Daddy’s Best Friend

by Crowne, K. C.

  “I’ll just grab some bagels.”

  My heart stopped.

  I stopped.

  Even though I was right by the bagels.

  Pamela Schaffer turned the corner before I could bolt, and her eyes lit up when she saw me.

  “Oh my God, Jeremiah! Are those the little girls Elle keeps going on and on about?” Pamela cooed, rushing toward me.

  “Mom, I—”

  Elle turned the corner and saw me just as her mother reached me and the girls. She was wearing dress slacks and a green, silk blouse that complemented the brown of her eyes perfectly. I knew this was her casual attire - Elle didn’t really do casual, she always dressed to impress. It was the New York girl in here. Even before she moved to the big city, she was a New York socialite at heart.

  “Oh, hello, Jeremiah,” Elle murmured.

  She wasn’t usually lost for words. But even the talkative, extroverted Elle seemed not to know what to say to me. She looked down, focusing on something on the shelf as if it was the most interesting brand of bagels in the world.

  “Aren’t they just darling? They look just like you, too.” Pamela continued cooing at the babies, oblivious to the elephant in the room, the one standing between her daughter and me.

  “Elle, get your butt over here and look at them.”

  “I’ve seen them, Mom,” she said.

  “Oh, you have? I guess you interviewed him recently, huh?” Pamela looked up at me, and she had the same brown eyes as her daughter. She looked older than I remembered, more tired. I knew she hadn’t handled Carl’s death very well. She was thinner than I remembered too. “Why haven’t you been over for dinner in a while? Just because Carl’s gone doesn’t mean you can’t come visit us?”

  Elle raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything.

  “Uh, yeah, you’re right,” I said, scratching my beard. “I’ve been busy, and you know, I didn’t want to intrude. I know you’ve been through a lot.”

  “So have you,” Pamela said softly. “But we’re family. Aren’t we, Elle?”

  “Of course,” Elle agreed quickly. Then she looked up at me, her eyes reaching deep into my soul. “You really should come by sometime, Jeremiah.”

  I swallowed. “I’ll try, but it’s a bit hard with two babies.”

  Elle moved closer, more relaxed, and smiled down at Amelia. “How’s my sweet girl?” she asked, running her fingers over the baby’s down-soft hair. “Daddy finally getting some groceries, huh?”

  “What are you talking about, Elle?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Elle said, brushing off the comment. “Just the last time I saw him, he said he needed to pick up some groceries. I offered to help, but you know Jeremiah.”

  “Yes, always so stubborn. Just like your dad.”

  And just like your daughter, but I kept that thought to myself.

  “Well, I really need to get going,” I stammered.

  “Oh, of course, sorry to keep you. But I mean it, if you need a warm meal, Elle is one heck of a cook, and we’d be happy to have you over.”

  Elle smiled at me, even though it was slightly awkward. I don’t think she knew how to feel about what happened.

  Glad it wasn’t just me.

  “Thank you,” I muttered, pushing the cart forward and past the two women. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  As soon as I was out of range, I breathed a sigh of relief. Closing my eyes, I pictured her up on the counter, her legs wrapped around me.

  Stop it.

  She had been so wet for me from the start. I slipped right inside her. So tight. So wet. So warm.

  Stop it!

  My eyes popped open. Pull yourself together, Jeremiah. You can’t ignore Elle forever. You live in a small town, it was only a matter of time before you ran into her.

  But why the very next day?

  She had mentioned taking her mom shopping. Why did I decide to go shopping too? Was it intentional? Hell, no. I knew better than that.

  Her mother had no idea that I’d fucked her sweet, innocent daughter on my kitchen countertop.

  It couldn’t happen again.

  Grace began to fuss, and I realized I’d been standing still for too long. I needed to get moving so I could be home before they needed changing.

  I hurried through the store, only picking up what I needed - the bare minimum - and headed for the front. I scanned the lines and didn’t see Elle or Pamela. I got into the shortest line and rushed through the checkout process. I prayed they’d left already.

