Picking Up the Pieces: Rose Gardner Novella 5.5 (Volume 2)

by Denise Grover Swank

  Muffy started whining, then released a cloud of poisonous gas. “Goodness, Muffy,” I choked out, waving my hand in front of my face as Maeve started coughing. “I’ve tried eight different dog foods and I swear your stench is getting worse.” I tossed my dish towel onto the counter and headed for the front door. “Let’s go outside, Muff, although I hope we don’t kill off any plant life. You’re like a mini-Chernobyl.”

  I grabbed my coat as Muffy ran past me through the door and out to the yard. I sat on the front steps and watched her make a nasty pile by a dead bush at the corner of the house. She wasn’t in a hurry to go in and neither was I since I was so nervous about what Mason had been up to so I watched her romp around. Ten minutes later, Mason’s headlights appeared in the driveway. He pulled the car to a stop in front of the old farmhouse and got out, his leg dragging as he walked toward the porch.

  He stopped in front of me, resignation on his face. “Violet called you.”

  I nodded, then bolted off the step and threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck.

  His back was tense, but as soon as he realized I wasn’t going to berate him, he pulled me tight against him and sighed, rustling the hair by my ear.

  “What happened?”

  “I think we’ve reached a truce of sorts.”

  I pulled back to look up at his face. I could see his busted lip even in the dim porch light. “What does that mean?”

  “For the moment, it means we probably won’t feel like beating the crap out of each other whenever we’re in the same room.”

  “That’s a start, I guess.”

  “True enough.” He grinned, then winced at the way it jarred his injured lip.

  “I’m glad to hear that you two aren’t going to be brawling in public places.” I rubbed my thumb under his lip. “You have such a handsome face and I hate to see it messed up. Not to mention it gets in the way of me kissing you.” I stretched up and placed a gentle kiss on the opposite corner of his mouth.

  “You’re not mad?”

  “That you went to see Joe? No. I’m not surprised you did after finding out about his investment.”

  He sighed, sounding weary. “You’re worth every bit of conflict I have to endure with Joe Simmons.”

  “Anything I need to know about from your meeting other than that you both got hit?”

  He paused. “He’s dead-set on being a partner even though he knows he has no legal claim to your business. He refused to let me buy him out.”

  I started to protest, but he stopped me. “I had to try, Rose. I’m sorry.”

  “I know.” It surprised me that he’d tried to buy out Joe after promising to leave the matter up to my judgment. But he’d already confessed how worried he was about losing me, so I couldn’t be too mad. It was actually encouraging to know that Mason, who always did what was right, had a few flaws. And of course, while he’d told what amounted to a white lie, I’d helped crown the new crime king of Fenton County. “It’s okay.”

  “I want to reiterate that you don’t have to let him have any say, but I know you…and you will. But I’m begging you to please ask me if you need any more help.”

  “I do want your help—I already told you I do—and you’ll probably get sick to death of me pestering you for your opinion. I have a lot of decisions to make, and I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.”

  He grinned, getting a mischievous look in his eye. “If you’re gonna kill me by overwhelming me, I’d rather you do it in our bed.”

  I laughed. “I’d rather not kill you at all, but that does sound like a promising challenge.”

  He tugged me closer and whispered in my ear, his voice husky, “Then we definitely need to go upstairs.”

  Later as I lay in Mason’s arms after he’d gone to sleep, I was certain not telling him about the Lady in Black was the right thing to do.

  Perhaps it was for the best. I should keep her in the closet, stuffed into the back where she belonged.

  Chapter Twelve

  Joe

  After several days of sleepless nights spent thinking about Rose, and the handful of occasions we’d spent time together in the house where I now lived alone, I knew I couldn’t stay there. But that night, I tossed and turned for a different reason—my sleep was haunted with memories of Savannah.

  It would have been easy to throw all the blame of our breakup on Hilary, but I realized I had to take responsibility for it too. Just like I had to take responsibility for Savannah’s death. And the baby’s. I hadn’t loved Savannah, not like I loved Rose, but I’d cared about her. I owed her something. The fact that she was dead and I couldn’t do one damn thing to help her was obvious, but the desire to atone for my sins kept me awake.

  I had Saturday off. I considered making arrangements to clean up the nursery, but I wanted to talk to Rose first. She would hopefully be more receptive now that she’d had the chance to cool down, but if she was dead set against it, I’d back off, despite what I’d led Mason to believe. Still, I wasn’t about to tell her that and give her an easy out. I really did want to be part of the business. I’d play it by ear.

  Instead, I called a real estate agent and asked her to line up a list of houses for sale both in Henryetta city limits and outside. She called back half an hour later with a short list and gave me the first address, telling me to meet her there at eleven.

  I pulled up in front of a house that looked like a cottage, surprised to see two other cars out front. As I walked up to the door, I saw that it was cracked open and heard voices inside.

  I pushed my way inside and looked around. The house was cute—matching the cottage exterior. Most of the furnishings had been removed. All I could see was a beat-up arm chair by the fireplace with a small table and lamp—most likely a pathetic attempt to stage the house—and a small kitchen table with four chairs.

