by Freya Atwood
He opened the car door and I stopped him.
“Thank you, Detective. I’ve given you a hard time but…I’m glad you believe me about Tommy DeLuca. I hope you find him.”
“Keep my number. Maybe your boy did run him out of town. Maybe he felt the heat after killing whoever the girl was. Maybe we’re all missing the big picture. I’ll be on this case no matter how cold it gets so, don’t hesitate.”
The sharp focus was back, stabbing out through the facade of shabby, laziness. I felt the beginnings of respect for the man.
“Thank you.”
He closed the door, shuffling away with sloping shoulders and head down, pausing to light another cigarette. I started the car and headed home.
Extended Story
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Preview: Vengeful Justice
Chapter 1
Westby, California – 1 Year Later
Dappled sunlight filters through the blinds of the coffee shop, casting early morning light over the table. I sit across from Aiden for what has become our weekly Monday morning breakfast. I wouldn’t call what we’ve been doing dating exactly, but it’s been nice to share the time together, really getting to know each other. Not that we haven’t kissed or fooled around a little, but it’s been slow and he’s been so very patient with me.
“You’ve got that far away look,” Aiden comments over his cup of black coffee. Its contents are a shade or two darker than his brown hair. His eyes catch the light from the window, making them shine as he studies me.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be somewhere else. I was just thinking about how far we’ve come.” I study the dark contents of my own mug as I realize I can’t look him in the eye. And how far we’ve yet to go.
“I knew what I signed up for, Megan. I am a patient man, and I will wait as long as it takes. I know that pushing you too fast will only make you leave, and I don’t want that to happen.”
“I don’t either. I promise, I’m trying.” Even a decade after the fact, I still find it hard to trust my heart to other people.
The waiter comes by to refill our cups and lingers, eying us for the fact we never order food when we come. We drink a pot of coffee between us, but we never order food.
“Before you go, could I get a plate of eggs, scrambled, and some rye toast?” I say.
Both Aiden and the waiter blink at me in confusion and surprise. The waiter recovers first. “Of course. I’ll put your order right in!”
He races off, coffee pot perched on the edge of the table. He sprints back moments later with a sheepish grin, snatching it up again before making an excited beeline for the kitchen.
“Ordering food. That’s bold,” Aiden says and sets his mug down. “You’re going to make me feel like a slacker here.”
I gesture to our waiter at the other end of the diner. “There’s still time to make his day.”
He shakes his head. “I’ve never been much of a breakfast guy. I know they say it’s the most important meal of the day but, something about starting my day with something heavy in my stomach makes me uncomfortable. It weighs me down.”
I laugh as he gestures to his stomach as he talks. “Maybe you just haven’t found the right morning fuel for you.”
We sit in silence, eying each other over our mugs of coffee for a few minutes. Our waiter returns with the plate of food and sets it down in front of me. “Can I get you anything else?” He eyes Aiden who just shakes his head.
“We’re good for now. Thanks.”
I dig into the eggs after applying a light coating of ketchup and pepper. They taste almost the way my dad’s scrambled eggs did when I was a little girl. I swallow the mouthful of food as a new realization hits me: it’s been months since I thought about my father.
So much had changed in my life since he’d disappeared into the ether, leaving not only my family but the rest of Westby to wonder whether he’d been responsible for murdering my mother. Over the years I’ve convinced myself that one day she’ll get justice, but I’ve stopped pinning my hopes on his return. Some other piece of information would come to light, revealing the truth.
“Megan, is something wrong with the food?” Aiden’s voice pulls me back from the edge of a dark spiral.
I blink, his face coming into focus. “No, it’s fine. Sorry, I just realized these taste like my dad used to make. I’m used to memories of my mom hitting me at unexpected times, but it’s been years since it happened with him.”
Aiden sets his mug aside and starts to reach across the table for my hand. He stops partway over and retracts it. “I can’t imagine what it’s like going through that trauma. I really wish I could help.”
I wave the fork in the air, trying to dismiss his concern. “I’ll be fine.”
He reaches across the table and gives my hand a squeeze this time. “I’m here if you ever need to talk it out.” He returns his attention to his coffee and smiles at me. “So, do you have any exciting cases you’re working on?”
His smile is infectious, and I can’t help mirroring the expression. I’m grateful for the subject change. I want to live my life looking for the bright moments, not dwelling in the past. “You know I can’t talk about it, just like you can’t. But, no, work has actually been pretty slow lately. I’ve actually been helping out in housing court, doing some mediations for residents in Mercy Heights.”
Until recently, I’d avoided Mercy Heights whenever possible. It held such painful memories for my sister, Cathy, and my nephew, Lucas. But I realized the residents of that area of Westby weren’t all bad and didn’t deserve to be lumped into the negativity I associated with one particular person: Rocco Lantieri. My sister’s former drug dealer and the father of her only child.
“That’s a noble thing to do. I know that housing cases can get pretty emotional.”