  Maybe I could avoid another awkward run-in with the two of them.

  I grabbed the bags as soon as the transaction was over.

  “I don’t need a receipt.”

  I would have run out to my truck had it just been me, but I had my girls strapped to my chest. I walked as quickly as I could. When I got to the door, I thought I was in the clear.

  “Jeremiah, wait.”

  Apparently not.

  I turned, expecting to see Elle and her mother. Probably insisting I come over for dinner later. I would need a very good excuse. I loved them, they were like family, but after last night, I couldn’t do it.

  I couldn’t bear to look Mrs. Schaeffer in the eye through dinner, knowing that I’d had my way with her daughter. I couldn’t look at photos of Carl, not without feeling like a terrible friend.

  Elle hurried to me, her wool jacket wrapped tightly around her. No sign of her mother. At least I could count that one blessing, however small it might be.

  She waited until she was right up to me to talk and spoke in a low voice. “I may have something already. A witness saw a car outside James’ house the night he disappeared.”

  “Elle, if it’s relevant, the police will handle it.”

  “She told Teddy. I spoke to Teddy, and he said his hands were tied, but he’d handed the witness’s name over to the FBI. The witness said no one from the feds have spoken to her yet. They aren’t even looking into it.”

  “Even more reason to stay out of it.”

  She stared at me like I was crazy. “That makes no sense. If they aren’t going to look into a key piece of information, someone needs to.”

  “Maybe it’s not relevant.”

  She huffed, her hands on her hips. “Or maybe they just don’t think it is. It could have slipped through the cracks. Either way, it won’t hurt for me to talk to the woman—”

  “Elle?” Pamela’s voice pulled my head up. She was walking out of the store with a cart full of bags, heading right for us.

  “Elle, don’t—”

  “So if it’s no problem, I’ll be by later for my jacket,” Elle trilled, smiling brightly. “I can’t believe I left it when I interviewed you for that article.”

  Pamela walked up. “Oh, you forgot your jacket?”

  “Mmhmm. When I was interviewing him the other day for the article.”

  Pamela frowned. “You should have told me you talked to him, dear. I thought you only wrote that article based on what you knew about him.”

  “It slipped my mind, Mom. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, I just would have liked to join you and meet the babies, but I’ve met them now. So it’s all good.”

  “I really need to get them in the truck. It’s cold,” I intervened. “But it was nice seeing you.”

  I hurried and unlocked the back door, and my hands were fumbling with the carseat. I heard the two of them say goodbye and walk away, but I kept thinking maybe Elle would come back.

  Maybe her mother would too.

  Maybe Pamela would find out the truth. Because I swear, the guilt had to be written all over my face.

  Elle

  Violet Murphy lived by herself, and I think that was part of the reason she chose this neighborhood after her husband died years ago. It was one of the few neighborhoods inside the city limits of Liberty. It was an upper-middle class area, mostly two-story homes with small yards and within walking distance of everything that Liberty had to offer. Her house was nice - very ni
ce, in fact - but nothing compared to the likes of the Holts or some of our more wealthy residents.

  James Fitzhenry had just bought a home in the neighborhood before he disappeared. I wondered if he even had the opportunity to meet his neighbors. I didn’t know the man very well, but he’d seemed nice enough. He had also been tied to Lauren Holt, so maybe he was horrible. Not that I would know.

  Maybe Violet Murphy would be able to tell me.

  The older woman used a walker, but she still greeted me at the door.

  “Mrs. Murphy, thank you for meeting with me today,” I said.

  She took my hands in hers and stared into my eyes. Her glasses were as thick as coke bottles, and her eyes cloudy. “Oh, of course, dear. Always happy to help the police.”

  “I’m not the police, Mrs. Murphy. I—’’

  “Please, call me Violet.”