  A man stood next to the brick fireplace, holding a stack of papers. He was talking to an older woman who stood next to him. “The report’s not bad,” he said. “Just a bunch of little things you’d expect to find in a house this age. But you got it for a steal, so I’m not sure how many of the repairs the owners will agree to make. You’ll probably have to arrange to fix them on your own. Perhaps your son?”

  A woman laughed. “My son is capable of many things, but home repair doesn’t fall on that list.”

  The man turned and gave me a quizzical look.

  I flashed him a smile. “I was told to meet my Realtor here at eleven, but it looks like this house already has an offer on it. Sorry to interrupt.”

  “You’re the new sheriff deputy, aren’t you?” he asked, moving a few steps closer. “Glad to have you in town. My name’s Artie Mussels.” He looked back over his shoulder. “And this is the assistant D.A.’s mother, Maeve Deveraux.”

  I felt like I’d been punched in the gut, only the sensation was ten times worse than when this woman’s son had punched me the night before.

  She smiled, the expression lighting up her face, and I was blown away by how much she resembled Savannah. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “I suspect you might end up working with my son.”

  I nodded, feeling like I was about to puke. “Yes, ma’am. We already have worked together.”

  “Oh?” she asked. “You know Mason?”

  I stood in the threshold, seriously contemplating turning around and getting the hell out of there, but it was time to face up to my past—every last bit of it—and this seemed like a monumental place to start. I took several hesitant steps closer to her. “Yes, ma’am. I do.” I swallowed. “And I knew your daughter. Savannah.”

  Confusion wrinkled her forehead. “How…”

  “Mrs. Deveraux…I used to live in Little Rock. My name’s Joe Simmons.”

  Her eyes flew open and she took a step backward.

  “Maeve? Are you okay?” Artie asked as he rushed forward to grab her elbow.

  I moved toward her out of instinct and started to reach for her, then pulled back, unsure if she wanted the
man responsible for her daughter’s death to touch her.

  She took a breath and patted the Realtor’s hand. “Thank you, Artie. I’m just a little surprised. It’s such a small world. Joe dated my daughter.”

  “Oh.”

  “Artie, could you give us a moment?” I asked. “Mrs. Deveraux and I need to catch up on a few things.”

  He glanced at Savannah’s mother; she nodded and gave him a gentle smile.

  “I’ll just be outside making a few calls,” he said, heading for the door.

  “And if my agent shows up,” I called after him, “can you tell her I’ll be out in a moment?”

  “Sure thing,” Artie mumbled, already looking at his phone.

  “Would you like to sit?” I asked, motioning toward the kitchen table in the dining room. “It might make this easier. For both of us.”

  She nodded and pulled out a chair. I resisted the urge to help her with it—old habits die hard—but I was already pressing my luck. I sat on the opposite side from her, folding my hands on the table.

  We sat in silence for several seconds before I cleared my throat. “First of all…I’d like to say how profoundly sorry I am.” My voice broke and I blinked to ease the burning in my eyes. “I’m sure you hate me, and I understand why you would.”

  Her chin quivered and she wiped her fingertips under her right eye. “I don’t hate you, Joe.”

  I studied her, wondering if she was telling the truth. “How can you not hate me? Your daughter died because of me.”

  “She died because some man with a mental illness became fixated on her and stabbed her to death.” Her voice broke and she bit her upper lip. “Everyone is so eager to take the blame for her death—you, Mason, the police—I wish you all would just let it go and blame the person who is truly responsible. Michael Cartwright. Her murderer.”

  Let it go? I’d soaked myself in the guilt of my actions for months. It was part of who I was now. I wasn’t sure I was capable of letting it go.

  She forced a smile through her tears. “No, I don’t hate you, Joe. It’s the truth, even if you find it hard to believe. I should have reached out to you after Savannah’s death, but…I didn’t. I wanted to respect your privacy. I realize now that it was wrong.”

  My eyes widened in shock. “Why would you have reached out to me? It should have been the other way around, but I was a coward. I couldn’t even go to her funeral.”

  She studied me for a moment. “But you were there.”

  I froze.

  “You weren’t at the gravesite—which was probably a good thing because Mason might have strangled you—but I saw you a ways away, behind a tree. Watching. I knew it was you.” She wiped her cheek again. “And I said a prayer for you.”

  “Me?”

  She chuckled. “Yes, you. I prayed that you would find the peace and strength to move forward from this tragedy.” She paused. “Have you, Joe?”

  My shoulders shook as I tried to hold back tears. “I thought I had. And then I lost her.” I stared into Mrs. Deveraux’s eyes. “To your son.”

  She nodded. “Rose.”

  “I love her. It doesn’t feel right telling you that given the circumstances, but I do.”

  “I know the three of you are caught in quite a dilemma.” She looked down at the table and rubbed her thumb over a scratch in the wood. “I’d like to give you a piece of advice, Joe. Take it or leave it, considering the source.”

  “Okay…”

  She looked up at me, her soft eyes holding mine. “You thought you had found your peace and strength in Rose. And I can see why you’re so taken with her. But I think you need to find your peace and strength in yourself. If you find it in someone else, that person will be destined to disappoint you and let you down. But if you find it in yourself, you will be a richer person, and your relationships will be richer for it.”

