Discarded Promises

by Candice Poarch

  What was he thinking?

  After Quilla left the night before, he’d gone back to work to see what he could dig up. No way was he going back to sleep now, which was exactly his mother’s intent. The coffee had stopped dripping, and he poured himself a cup and started back to his bedroom.

  While he showered he thought of Quilla and the fact that he had to do something before she got into trouble. Tom was at the office the day Sadie was killed. Which didn’t mean he didn’t sanction the murder, of course. He couldn’t see Tom dirtying his hands by actually doing it himself.

  When had he come around to believing Sadie was actually murdered?

  Quilla listened to the news as she prepared breakfast, but she almost burned the bacon as she listened to the reporter announce that another robbery had occurred in the city. The fifth so far in as many weeks. More and more people were storing jewels in safe-deposit boxes until they apprehended the robbers, but this was the season of parties and they needed some pieces available to wear.

  As the subject switched to other local news, Quilla thought about Sadie. Could Sadie have been killed during a robbery? After all, she was wearing fur and jewels. The ring, however, was still on her finger. But Quilla could have approached them before the thief could take them, and when she left for help, he not only got the jewels, but he disposed of the body as well. So far the police didn’t have a clue as to who the robbers were.

  Quilla quickly ate her breakfast. She had a million things to do. The first was to place a weekly order for ingredients or she’d run out of treats. She was working a party at a dog day care center /hotel that afternoon. It was also a warm day, but she wasn’t about to go jogging again. Couldn’t stand the idea of running on the same path where Sadie had died. Maybe she should join a health club or something. Where was the joy in exercising inside when fresh air and nature beckoned?

  Treadmills were a bore. The walls closed in on her in health clubs. Missing was the stroke of the wind on her face, the cold biting her cheeks in winter, the sun kissing her in spring and summer. Perhaps she’d just do a fast walk on the quieter streets of Old Town.

  But she couldn’t help wondering why the body hadn’t turned up yet.

  When she thought of Sadie, she thought of Denton. They’d met because of Sadie. As independent as she was, when Denton had rained kisses on her the night before, she’d wanted to hold on to him. He stirred her up like no man had in a very long time. As his lips and tongue dueled with hers, she’d wanted to glide her fingers under his jacket and feel the muscles in that hard chest. Afterward he’d looked in her eyes and she’d seen the kindness that drew her to him.

  She shook her head. Where was this crazy thing leading?

  Since Quilla had run out of the house, Owen Day had moped around the house without the energy to cook, much less ask Joyce on a date. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, that Quilla wasn’t going to forgive him as quickly as the snap of a finger. He’d mailed her the first letter asking for forgiveness more than a year ago. The letter was for him, one of his AA steps to forgive himself, to take that step in telling the wronged one that he was sorry whether she accepted it or not. It had not been for her.

  But now he needed Quilla to forgive him. She was his daughter, and he wanted to be the father he had been before he started drinking heavily, so he wasn’t surprised when Joyce rang his doorbell that Saturday morning.

  “Owen,” she said, pushing past him before he could even ask her to leave, “you’ve been moping around here long enough. You shut me up every time I try to talk to you about that day and hang up. No more.” She went into his kitchen and started a pot of coffee.

  Joyce was a pretty woman, although she didn’t think so because she was a little—more than a little—overweight. A woman with a little meat on her bones didn’t turn him off. She wore jeans and a pretty aqua V-neck sweater with low-heeled black shoes. Her outfit was adorned with gold earrings and a necklace. He’d never seen her without her flawlessly applied makeup. And she said keeping her hair short made it easy to manage. Around five-six, she was six inches shorter than his six feet, and her head came up to right under his chin. They were a good fit, he thought. But right now, he wasn’t suitable for anyone.

  He followed behind her. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about it. I’m not in the mood for company.”

  “You’re going to push everybody out of your life? Even the people who love you?”

