But right now he was going to find David Dirk, who hadn’t been seen or heard from in days. Reed sat in his SUV and read through the notes on his phone. Dirk’s fiancée, Eden Pearlman, twenty-five, hair stylist, never before married, no skeletons in the closet, per his predecessor’s notes, had agreed to meet with him at her condo at the far end of Main Street.
He stood in front of the building and took it in: five-story, brick, with a red canopy to the curb and a part-time doorman who had seen David Dirk leave for his office four days ago at 8:45 a.m., as usual, briefcase in one hand, travel mug of coffee in the other. He’d been wearing a charcoal-gray suit, red-striped tie. According to his predecessor’s notes, David had had a full day’s appointments, meetings with two clients, one prospective client, but had mostly taken care of paperwork and briefs. His part-time administrative assistant had worked until three that day and noted that David had seemed his usual revved-up self. Except then he vanished into thin air instead of returning home to the condo he shared with his fiancée of eight months.
Looking worried, sad and hopeful, Eden closed the door behind Reed and sat on a chair.
Reed sat across from her. “Can you tell me about the morning you last saw Mr. Dirk?”
Eden pushed her light blond hair behind her shoulders and took a breath. “It was just a regular morning. We woke up, had breakfast—I made him a bacon-and-cheese omelet and toast—and then David left for his office. He texted me a Thinking about you, beautiful at around eleven. That’s the last time I heard from him. Which makes me think whatever went wrong happened soon after because he would have normally texted a cute little something a couple hours later and he didn’t. He always texted a few times a day while at work. I just know something terrible happened! But I don’t want that to be true!” She started crying, brown streaks under her eyes.
Reed reached for the box of tissues on the end table and handed it to her. She took it and dabbed at her eyes. “I know this isn’t easy, Ms. Pearlman. I appreciate that you’re talking to me. I’m going to do everything I can to find your fiancé. I knew David when I was a kid. We used to explore the woods together when I’d come up summers to stay with my grandmother. I have great memories of our friendship.”
She sniffled and looked up at him. “So it’s personal for you. That’s good. You’ll work hard to find my Davy Doo.”
He wondered if any old girlfriend of his had ever referred to him as Reedy Roo or whatever. He hoped not. “What did you talk about over breakfast?” he asked.
“The wedding mostly. He was even trying to convince me to elope to Las Vegas—he said he wanted me to be his wife already and that we could even fly out that night. He’s so romantic.”
Hmm, making a case for eloping? Had Dirk wanted to get out of town fast? Was there a reason he’d wanted to go to Las Vegas in particular? Or was there a reason he’d wanted to marry Eden even faster than the weekend? “Did you want to elope?”
She shook her head. “My mother would have my head! Plus, all the invitations were out. The wedding is this Saturday!”
“Where?” he asked, trying to recall the venue on the invitation.
“The Wedlock Creek chapel—this Saturday night,” she said, sniffling again. “What if he’s not back by then?”
“I’m going to go out there and do my job,” he said. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I have news.”
She stood and shook his hand. “Thanks, Detective. I feel better knowing an old friend of David’s is on the case.”
Back in his SUV, Reed checked David Dirk’s financials again. None of his credit cards had been used in the past twenty-four hours. Reed’s predecessor had talked to five potential enemies of David’s from opposing cases, but none of the five had struck the retired detective as holding a grudge. Reed flipped a few more pages in the man’s notes. Ah, there it was. “According to friends and family, however, David wouldn’t have just walked out on Eden. He loved her very much.”
So what did happen to you, David Dirk? Reed wondered.
* * *
Reed had sent a small moving truck with two brawny guys to bring anything Norah wanted from the house to the ranch, but since the little rental had come furnished, she didn’t have much to move. Her sister had given her way too many housewarming gifts from her secondhand shop, Treasures, so Norah had packed up those items and her kitchen stuff and everything fit into a small corner of the moving truck. It was easier to focus on wrapping up her picture frames than on actually setting them on surfaces in Reed’s home.
She was moving in with him? She was. She’d made a deal.
Norah had never lived with a man. She’d lived on her own very briefly in this little dump, just under a year, and while she liked having her own place and making her way, she’d missed hearing her mom in the kitchen or singing in the shower. Did Reed sing in the shower? Probably not. Or maybe he did. She knew so little about him.
She gave the living room a final sweep. This morning she’d done a thorough cleaning, even the baseboards because she’d been so wired, a bundle of nervous energy about what today and tomorrow and the future would be like. She was taking a big leap into the unknown.
“We’re all set, miss,” the big mover in the baseball cap said, and Norah snapped out of her thoughts.
She was about to transfer the triplets from their playpen to their car seats, then remembered her mom had them for the day to allow Norah a chance to settle in at Reed’s. She stood in the doorway of her house, gave it a last once-over and then got in her car. She pulled out, the truck following her.
In fifteen minutes they were at the farmhouse. Reed told the movers to place all the items from the truck in the family room and that Norah would sort it all later. Once the movers were gone and it was just Norah and Reed in the house, which suddenly seemed so big and quiet, it hit her all at once that this was now her home. She lived here.