  “You’re just telling me that because she’s with Mason.”

  Her eyes hardened slightly. “I gave Mason that same piece of advice this past summer.” She stood. “Trust me, Joe. I learned it the hard way when my husband died. You want the woman you love to complement you, not be the air you breathe. Not a day goes by without me wishing I’d given Savannah that same advice.”

  She started for the door.

  “If I’d known about the b—” I stopped, realizing what I was about to say.

  She froze and turned to face me. “The baby?”

  I stood and held onto the back of the chair. “You know?”

  “Of course I know,” she sighed. “Mason thinks he’s protecting me by not telling me what he found out in the autopsy report, but of course I know. I’m Savannah’s mother. She told me.”

  “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “Because she finally realized that she couldn’t make you love her. She couldn’t make you want to be with her. She loved you, but she wanted you to be with her because it was your choice. Not because you felt it was your duty.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be…that for her.”

  “So was she.” Mrs. Deveraux walked out the front door.

  I stood next to the chair, trying to deal with what had just happened. Too many blows were hitting me all at once.

  I heard voices outside the door. I realized I needed to pull myself together and leave, but then the door opened and Rose stood in the threshold.

  “Joe?” She sounded worried as she crossed the room. When she reached me, she pulled me close for a hug. “Are you okay?”

  For one brief moment, I thought she had chosen me. The disappointment that followed was suffocating. “Yeah,” I choked out.

  “Maeve told me about your conversation—not the details—just that you suggested you two should talk.” She looked up at me. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “I’m not sure I’m worthy of your pride. Nothing I can do now will ever change the past.”

  “But it can change your future.”

  “Savannah doesn’t have a future.” Our baby didn’t have a future either. I held back a sob.

  “If she loved you, and I’m certain she did, she would want you to have a happy future.”

  I didn’t answer, fighting back my tears.

  Rose grabbed my arm, and the expression she always got when she was really determined about something washed over her face. I had to stop myself from kissing her.

  “But if you want to make Savannah proud of you, you need stop going back to Hilary every time something bad happens. She’s like a cancer, Joe, and she’s slowly killing you, bit by bit.”

  “I know. But she’s pregnant. With my baby.”

  “You’re sure it’s yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’ll be the best father that baby could ever hope for, because with her as mother, that baby’s gonna need you. But not together with Hilary. Separate.”

  “I don’t know if I can do this alone.”

  Her shoulders lifted. “You won’t be alone. You’ll have plenty of friends around you to help. Especially if you stay in Fenton County.”

  “And what about you?”

  Her face softened. “I’ll always be your friend, Joe. If you’ll let me.”

  I nodded.

  “We’ll discuss the business next week.” Her eyes narrowed. “But I’m telling you right now—Bruce Wayne is going to be my partner too so you best get over it real quick or your tenure with the Gardner Sisters Nursery is gonna be the shortest tenure in history.”

  I chuckled. God, she was a spitfire. “I can live with that.”

  “Okay.” She smiled and gave an involuntary shake. “Then this might actually work out after all.”

  I watched her walk out the door and pulled out my phone. “Deveraux? What you said about going after my father…I’m in.”

  ***

  Thirty-Three and a Half Shenanigans

  November 4, 2014

  Other Books by Denise Grover Swank:

  Rose Gardner Mysteries

  (Humorous Southern mysteries
)

  TWENTY-EIGHT AND A HALF WISHES

  TWENTY-NINE AND A HALF REASONS

  THIRTY AND A HALF EXCUSES

  FALLING TO PIECES (novella)

  THIRTY-ONE AND A HALF REGRETS

  THIRTY-TWO AND A HALF COMPLICATIONS

  PICKING UP THE PIECES (novella)

  THIRTY-THREE AND A HALF SHENANIGANS

  Chosen Series

  (Paranormal thriller/Urban fantasy)

  CHOSEN

  HUNTED

  SACRIFICE

  REDEMPTION

  On the Otherside Series

  (Young adult science fiction/romance)

  HERE

  THERE

  The Curse Keepers

  (Adult urban fantasy)

  THE CURSE KEEPERS

  THE CURSE BREAKERS

  THE CURSE DEFIERS

  New Adult Contemporary Romance

  AFTER MATH

  REDESIGNED

  BUSINESS AS USUAL

  About the Author

  Denise Grover Swank was born in Kansas City, Missouri and lived in the area until she was nineteen. Then she became a nomadic gypsy, living in five cities, four states and ten houses over the course of ten years before she moved back to her roots. She speaks English and smattering of Spanish and Chinese which she learned through an intensive Nick Jr. immersion period. Her hobbies include witty Facebook comments (in own her mind) and dancing in her kitchen with her children. (Quite badly if you believe her offspring.) Hidden talents include the gift of justification and the ability to drink massive amounts of caffeine and still fall asleep within two minutes. Her lack of the sense of smell allows her to perform many unspeakable tasks. She has six children and hasn’t lost her sanity. Or so she leads you to believe.

  You can find out more about Denise and her other books at:

  www.denisegroverswank.com

  or email her at denisegroverswank@gmail.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One