by Lexi Eddings
But Jake couldn’t exactly man the Green Apple Grill from Cambridge. There had to be another way for him and Lacy.
Now Mike had to help Jake find it.
* * *
The time spent digging through the dungeon at the Coldwater Gazette yielded an unexpected ally for Judith. She had accidentally befriended Deek Atwater, the bespectacled computer nerd of the newspaper staff.
She’d done this without intending to when she didn’t offer to shake his hand at their first meeting. As it turned out, the kid was a germophobe on steroids. He took her refusal to give him the conventional greeting as an invitation to a strangely one-sided friendship.
Deek had found a kindred spirit.
While she was combing through the records in the basement, the young man made excuses to come down often, and he tended to hover. He didn’t so much as brush her with an arm hair, but he certainly invaded her personal space more often that she’d have liked. He watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking, his gaze darting away guiltily whenever she glanced his way. Once, she was sure he’d even followed her back to Mrs. Chisholm’s grand old house, always staying a block and a half behind her.
It might have seemed a little stalkerish except that there was nothing the least threatening about Deek. It was as if she were an exotic new species who’d invaded his lonely little world and he couldn’t help but be drawn to study her.
Deek had no sense of ordinary interactions with others. Judith never heard him in casual conversation with any of his coworkers, but they all had plenty to say about him. He could make a computer dance across the table, they all agreed. Lacy Evans suspected him of being a hacker in his spare time. But if Deek did cyberinvade places he wasn’t supposed to be in, Judith suspected he was the sort to treat the Internet as if it were a national park.
Take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints.
Deek would likely do one better. He’d take nothing but screenshots and leave an electronic footprint so faint no one would ever know he’d been there.
His coworkers used many words to describe him. Second only to “weird,” “brilliant” was the one used most often.
Judith decided to add “useful” to the list.
She discovered with no surprise that he lived with his mother.
Probably in the basement. There’s a grain of truth in every cliché.
Mrs. Atwater, a round little woman with her gray hair slicked back into a painfully tight bun, squinted at Judith through the screen door when she knocked.
“You’re wasting your time. I never buy anything from peddlers,” she said stonily.
“I’m not selling anything,” Judith said. “I’m Dr. Hildebrand and I’ve come to see Deek.”
Mrs. Atwater’s mouth opened and closed twice without making a sound. Then she called out “Deacon!” with a tremor of disbelief in her voice. “You have a visitor.”
“Tell him to go away!” came a voice from overhead.
All right. He’s in the attic, not the basement. I was still close.
“But it’s a lady visitor, son.”
“Then tell her to go away.”
“Deek, it’s Judith,” she called.
He came tromping down the steep set of stairs so fast, she was afraid he’d fall and break his neck before she could convince him to do her bidding.
He skidded to a stop before her, but couldn’t quite bring himself to meet her eyes.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Deacon, have you forgotten all your home training?” his mother said reprovingly. “That’s not how we treat guests. Ask the lady if she’d like a glass of lemonade.”
“She doesn’t want any,” Deek said woodenly. “Lemons are highly acidic and can erode tooth enamel.”
“Deacon!”
Judith saw a quick way to score with the kid, so she took it. “Actually, Deek’s right. I don’t want lemonade.” His smile was pathetically grateful. “And I’m not really a guest, you see. I’ve come to ask Deek for help.”
“Then you might do him the courtesy of using his given name,” his mother muttered. “Why does everyone have to call him something that rhymes with ‘squeak’?”
Because Deek the Geek is too good to pass up, Judith thought but couldn’t say. Not if she wanted his help. “Is there someplace we can speak in private?”
His eyes widened, but he motioned for her to follow him up the stairs.
“Deacon, this is wrong. Ladies aren’t supposed to push themselves forward like this,” his mother scolded, her voice climbing in both pitch and decibels as Judith headed toward the foot of the stairs. “Ma’am, you are far too old to be calling on my son.”
Judith stifled a growl under her breath. She did everything she could to mask her age, from dressing as if she were much younger, to spending more than she could afford on cosmetics. Hearing someone call her “ma’am” always ruined her whole day. But she couldn’t afford a temper tantrum just now.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Atwater,” Judith said as she climbed the stairs behind Deek. “My visit is purely professional.”
“That only makes it worse,” the old woman muttered.
Deek had commandeered a peaked attic space that ran the entire length of the house. A door at the far end probably hid his actual bedroom. The rest of the space was dedicated to Deek’s interests. In addition to an astonishing assortment of electronics, Deek’s room also housed an exhaustive collection of Star Wars action figures and an insect collection Judith took pains not to examine too closely. Posters of anime characters were pinned to the sloping ceiling, and comic books in carefully cataloged acid-free dust covers were neatly arranged in alphabetical order, cataloged by superhero.
“What do you need help with . . . Judith?” he added shyly. It was the first time he’d called her anything besides Dr. Hildebrand.
“I know you have amazing computer skills. Everyone says so.”
He blushed to the roots of his hair.