  Love me? Owen’s gaze shot up to the back of her head. She’d turned her back, pulled cups and saucers from the cabinet. Her brother had introduced them a couple of years ago. He was Owen’s AA sponsor. At the same time Owen started AA, she began losing weight with a program at the church. They struggled together. And together they were battling their separate demons.

  His gaze lingered on her as she worked efficiently in his kitchen. She’d succeeded well. Had lost more than sixty pounds. Although she still wasn’t slim, she was left with a nice rounded figure.

  She loves me? She’d left Owen speechless. He wasn’t ready for love. He still hadn’t settled things with his daughter. Until he did, he didn’t deserve Joyce’s love or goodness.

  “Go home, Joyce,” he said quietly behind her and settled into a chair at the kitchen table.

  Ignoring him, Joyce poured the coffee into two cups and set both on the table. As she sat across from him, her eyes met his for the first time. Her face was slightly flushed as if she were embarrassed. He knew what caused that. He hadn’t responded to her declaration of love. Didn’t know how to yet.

  “Tell me what happened,” she said.

  Glancing at the snowbird perched on a tree limb outside the window, Owen sipped on his coffee. The bird flew away and Owen focused on Joyce again. She had a kind face, Owen thought. Why did she care about someone as unworthy as he? He didn’t deserve her kindness, not after the way he’d treated his wife and daughter. He thought he was coming along nicely, getting his life on track. Quilla had reminded him how awful he’d been.

  “Did you eat breakfast?” she asked.

  Owen nodded. “A bowl of cereal.”

  She nodded. “Tell me what happened,” Joyce repeated quietly.

  “She’s never going to forgive me. I know I’ve been through the part where it isn’t necessary for the people I’ve hurt to forgive me, just for me to admit the wrong I’ve done. But she’s my daughter. I . . .”

  He’d launched into a world of his own when he felt Joyce’s warm hand stroking his, forcing him to remember he wasn’t alone.

  “When you’ve made your peace, you want things to happen overnight. But it doesn’t happen that way. Forgiving takes time. You’ve come to grips with what’s happened. You’ve gotten help. But Quilla hasn’t. She hasn’t seen you in more than ten years. You can’t expect that she’ll accept you because you’re ready, or because you’ve changed. She hasn’t seen that change.” She patted his hand and offered a warm smile. “Give the Lord time to work His magic.”

  A devout Christian, Joyce believed anything could be accomplished for those who believed. His wife had been a Christian, too. He wondered if Quilla still attended church. He’d stopped decades ago. Had spent his weekends too drunk to think about church, much less attend.

  He nodded and sipped his coffee again.

  “Cereal isn’t going to hold you all day. Why don’t you take me to Red Lobster? We can get back in time for bowling.”

  That was another good thing about his relationship with Joyce. They actually did things together. She got him out of the house. “I’ll call her again in a few days.”

  Denton didn’t want to be alone that evening. He glanced at Lucky. A dog may be man’s best friend, but Lucky wasn’t quite the companion Denton was hoping for. Lucky was a good icebreaker with Quilla, however. Around three-thirty he marched the dog to Quilla’s shop. He was so intent on seeing her that he did a double take when he saw another woman behind the counter. At no more than five-four, she was young, bubbly, and very slim, in contrast
to Quilla’s curves. Probably around twenty-five, Denton thought. Jake’s age.

  “I was looking for Quilla,” he said as Lucky tried to scratch through the doggie gate to get to the goodies.

  “She’s at Bow Wow Play Palace.”

  Denton stopped on a dime. “Where?” He shook his head. How could anyone say that with a serious expression? This woman didn’t crack a smile when she said it.

  “They’re having an open house and Quilla’s supplying the treats.”

  “May I ask, what’s a Bow Wow Play Palace?”

  “It’s a day care and hotel combination for dogs. You can take Lucky. She’ll enjoy being around the other dogs.”

