
At her Escape, Noah looked down at her with a mixture of concern and censure. “Want to tell me what that was about?”
She massaged her aching throat. Bad guy was trying to kill me—Hello? “You tell me first how you happened to be here when—” She broke off, startled by what she’d almost said.
“When you needed me?” he asked, his eyes teasing and, oddly, a little bit searching.
The fine hair on her arms stood on end, the leftover electricity of watching her life flash before her eyes for the second time in two days. Or maybe it was the memory of the inside of Dick Wallace’s head when he’d vowed to kill “that bitch,” more than likely her. The energy in the air had nothing to do with Noah Lassiter. Right?
“I had it under control,” she said.
“I could tell.”
Squinting her eyes against sunlight that seemed brighter than before, she opened her car door and got in. A steady throb began in her temples. “Well, thanks. I appreciate the help.”
His lips quirked as he angled his body between the door and the frame to keep her from closing it. “What’s the story? Why’d he want to snap your neck?”