“I want you to feel comfortable,” he said. “So change anything you want.”
“Did we talk about sleeping arrangements?” she asked, turning away and trying to focus on an oil painting of two pineapples. They hadn’t, she knew that full well.
“I’ll leave that to you,” he said.
“As if there’s more than one option?”
He smiled. “Why don’t you take the master bedroom? It’s so feminine, anyway.” He started for the stairs. “Come, I’ll give you more of a tour.”
She followed him to the second level. The first door on the left was open to the big room with its cool white walls and huge Oriental rug and double wood dresser and big round mirror. A collection of old perfume dispensers was on a tray. A queen-size four-poster was near the windows overlooking the red barn, the cabbage-rose quilt and pillows looking very inviting. Norah could see herself falling asleep a bit easier in this cozy room. But still. “I feel like you should have the master suite. It’s your house, Reed.”
“I’d really rather have the room I had as a kid. It’s big and has a great view of the weeping willow I used to read under. My grandmother kept it the same for when I’d come visit through the years. I’m nostalgic about it. So you take the master.”
“Well, if you insist that I take the biggest room with the en suite bath, who am I to say no?” She grinned and he grinned back. She walked inside the room and sat on the bed, giving it a test. “Baby-bear perfect. I’ll take it.” She flopped back and spread out her arms, giving in to this being home.
“Good, it’s settled.”
A vision of Reed Barelli in his black boxer briefs and nothing else floated into her mind again, the way he’d looked lying next to her, all hard planes and five-o’clock shadow, long, dark eyelashes against his cheeks. She had a crazy thought of the two of them in bed.
And crazy it was, because their marriage was platonic. Sexless.
Focus, Norah. Stop fantasizing, which is bad for your health, anyway. Men can’t be tru
sted with any part of your anatomy. That little reminder got her sitting up. “My sister says we need to talk about how this is going to work.”
“Your sister is right. I made a pot of coffee before you came. Let’s go talk.”
She followed him downstairs and into the kitchen. On the refrigerator was a magnet holding a list of emergency numbers, everything from 9-1-1 to poison control to the clinic and closest hospital. His work and cell numbers were also posted, which meant he’d put up this sheet for her.
He poured coffee and fixed hers the way she liked, set them both on the round table in front of the window and sat down. “I have a feeling we’ll just have to deal with things as they come up.”
She sat across from him, her attention caught by the way the light shone on the side of his face, illuminating his dark hair. He was too handsome, his body too muscular and strong, his presence too...overwhelming.
“But I suppose the most important thing is that you feel comfortable here. This is now your home. Yours and the triplets. You and they have the run of the place. The crawl of the place.”
She smiled. “I guess that’ll take some getting used to.” She glanced out the window at the fields she could imagine Bella, Bea and Brody running like the wind in just several months from now.
“No rush, right?” he said.
I could do this forever, she finished for him and realized that really was probably the case for him. He seemed to be at ease with the situation, suddenly living with a woman he’d accidentally slash drunk-married, appointing himself responsible for her and her three children. Because he wasn’t attracted to her physically, most likely. Or emotionally. Men who weren’t interested in marriage generally went for good-time girls who were equally not interested in commitment. Norah Ingalls was anything but a good-time girl. Unless you counted their wedding night. And you couldn’t because neither of them could remember it.
Detective Reed Barelli’s job was to serve and protect and that was what he was doing with his accidental wife. That was really what she had to remember here—and not let her daydreams get a hold on her. The woman he’d thought he was getting was Angelina, international flight attendant. Not Norah.
There was no need to bring up her sister Shelby’s bedroom questions again or exactly what kind of marriage this was. That was clear. They were platonic. Roommates. Sharing a home but not a bed. Helping each other out. Now that she had that square in her mind, she felt more comfortable. There were boundaries, which was always good. She could ogle her housemate, stare at his hotness, but she’d never touch, never kiss and never get her heart and trust broken again.
“Anything else we should cover?” he asked.
She bit her lip. “I think you’re right. We’ll deal with whatever comes up. Right now we don’t know what those things might be.”
“For instance, you might snore really loud and keep me awake all night and I’ll have to remember to shut my door every night to block out the freight train sounds.”
She smiled. “I don’t snore.”
“Not an issue, then,” he said, and she realized that, again, he was trying to break the ice, make her feel more comfortable.
She picked up her mug. “You know who might keep you awake, though? The three teething seven-month-olds you invited to live here with you.”
“They’re supposed to do that, so it’s all good.”
“Does anything rattle you?” she asked, wondering if anything did.
“Yes, actually. A few things. The first being the fact that we’re married. Legally married.”
Before she could even think how to respond to that, he changed the subject.
“So what’s on your agenda for today?” he asked.
“I figure I’ll spend the next couple of hours unpacking, then I’ll be working this afternoon. It’s Grandma’s Pot Pie Day, so I’ll be making about fifty classics—chicken, beef, vegetable—from my grandmother’s recipes. Oh—and I’ll be writing up a class syllabus, too.”
He took a sip of his coffee and tilted his head. “A class syllabus?”