  Now he’d heard it all. “Could you, um, tell me where it’s located?” Denton was having second thoughts about going there. Anybody associated with a Bow Wow Play Palace had to be seriously over the top.

  The woman smiled. “Sure. It’s just a few blocks away.” She gave him directions while she tucked a treat into Lucky’s mouth.

  After thanking her he marched Lucky out. Lucky lagged, hoping for another treat, and Denton had to give the leash an extra tug.

  The open house was in a large room with a white tile floor. A buffet table to the side held numerous treats, and party bags were lined up for each dog. Although he shouldn’t have been, he was surprised at the number of people who were eating at bistro tables with dogs at their heels.

  He spotted Quilla immediately, cruising from group to group while someone manned the treat buffet. She looked fetching in her red sweater paired with black jeans. He liked the sweater, the way it molded around her perky breasts. He’d already figured out red was her favorite color. It went well with her complexion. But, he thought again, he’d like to see her in a dress.

  Denton had never seen the likes of it as he went to the buffet, grabbed a bowl, and frowned over which treats to select for Lucky. He never paid much attention to the dog’s food. He just fed from the supply Sadie had left. Of course Quilla was always pushing treats into Lucky’s mouth.

  These were well-mannered dogs, not like the mutt his brother had who would have broken loose and snapped at the other dogs. That mangy creature would have eaten all the food in sight—his own and everything that belonged to any other dog.

  “I’m so glad you brought Lucky,” Quilla said when she approached him. “She loves parties. Sadie rarely missed happy hour at the Holiday Inn.” She stooped to rub Lucky’s fur, then began selecting treats for her, thankfully relieving Denton of the chore.

  “She missed you,” Denton said, glancing around and noticing the range of dog dress. Everything from poodles with the silly bows and blankets to huge great Danes with massive collars.

  “I think this will do. There’s an empty table over there.” She laughed. “You look so out of your element.”

  “It shows, hum?”

  “In spades. Can I get you something?”

  For the first time, Denton noticed a cart serving finger sandwiches and hors d’oeuvres. People food. “I don’t think so. I’d like to take you to dinner.”

  “Did you find out anything about Sadie?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” Actually he hadn’t had the time to allot to Sadie’s case.

  “So why the dinner?”

  “It’s just dinner. Do we have to make a federal case out of it?” He was already having second thoughts about inviting her.

  “You haven’t been very enthusiastic about Sadie. I have the feeling I’m on my own.”

  Denton sighed. Women. Perhaps being with her wasn’t a good idea after all.

  “Forget I asked.”

  “I’d love to go to dinner,” she said after she’d driven him crazy. It was the one thing he didn’t miss about his ex. She’d needle him to death about something. When he finally gave in, she no longer wanted it.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven. Is that too early?”

  “No.” She stood. “I have to mingle with the guests, perhaps even drum up some more business.”

  “Lucky and I will be fine.”

  She bent and ruffled Lucky’s fur. “See you later, Lucky.”

  Denton watched the sway of her backside as she went toward the buffet and added more food. Then she started circulating. He glanced down at the scrap of a dog steadily eating her treat by his feet. Quilla treated the dog better than she treated him.

  Sometimes even a sane woman did crazy things. Quilla was wasting her time with Denton, time that could be better spent searching for Sadie’s killer, she thought, as she made her rounds with the locals, many of whom catered to her shop. But there was new business to drum up, too, and she handed out business cards as easily as she handed out treats.

  But when Denton had asked her out on a date, she couldn’t resist. He ran hot and cold. One moment he wanted her, the next he couldn’t get away quickly enough. He was as ambivalent as she. Maybe he had his own tale of woe—that baggage that made you think two, three, even four times before you felt halfway safe enough to dip a toe in the water.

  That night, Quilla showered and dressed carefully. She didn’t know where they were going, but it was her first date since Eddie, and she wore an emerald-green dress with high-heeled boots.