I nod. “No one likes to face losing the safety of a roof over their head, and so many people are just trying to make ends meet.”
His pointed stare across the table asks the question I know he won’t put words to: has my work made me cross paths with Rocco. I shake my head in answer. “At least most of the landlords I’ve been dealing with have been understanding and willing to give their tenants more time to come up with rent or negotiate other conditions that allow them to find new housing before asking them to move out.”
“I’m glad. Then again, I would expect nothing less of the great Megan Corver, Esquire,” he compliments.
Color warms my cheeks as I try to hide my face. Knowing that I am a skilled attorney and having other people point it out, especially those whose opinion I value, makes me embarrassed outside of the courtroom. Inside, I somehow find the ability to leave those insecurities at the door and focus solely on the task at hand, defending whatever client has come to me looking for help. I pride myself on defending those who would see justice denied or at least applied unfairly.
“You don’t have to say that,” I mumble.
“I’m not saying anything that other people aren’t thinking. You have great skill, Megan. I’ve seen you in action and that passion for justice is part of what drew me to you.”
My phone beeps with an incoming text. We have a rule about keeping our phones out of sight during our time together but it’s nearly eight thirty, which means I’m due at the office anyway.
“Sorry, I should get this. It could be work,” I say and reach for my bag. As I dip my hand into the front flap, my fingers brush a sleek bit of paper and I shiver. I don’t have to look to know my hand grazes the photo of my mother lying dead on the kitchen floor with a taunting message from her murderer printed on the back: Have you seen him or has he abandoned his pretty
little girls? A pity he’s too much of a coward to face what he’s done. His debt is far from paid. If you aren’t careful, it might just become yours.
It’s been months and still I can’t bring myself to share it with anyone or look into it. I know it’s irrational. I want answers to my mother’s death, but I fear even this scrap of hope will be just another dead end.
Forcing the thought from my mind, I fumble my phone out of the front pocket of the bag to find a waiting text from Jasmine, my paralegal: I know you won’t be in for another half hour but there’s someone who insists they meet with you.
I turn my attention back to Aiden. “I’m really sorry but it sounds like there’s an emergency at work.”
“I understand. Go.” He gestures to the partially eaten food and coffee mugs. “I’ll take care of this.”
I flash him a grateful smile and shoulder my bag, heading out to the car. He gives a wave through the window as I slide behind the wheel and make the short trip across town to my firm’s offices.
Stepping into the office, I can feel the tension as if it were a tangible force, pressing against me. It’s thick and stifling. I expect to find Jasmine sitting at her desk outside my office, but her chair is empty. Low voices from the office next to mine draw my attention and I knock once before walking in to find Taylor and Jasmine with their heads pressed together, whispering conspiratorially.
“What are you two up to?” My voice makes them jump and spin at the same time.
“You got my text!” Jasmine says, her voice high and nasally. A clear sign she’s anxious.
“Yep. So, who is insisting on seeing me?” I had a few clients on my housing case I could think of that were extra pushy and liked to drop in unannounced, demanding I drop everything and tend to their needs. But if it had been one of them, Jasmine would have given me a heads up on who I’d be dealing with.
“Didn’t give a name but the guy looks like he’s in rough shape. I thought he might have just been homeless and wandered in out of confusion, but then he named dropped you,” Jasmine responded.
I eyed Taylor. “And how do you fit in with all of this?”
“I’m just nosy. You know that,” he answers with a smirk and a single shoulder shrug. “And given that we’ve had some creepy people come after you in the past, I wanted to see what we could do to make sure you don’t have some crazed stalker.”
“I appreciate you both looking out for me, I really do but I’m a big girl and in case you forgot, I have several friends in law enforcement who would be more than happy to throw any stalkers out the door.” I glance over my shoulder. “So, where is this mystery man?”
“I told him he could wait in your office,” Jasmine answered in a soft tone.
“Scream if it’s a stalker,” Taylor chimes in as I pull the door shut.
Taylor is an acquired taste, especially his brand of humor, but he’s a damn good lawyer and one of the most thorough researchers I know. He would be doing as much digging on this mystery man as he could, and I appreciated him for it.
Given Jasmine’s description of the man as potentially homeless, I brace myself for the typical disheveled clothing and off-putting odor as I open the door and walk in. The man who sits before me, facing the wall, doesn’t look overly shabby. From what I can see, his beard is a little long and his clothes could do with some ironing, but nothing that would signal homeless. And he certainly doesn’t smell.
“Excuse me, Sir? I’m Attorney Megan Corver, is there something I can help you with?”
The man turns at the sound of my voice and my heart stops. I blink, hoping the image my eyes are sending to my brain is wrong. He’s over a decade older and the facial hair is disconcerting, but I could swear the man sitting in my office is my father.
“Hello, Megan.”