  I cleared my throat. “Sorry, Violet. As I told you over the phone, I’m a journalist and a good friend of Jeremiah Jenkins, not the police. I’m only here as a friend to Jeremiah.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s right. Come on inside.”

  As I followed her down the hallway and into her living room, I noticed the window in the room had a direct view of James Fitzhenry’s house and the street in front of it.

  I helped Violet take a seat on the sofa before sitting across from her in a chair.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I should have offered you some tea or something to drink.”

  “It’s fine,” I assured with a smile. What a sweet woman, I thought. I wouldn’t dare ask her to get me anything. She barely made it down the hallway.

  “Can I get you anything, Violet?”

  “No, it’s okay, dear,” she said. Then she cocked her head to the side as if trying to figure something out. “I already told the police everything I know.”

  “Oh, I’m not the police,” I said again.

  “That’s right. You’re the journalist. I read your paper, have every day since I moved to Liberty in 1977. But you weren’t born yet, were you?”

  “No, I wasn’t.” I chuckled.

  “Yes, yes, you’re far too young. And you work for the FBI?”

  “No, Violet. I’m a journalist.”

  “That’s right. My head gets jumbled sometimes.”

  I was beginning to see why maybe the FBI didn’t take her statement seriously. Was I wasting my time?

  “So what can you tell me about the night your neighbor, James Fitzhenry, disappeared?”

  “Oh, he was the young man who moved in next door, right?”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “He kept to himself. I don’t think I ever talked to him. His girlfriend wasn’t very nice, though.” She clicked her tongue unhappily.

  Okay, she’s in her right mind enough to remember Lauren, so that’s a plus.

  She frowned. “Her car was here that night.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Yes, her fancy schmancy panther or whatever it is she drives. It was parked out front.”

  Lauren had told the police she was out of the country. Some tropical island or something. I couldn’t remember her exact story, but she was cleared and supposedly not in the area.

  “Do you mean Jaguar?” I asked.

  “Jaguar, panther, I can’t keep up with the latest brands.”

  “Are you sure it was her car?”

  “Of course I’m sure. We may be doing well financially here, but we’re not that rich. Cars like that aren’t usually parked outside, and she never parked on the street, which is why I found it odd.”

  Yeah, I did too. I couldn’t imagine Lauren would park on the street, not when the house had a three-car garage and, unlike her dad, James only had one vehicle.

  “You sure it was that night?”

  “Positive. I was sitting here, watching Jeopardy when her headlights nearly blinded me. I had to get up and close the curtains and saw her car on the street.”

  “Did you see her get out or anything?”

  “No, I closed the curtain and went back to watching TV. I’m no snoop.”

  “Right,” I said, leaning back in the chair. Violet Murphy seemed sure of this. She saw Lauren’s car, and it was parked outside the night James disappeared. Knowing the neighborhood, there was a good chance someone had security cameras. James didn’t. Well, he had, but they were turned off. It was believed he hadn’t set them up yet. Maybe that was true. Or maybe someone turned them off and deleted everything from them.

  “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Murphy. I can see myself out.”

  I wasn’t sure if I could make heads or tails of what she’d said. At times, she seemed to be confused. At others, she seemed to have moments of clarity. She could recount what she was doing and why it bothered her. She seemed certain it was Lauren’s car parked in front of his house that particular night. But what did it mean?

  Lauren and James had broken up several times over the last few years. At the time of his disappearance, she claimed that were no longer together. She’d been away for almost a year, or so she said.

  But if she’d been to his home since he’d bought it, well, that changed everything.

  Ooo000ooo

  “Jeremiah!” I knocked on his door. “I know you’re in there!”

  It took him a moment, as I expected it might. He was probably feeding the girls or taking care of them in come capacity. He had his hands full.

  But the door swung open and there he was, looking as exhausted as I’d ever seen him. I entered the house without saying hello before I let it all out.