  Before she left she glanced at herself in the full-length mirror. The dress molded to her curves. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but she wouldn’t send him running for cover, either. She gathered up her dress coat from the depths of her closet and hung it on the coat tree.

  To relax, she sipped a cup of tea while she waited for Denton to arrive. He rang her doorbell five minutes later. With nerves making her stomach queasy, she quickly descended the stairs. He wore a cashmere coat over a turtleneck and sports jacket paired with a nice pair of slacks.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee before we go?”

  “Maybe when we return.”

  She trouped back upstairs and gathered her coat, gloves, and purse, and they were soon walking to one of Alexandria’s upscale seafood restaurants. Even if it was blocks away, it didn’t make sense to drive. Parking was hell, especially close to the holidays.

  “You know, Sadie once said the best thing about living in the heart of Alexandria was its proximity to so many great restaurants. She didn’t cook,” Quilla noted. His hand settled on the small of her back, bringing her closer to him. The evening breeze carried a slight whiff of his cologne. Very male, very subtle.

  “I agree with her.”

  “I don’t think most of the people who live here cook very much. I know I don’t.”

  “Who has the time anymore?”

  “You aren’t originally from here. Where did you grow up?” she asked.

  His hand slid around and captured her gloved one.

  Quilla’s breath hitched in her throat.

  “Up north. Chicago.”

  “The windy city. I’ve never been there. Is it as windy as they say it is?”

  “Especially in the winter when the wind whips over the lake.”

  Just the sound of it had her tightening her coat around her.

  “You get used to it. It takes some adjusting when I visit my folks after leaving a place like this.”

  “Do you have siblings?”

  “A brother.”

  “His picture is in your living room?”

  He nodded. And they were quiet for a spell. Her boot heels clicked on the sidewalk and she was very aware of his strong presence walking in rhythm with her. Well, conversation was going to be tough.

  “He died four years ago,” Denton said, breaking the silence.

  Quilla nearly stopped in her tracks. “I’m so sorry. I know that’s inadequate.”

  He shrugged, and she didn’t want to dredge up painful memories.

  “He was shot while he was having dinner in a restaurant.”

  “How awful.” She clasped his arm, and his muscles felt granite-hard beneath her fingertips.

  They stopped at a light. He was gritting his teeth.

  “We don’t have to go to d
inner if you don’t want to.”

  He glanced at her and his eyes warmed marginally. “We’re holding up pedestrian traffic.”

  Quilla realized the light had changed. And she began to walk quietly beside him. The click of her heels beat a staccato rhythm on the sidewalk in cadence with her heartbeat. If she’d known her questions would dredge up painful memories, she never would have started.

  She wore a dress, Denton thought, but her legs were still covered up. He tried to think about anything other than the guilt, the pain of his brother’s death. And Quilla was the next best thing. Her closeness comforted him. He had the wildest urge to hold on to her forever. Although he couldn’t touch a bit of skin, just having the human contact helped him feel connected, even if the connection was only fleeting in this harsh world of secrecy and instability.

  It seemed every case he investigated, he was investigating for his brother, to make the world a little less hazardous for someone’s family. To keep some family from experiencing that fateful knock on the door.

  Their table overlooked the Potomac River. Quilla’s dress was a vivid green V-neck that revealed the swell of pert breasts. Denton selected his meal quickly, and while Quilla studied the menu, he studied her.

  “I keep asking myself what changed.”

  Denton shook his head. “I’m not following you.”

  “With Sadie. What changed in her relationship with Tom? Was she tired of him? Did she break it off? Why did she write the book?”

  “We’ll never know.”

  “Perhaps he told her he would marry her and she got tired of waiting.”

  “Then she would have moved on.”

  “The reporter said the publisher paid her a substantial advance. Perhaps she did move on. She could have given Tom her notice. Maybe she was going out of town to search for a new home. She could have made enough to put a down payment on something. That’s plenty of motive. I need to talk to Trait again.”