She explained about the director of the community services center asking her to teach the multiples class for parents and caregivers of zero-to-six-month-olds. “I tried to get out of it—I mean, I’m hardly an expert—but she begged.”
“You are an expert. You’re a month out of the age group. Been there, done that and lived to tell the tale. And to teach the newbies what to do.”
She laughed. “I guess so!”
Norah always thought of herself as barely hanging on, a triplet’s lovie falling out of the stroller, a trail of Cheerios behind them on the sidewalk, a runny nose, a wet diaper. Well-meaning folks often said, “I don’t know how you do it,” when they stopped Norah on the street to look at the triplets. Most of the time she didn’t even feel like she was doing it. But all three babies were alive and well and healthy and happy, so she must be. She could do this and she would. She did have something to offer the newbie multiples moms of Wedlock Creek.
She sat a little straighter. She had graduated from the zero-to-six-month age range, hadn’t she? And come through just fine. She was a veteran of those first scary six months. And yeah, you bet your bippy she’d done it alone. With help from her wonderful family, yes. But alone. She could teach that class blindfolded.
He covered her hand with his own for a moment and she felt the two-second casual touch down to her toes.
“Well, I’d better start unpacking,” she said, feeling like a sixteen-year-old overwhelmed by her own feelings.
“If you need help, just say the word.”
He was too good. Too kind. Too helpful. And too damned hot.
She slurped some more coffee, then stood and carried the mug into the family room, where the movers had put her boxes. But she wanted to be back in the kitchen, sitting with...her husband and just talking.
Her husband. She had a husband. For real. Well, sort of for real.
She didn’t expect it to feel so good. She’d just had an “I’m doing all right on my own” moment. But it was nice to share the load. Really, really nice.
* * *
After walking Norah to the Pie Diner and taking a slice of Grandma’s Classic Beef Pot Pie to go, Reed was glad the diner was so busy, because he kept seeing Norah’s mom and aunt casting him glances, trying to sneak over to him for news and information about how Norah’s move-in had gone. Luckily, they’d kept getting waylaid by customers wanting more iced tea and “could they have sausage instead of bacon in their quiche Lorraine?” and “were the gluten-free options really gluten free?”
Move-in had gone just fine. He was comfortable around Norah for some reason he couldn’t figure out. He’d never lived with a woman, despite a girlfriend or two dumping him over his refusal for even that, let alone an engagement ring.
As far as tonight went, he’d simply look at his new living arrangement the way he would with any roommate. They were sharing a home. Plain and simple. The snippets he’d overheard from Norah’s conversation with her sister wouldn’t apply. There would be no sex. No kissing. No romance. As long as he kept his mind off how pretty and sexy she was and remembered why they were staying married, he’d be fine.
That settled in his head, he hightailed it out of the Pie Diner with his to-go bag and took a seat at a picnic table edging the town green, waving at passersby, chatting with Helen Minnerman, who had a question about whether it was against the law for her neighbor’s Chihuahua to bark for more than a minute when outside—no, it was not—and helping a kid around ten or eleven up from under his bike when he slid from taking a turn too fast.
Life in Wedlock Creek was like this. Reed could get used to this slower pace. A man could think out here in all this open space and fresh air, which was exactly what he was doing, he realized. Too much thinking. About his new wife and what it would be like to wake up every morning kn
owing she was in bed down the hall. In the shower, naked under a spray of steamy water and soap. Making waffles in his kitchen. Their kitchen. Caring for babies who had him wrapped around their tiny fingers after just a few days of knowing them.
But all his thinking hadn’t gotten him closer to finding David Dirk. In fifteen minutes he was meeting Dirk’s closest friend, a former law associate, so hopefully the man would be able to shed some light.
Reed finished the last bite of the amazing beef pot pie, then headed for Kyle Kirby’s office in a small, brick office building next to the library.
Kirby, a tall, lanky man with black eyeglasses, stood when Reed entered, then gestured for him to sit. “Any luck finding David?”
Reed sat. “Not yet. And to be honest, not much is making sense. I’ve looked into all the possibilities and I’m at a loss.”
Kirby was chewing the inside of his lip—as if he knew more than he wanted to say. He was looking everywhere but at Reed.
Reed stared at him. “Mr. Kirby, if you know where David is or if he’s okay or not, tell me now.”
Was that sweat forming on the guy’s forehead despite the icy air-conditioning?
“I wish I could help. I really do.” He stood. “Now, if those are all your questions, I need to get back to work.”
Reed eyed him and stood. This was strange. Reed had done his homework on Kyle Kirby’s relationship with David and the two were very close friends, had been since David had moved back to Wedlock Creek to settle down after graduating from law school. Kirby had no skeletons in his closet and there was no bad blood between him and David. So what was the guy hiding?
Frustrated, Reed put in a couple more hours at the station, working on another case—a break-in at the drugstore. A promising lead led to a suspect, and another hour later, Reed had the man in custody. The solid police work did nothing to help his mood over his inability to figure out what had happened to David. It was as if he had just vanished into thin air.
Detective Barelli's Legendary Triplets Page 8