Chapter 2
The world tilts off its axis as I make eye contact with him. His voice is exactly the same and all I can hear is the man who’d raised me, who’d loved me and supported me, telling me to never call him again. He doesn’t move as I struggle to breathe. His presence sucks out all of the oxygen and I’m floundering.
“No. No, you’re not here,” I finally squeak out.
“I know it’s been a while,” he says, looking at his hands.
The casual way he speaks, like we aren’t estranged, like he’s not wanted for a brutal crime, spurs me to action. I slam the door to the office and round the desk. For a fleeting moment, I consider going back and opening the door, but I don’t need my friends to hear this conversation. I dig my fingers into the edge of my desk, grateful for the stability and the distance it affords me.
“How dare you show your face here? This is my work. Those are my friends. You have no right to be in my life,” I rail.
“I know. And I won’t be for long. I just need some help.”
“What makes you think in any reality I would offer you help? You abandoned me and Cathy when we needed you most. You refused to protect your daughters from the loss of their mother.”
“I know. I had no choice. I had to leave.”
“Because you killed her?” I snarled. My eyes water with unshed tears, burning against the backs of my eyes as nausea bubbles in my stomach. The few bites of eggs threatening to make a repeat appearance. My neck flushes warm as anger courses through my body.
“No, I’d never hurt your mother. I loved her,” he answers, shaking his head.
“You expect me to believe that after what you did? You can’t possibly think I would help you.”
“I was there the day you graduated, Megan.”
“I know,” I ground out.
“I couldn’t miss my baby girl getting her diploma. But it wasn’t safe for me.”
“Why? You’d already made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with us. You stayed away for a decade.”
“You were in danger and leaving was the only way I could ensure you were safe. At least, that’s what I thought. But I … I was wrong. Look, I understand why you wouldn’t want me to be around after all this time, but I just need a little help and I’ll be gone again. I just need some money.”
I give him a pointed look. “You don’t really expect me to let you walk out that door, do you?” I release my grip on the desk, my fingers throbbing from the exertion and cross my arms over my chest. “Uncle Jim is Chief of Police and I have other friends in the department. No matter what you say, you’re still a person of interest in her murder. They’re going to want to talk to you.”
“You won’t turn me in, Megan,” he scoffs.
I reach for the phone on my desk, going so far as to pick up the receiver. “You want to bet?”
He reaches forward, slamming it back into the cradle. I shuffle back out of his range. This is not the man I grew up with. That man died the same day as my mother. I don’t know who the man is sitting before me, but he bears no resemblance to my father. There’s no warmth, no kindness in his expression. Only a haunted hunger.
“You want to know the truth about your mother’s death and so do I,” he continues, lowering his hands as he studies me.
I shake my head. “You don’t get to walk in here after a decade of being an absent father and tell me that it’s just a big misunderstanding. You’re going to turn yourself in to the police and face justice.”
“If you won’t help me, I’ll just have to ask your sister,” he sighs and stands.
“You stay away from her. What you did broke her in ways you can’t imagine. She’s putting her life back together and she doesn’t need you barging in and ruining it. And in case you missed it, neither of us have mountains of money.”
He gestures around the office. “You’re an attorney.”
I laugh. “Not all attorneys make millions. I barely make mid-five figures. Besides, I didn’t get into this line of work for the money.”
“No, you did it to help people who can’t help themselves,” he says. The edge to his voice makes me shiver. “I may not have been in your life Megan, but that doesn
’t mean I didn’t check in on you from time to time from a distance.”
“You are going to the station right now,” I repeat.
He shakes his head. “No, I’m not and you aren’t going to stop me. But maybe you’ll come to your senses and help me. You won’t be safe, neither of you, until you do.”
He pushes the chair back and sprints out of the office, the door slamming against the wall behind him as he goes. The door to Taylor’s office opens and both he and Jasmine poke their heads out.
“So, I’m guessing we don’t have another client to add to the list of people who can’t pay us?” Taylor asks.
I work my jaw, trying to form words amid the anger and the hurt warring in my mind when Jasmine smacks him on the arm. “She’s upset. Stop being a smart ass.”
“My father,” I finally manage to get out.
“What about him?” she responds.
I point to the open door to the office suite. “That was my father.”
“Oh, shit,” Taylor hisses.
Jasmine is at my side instantly, wrapping an arm around my shoulders in silent solidarity. I let the weight of her arm ground me, focusing my thoughts.
“I need to let the police know he’s back in Westby. If he won’t turn himself in, they’ll have to bring him in by force.”
“Megan, I know you don’t exactly love the man, but he’s still your dad. Couldn’t it get kind of messy to involve the police?” Taylor questions.
By messy, he means deadly. There was every possibility an overzealous officer could go charging in to make a name for themselves, but that wasn’t going to happen. I know no matter how furious Uncle Jim might be at what Dad did to us, he would still act rationally. And I trust Aiden to do things by the book and in a way that avoids escalation of conflict.