  “The witness saw Lauren’s car outside James’ house the night of the disappearance, but she’s not exactly in her right mind, so I can see why the Feds might have dismissed her testimony, but Lauren insisted that she was out of the country and the neighbor had seen her there and she claimed to have been away for the last year or so and—”

  “Elle—”

  “And I believe her because she seemed to remember a lot of details about that night. At least what she was doing, and why she noticed and her window—”

  “Elle—”

  “--looks right outside onto the front of his house. But what I don’t get is why would Lauren park her Jag on the street when there’s a garage, unless James didn’t let her park in the garage for some reason and—”

  “Elle!”

  Jeremiah’s raised voice stopped me in my tracks. I hadn’t even realized my feet continued moving, and I was in his living room. His girls were in their pack and plays, asleep. And I was going on and on, unaware of the tone of my voice.

  I covered my mouth and turned on my heels, whispering. “I’m so sorry. I should have been quieter.”

  “It’s not that,” Jeremiah said, taking my arm and leading me out of the room and into the kitchen nearby. “Calm down, okay? Slow down. I couldn’t make out half of what you were saying.”

  I took a deep breath. “Alright, so Mrs. Murphy saw Lauren’s Jaguar out front of James’ house that night.”

  “Mrs. Violet Murphy?” Jeremiah raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

  “Yes.”

  “She’s the grandmother of one of my staff, and last time I heard her Alzheimer’s was so bad, they wanted to put her in a home, but the old woman is fighting it. They’re trying to get power of attorney and stand a good chance at it, Elle.”

  “I know, but she had moments of clarity…” As I said those words, I knew he was right. I knew there was no way it would stand up in court. “But she had met Lauren, she even said she didn’t like her. But Lauren told police she hadn’t been in Liberty in around ten months or so, which is a lie.”

  “Is it?”

  “I mean, Mrs. Murphy had seen her around.”

  Jeremiah sighed, the lines in his face growing deeper and aging him. “But you agree she’s not a reliable witness, right?”

  “Yes, but maybe at least some of what she’s saying fits,” I tried.

  “Maybe? Maybe not,” Jeremiah said. “It’s not La
uren.”

  “How do you know? The jilted ex? It very well could be a coincidence—”

  “It’s not Lauren. Drop it, Elle.” His voice was raised, his tone heated.

  Almost as heated as his eyes, which hadn’t moved off me.

  “Jeremiah, I don’t—”

  Before I could continue the sentence, Jeremiah moved toward me. His lips pressed against mine, stopping me from continuing my thoughts.

  I forgot everything I was thinking anyway.

  All I could think about was his lips on mine.

  I pulled away for a second. “What if we wake the babies?”

  “We won’t,” he said against my lips.

  I pressed my lips back to his, and he lifted me in his arms. I’m not sure what changed from the night before, what made Jeremiah react the way he was - but it didn’t matter to me.

  I wanted to be his.

  “We shouldn’t…” he whispered without pulling away.

  “We’re both adults, Jeremiah. I’m a grown woman, and I want this.”

  That was all he needed to hear. He carried me to the bedroom at the end of the hallway, kicking open the door, his mouth never leaving mine.

  Everything happened so fast - he removed my clothes, ripping and tearing them off me, impatient and demanding. I did the same to him. Before long, I could stare up at him and see all of him.

  He sat me on the edge of the bed and stood before me.

  And he was as marvelous as I imagined him to be.

  His body was a work of art, a fine, chiselled sculpture that belonged in a museum beside Michelangelo’s David. His muscles weren’t just for show, either. He worked in construction, building many of the homes in Liberty before he became mayor. I grew up watching him chop wood, cut down trees, and build things with his bare hands.

  And his body was as beautiful and perfect as it was back then.

  I ran my hands down his washboard abs, feeling the muscles tremble as I worked down toward his manhood. I’d felt him the night before, but this was the first time I got to see it. I couldn’t even wrap my hand around him fully. I stroked him, moving my hand up and down while meeting his gaze.

  If there was any doubt left in his mind, it slipped away as I stroked his cock. I could see it in his eyes. He wanted me.