“I understand you sometimes slip into places on the Web where you haven’t been invited.”
“I’m not a black hat.”
“Oh, I never thought that. Not for a minute,” she said quickly. “You’re definitely a well-meaning hacker.”
“Hacker is an ugly word,” he said in a clipped tone. “We call ourselves ‘white hats,’ and while I may have made an unauthorized entry from time to time, I never do any damage.”
His preciousness about his self-image was starting to wear on her nerves. “Look, I’m not here to insult you. I just want to know if you have the chops to do what I need.”
“What’s that?”
She walked over to him, invading his imaginary eighteen inches of personal space. He might not be aware of when he did it to others, but he certainly didn’t like it when someone did it to him. He took a step back.
“I need someone who’s smart enough and brave enough to hack into the local law enforcement and the hospital.”
“That’d be illegal.”
“So is what I’m investigating. There’s been a terrible injustice and a cover-up here in this little town. Do you think it’s right that a young girl died and no one has been made to answer for it?”
“Who died?” he asked, blood draining from his already pale complexion.
“Jessica Walker.”
“That happened ages ago,” he said. “I was like, nine or ten.”
“But you remember it?”
He rolled his eyes. “I remember everything. I remember I had sausage and biscuits for breakfast the morning they pulled her car out of the lake. Mother had oatmeal.”
Judith bit her lip to keep from saying something that would surely offend him. “Then you must remember what people said about her death at the time.”
“It was just an accident.”
Judith shook her head. “It was much more and you’re going to help me prove it. If you’re man enough.” One of the comic books caught her eye. “No, make that hero enough. I need
someone to dig out the truth and fight for justice.”
“I don’t fight. Mother doesn’t approve of violence.”
“It’s just an expression, Deek. Help me uncover the truth. You can fight from behind your computer screen, can’t you?”
His chest expanded, and he turned on the nearest laptop. “Who are you investigating?”
“Heroes always have secrets they need to keep,” she said. “Can I count on you to keep this search just between us?”
“Of course, Judith. It’ll be our little secret. Something only we two share.”
“OK.” That sounded pretty creepy, but she was out of options. She couldn’t get past that Latina dispatcher to search the sheriff’s records no matter how often she threatened to invoke the Freedom of Information Act. And she was certain she’d never be able to legally see any hospital records without a court order.
“This’ll take a minute.” Deek’s fingers flew over the keyboard. He pounded. He plugged devices into the ports that sent blinking lights dancing across the ceiling while Judith paced behind him. In a remarkably short time, he announced, “We’re in.”
“The hospital or sheriff’s office?”
“Both. Which one do you want first?”
Against her better judgment, she threw her arms around him and gave him a hug. He stiffened.
“Um. You’re touching me.”
She straightened and stepped back. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“I can’t blame you. I’d hug me, too.After all, I douse myself in antibacterial soap every day. I’m the only one clean enough to touch myself.” He cast her a sideways glance. “But you’re a close second. So now, what do you want me to search for?”
“Every reference to Jessica Walker, of course,” she said. “And Michael Evans.”
Chapter 24
I don’t want to be a bridezilla, but I want even less
to play Fay Wray to my mother’s King Kong. If I
don’t watch it, she’ll turn my wedding ceremony
into a remake of the Bride of Frankenstein.
Jake has always wanted to elope. I’m this
close to climbing out the window with him.
—Lacy Evans, after the Battle
of the Bridesmaids’ Dresses
Heather was always a careful driver, two hands on the wheel and all that, but she was concerned enough about Lacy to pull her gaze from the tree-lined street long enough to cast a sideways glance at her friend. Lacy was drumming her fingers on her thighs, nervous energy pulsing from her.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Heather asked.
“Yeah. After what Jake and I went through last night, I can face anything,” Lacy said. “Even Mom’s plans for the wedding.”
“It’s your wedding, Lace. You don’t have to cave on everything just because she’s going through cancer treatments,” Heather said. “In fact, it’d be better for her if you didn’t. The best thing you can do for your mom is treat her like you always do. She needs to feel normal.”
“But what if butting heads on every little thing is our normal?”
“Come on. Your relationship isn’t that bad.”
“Yes, it is. Don’t get me wrong. We love each other to pieces, but Mom and I haven’t agreed on anything but the color of the sky since I was ten,” Lacy said. “And even that’s open to argument.”
“But this is your wedding, not hers.”
“True, but you gotta understand what’s driving her,” Lacy said. “She comes from a really poor hill family. When she married my dad, it was at the courthouse before a justice of the peace. She never got to have any frippery or frufurrahs. She made up for some of that with Crystal’s over-the-top wedding, but it looks like she’s still got some unresolved nuptial notions she’s dealing with now.”
“Well, let her win a few then. Pick your battles and get your way on the stuff that’s really important to you,” Heather said. “And speaking of battles, what did you and Jake decide to do about that job offer?”
“We decided not to decide until after the wedding. What with Mom’s cancer treatments and Michael being home, well, every family get-together feels like we’re coiled tight as a bag of Slinkys. So Jake and I agreed to table the question of where we’ll be living after we get married,” Lacy said. “For now, anyway.”
“How did you come to that arrangement?”
“Jake showed up on my doorstep at dawn this morning.” She sighed deeply. “Oh, Heather, he looked so miserable. I couldn’t stay mad at him. I love him so much it makes my chest hurt.”
“Could be an aneurysm,” Heather said, straight-faced.
Lacy rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Like you don’t have the same goofy feelings for my brother. I’ve got eyes. You two are crazy about each other, whether you’re willing to admit it or not.”
“We’re not talking about me and Mike now.”
“Maybe we should. It’d be easier.”
“For you.” Heather still wasn’t sure how to name the ache that started inside her whenever she thought about Michael. It wasn’t painful. Not exactly. But it sure wasn’t comfortable either. “You were so set on heading back East last night. What did Jake say to make you change your mind?”
“No mind changing went on. We just tabled the issue, OK? But if it comes right down to it and if I have to give up the Cambridge job, so be it. I can’t give up Jake.”
Heather wished Lacy wasn’t the only one doing the giving, but it wasn’t her call. She didn’t want Lacy to have regrets about a road not traveled later on. Still, if her friend was satisfied, Heather would make approving noises. Besides, a selfish part of her didn’t want Lacy leaving town either.
When they pulled into the Evanses’ drive, Heather realized someone had beaten them there. A white van was parked in front of the garage. “The Bride Side” was stenciled along the passenger door in delicate filigree. Pale pink flowers and silver swirls flowed over the rear wheel wells. The other side of the van was splashed with “Teeter Guns & Ammo.” Under the stark red and black lettering, it said, “When only a shotgun will do . . .” The Teeters had caused quite a stir when they first had their Jekyll and Hyde vehicle painted like that, but it couldn’t be helped. Mitzi Teeter had explained to Heather that her husband had refused to let her invest in a new van for her bridal shop unless he could use it for his business, too.
“But the first time he leaves it dirty and I get gun oil on a dress, I’m going all graffiti monkey on his side of the van with glitter-in-a-can,” Mitzi had said adamantly. “And then I’ll hide his keys.”
Laura, Jake’s pretty dark-eyed sister, was helping Mitzi unload a hanging bar draped with dozens of zippered bags. They fit the bar onto a wheeled cart and pushed it through the Evanses’ open front door.
“Guess I should have asked before, but what are we doing today? I thought your mom said we were making table favors,” Heather said.
“That’s part of the program. She has her heart set on making votive holders out of Mason jars, burlap, and lace.”
“That sounds pretty.” Heather flexed her not-so-handy fingers. “Did I mention I’m no good with a glue gun?”
Mitzi came back out of the house and wheeled in another rack of dresses. Lacy eyed them doubtfully.
“Don’t worry. It’ll take the whole morning for me to try on all those gowns,” Lacy said with resignation. “We probably won’t get to the crafty portion of our day until later this afternoon. Since you have the perfect excuse of needing to be at work by three, you’ll miss out on wielding a glue gun. This morning it seems I’m picking out my dress.”
“You haven’t done that yet?” Heather couldn’t have been more surprised. “Lacy! Your wedding is only a month away. I thought finding the right gown was job number one on every bride’s to-do list.”
“To be honest, I thought I had it covered. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to wear Grandmother Evans’s wedding gown. It’s up in the attic in a cedar chest, perfectly pres
erved.”
“What’s it like?”
“It’s a beautiful design—sort of old Hollywood. Sleek and elegant in ivory satin with lace overlay. The train goes for miles.”
“Does it fit?”
“Like it was made for me,” Lacy said as the two of them walked toward the front door. “But Mom is set on me having a new gown. She says wearing an old one will make it look like Dad and she are skimping on me, and she can’t have that. I can wear Grandma’s pearls as something borrowed, she says, but the dress of my dreams stays in the attic.”
Heather was about to suggest that this was a battle Lacy might have wanted to fight, but if her friend was satisfied with peace at any price, she should be too. “Maybe Mitzi has something like it.”
“And maybe I’ll sprout wings.”
“Don’t do that. We’ll never find a dress to fit you.”
Lacy’s mother met them at the door. “Oh, good! You’re here.”
Mrs. Evans had gone a little heavy on the foundation that morning, but Heather still detected faint dark smudges below her eyes. Chemo was hard on anyone’s beauty routine.
“Isn’t this lovely?” Shirley Evans said. “When Mitzi heard I was a little under the weather, she knew I wouldn’t enjoy shopping as much as I usually do. So, bless her heart, she’s brought her shop to us.”
Only Shirley Evans would describe fighting cancer as being “a little under the weather.” Heather admired her resilience.
The Evanses’ little Yorkie came out from under a sofa to greet them with yips and yelps, as if to warn them that the house was being overrun with garment bags, and human attention must be directed at this sudden infestation immediately. Lacy stooped to pet him and then scooped him into her arms. He settled immediately, no longer caring that there was anything unusual going on.
