by L. A. Fiore
“Damn. What did she say?”
“Apologized.” Hank started but asked Arissa. “You order for us?”
“Yeah, pastrami on rye.” Arissa told him, and before Hank could open his mouth she added, “Yes, I ordered you extra mustard.”
“Good.” Hank nodded and went on. “Said she was sorry, outta line and she’d do her best to give me space.” When Arissa opened her mouth to speak, her reaction written all over her face, Hank beat her to it. “I know.” He held a hand up. “I know, fat fucking chance of it happening. But, Babe, we gotta give her time.” Even though Hank said the words, they came out like fingernails on a chalkboard. Everyone had the feeling she was up to something; he heard the whispers behind his back. He wasn’t stupid. But recalling so much of his childhood, it falling into his adult life, he had a nagging feeling that maybe they were right. But he never let his mind sit on that thought for long.
Arissa dropped her elbows on the table, leaned closer to Hank. He read her like a book. “Damn, we really do know each other,” she said and grinned, but sobered when she reached across the table for his hand, linking their fingers. “Honey, I want her words to ring true. I hope she does try to give you more space. I want it for you. I can’t stand seeing the shadow behind your eyes.”
“I’m good,” Hank said, blowing off Arissa’s comment. Yeah, he knew there was a shadow there and it was the worry. Not of his parents but of possibly losing her like he did Phoebe. Losing Phoebe hurt. Losing Arissa would destroy him. He wanted to move past the subject that always seemed to come up. “So, tell me again why we are voluntarily going to Hya’s tomorrow night?”
Arissa reached for her sweet tea. “Barbecue. She’s having the itch and you know she makes way more than she needs.” Arissa kept her eyes on Hank as she took a sip before adding, “She also mentioned karaoke.” She placed her glass down. Wasn’t fooled by Hank’s words, but he would be good. They both would be. And it was on that thought that she shared casually even though there was nothing casual about it. “I’m ovulating.”
Hank was about to lift his glass, but thought not to as he shifted his gaze to Arissa’s. “Cancel Hya’s tomorrow.”
Her smile went from ear to ear. “I was hoping you’d say that.” Her cell ringing, and recognizing the tone, had her smile fading. Reaching for it, she said, “I’m not coming into the office.”
“Sorry, but we need you. There are quite a few fires that only you can put out,” Danielle said in way of greeting.
“Damn it.” Arissa’s gaze drifted to Hank. “When?”
“As soon as you can get here,” Danielle replied.
“Fine,” Arissa disconnected the call.
Hank looked at her expression and knew exactly where this was going. Arissa hadn’t even had a chance to place her cell back on the table when Hank grunted, “Not going to Hya’s alone, so you need to nip that shit now with her.” Arissa gave him a soft smile and he asked, “How long?”
“A couple days, maybe less, but I’ll know better when I get to the office.”
Hank took a swig of his sweet tea and told her. “You got two days, three max before I come get you.”
Her smile returned. “Deal.”
* * *
Hank’s cell vibrated and skidded across his desk. Smiling, hoping it was his woman because fuck, it had only been two days but he missed the fuck out of her. He hadn’t had the availability to just take off and go meet up with her like he had planned. Nope. Sal and Elmer had decided to purchase fireworks over the county line and set them off on Main Street. The problem was, they lit them all at the same time and too close to the trees that lined the street. Hank had been dealing with the fire damage of said trees, two grumpy ass men, and a bit of fire damage to the front of Maisy’s Market. He grabbed his cell, saw the screen and smiled anyway. “Been a long time, man,” he said in way of a greeting.
“It has.” Sean Fowler, detective of the Charleston police department, agreed. “But not my doing.” He chuckled. “You haven’t been up here in awhile.”
“No.” Hank started and leaned back in his chair. “Haven’t had a reason to come up there.”
“So I hear.” Sean laughed, sobered, his voice growing serious as he spoke. “Speaking of your woman, Arissa Haywood, correct?” Sean asked flatly.
Hank sat up straight, his body going on alert, his keen attention on his friend. “There something I need to know, Sean?”
Sean took a deep breath. “Harley Aldridge’s body was found early this morning. Going through his stuff, we found your girl’s name penciled into his date book—”
“How do you know it’s my Arissa?” Hank shot out defensively as he stood and began pacing the room.
“Slow down,” Sean eased. “Because when I looked her up it brought me to you. Did you not know she had a meeting with him?”
“I knew, but he never showed.”
“Interesting,” Sean muttered. “I’m jotting that in my notes.”
“Is Arissa a suspect, Sean?” Hank bit out.
“Not saying anything right now, Hank, but you know how this shit works. I gotta question her, wanted to give you a heads up before I contacted her.”
“I see,” Hank muttered, stopped his pacing and stared at nothing on the wall. “Thanks for the call.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing and—”
“I know it’s nothing.” Hank told him.
Sean sighed heavily. “I’m sure, just doing my job.”
“I know,” Hank said, and rubbed the nagging ache forming in his neck. “You need anything, you let me know?”
Hank dropped down in his chair and rubbed his forehead. Looking in the desk drawer, he saw he was out of Advil. Fuck. Thumbing through his phone, he hit call.
Arissa saw Hank calling, and stood from the meeting. “I’ll be right back.” Stepping into the hall, she connected and said, “I’d hoped you would have come for me by now.”
“Told you what the crazy old men did, probably wouldn’t have happened if you were here,” Hank grumbled. “Gotta talk to you, you sitting down?”
Arissa didn’t like how Hank sounded. “I’m not, but I’m heading to my office. What’s going on?”
“Not gonna sugarcoat this shit. Harley Aldridge’s body was found this morning.” He heard the gasp come from Arissa but he carried on. “They know you had a meeting set up with him. I told them he didn’t show but Sean Fowler is gonna call you, wants to ask you a few questions.”
Arissa did sit, dropped right down in the closest chair. “Wait. When you say found, you aren’t saying he died of natural causes. He was murdered and the cops want to talk to me? Am I hearing this right?”
“Yep, that’s what I’m saying.” Hank stood and looked out the window. “You want me to come up, go to the station with you?”
Arissa was in shock but tried to conceal it because she didn’t want Hank to drop everything, he had enough shit on his plate. “I’m a suspect,” she spoke her thoughts out loud. Then the ramifications of being a suspect in a murder investigation hit. She had nothing to hide, but a big part of her job was image. Chasing that thought was a more disturbing one. She was supposed to have met with Harley, but he never showed. Was it possible he was already dead? A chill moved down her spine, but a seed of curiosity took root too. “You’ve got your hands full there, but I love you asking. I’m good, have work to keep me distracted, but I’ll call you after I’ve talked to the detective.”
Hank wanted to drop everything and go to her, to protect her. This thought sat heavily on his mind. “Take someone with you when you go and I’ll be up on Tuesday if you aren’t back. And if the old fuckers burn the town down, that’s less fuel I gotta use for my barn. And, Babe?”
Even feeling all she was, a smile touched her lips. She really loved this man. “Yes.”
Hank spoke softly and as evenly as he could. “La
y off the Nancy Drew shit, yeah? We’ll figure it out, this time together.” Hank would be calling Sean back to get info on the case. Could be just a coincidence but something sour sat in the lower part of Hank’s gut.
She felt a twinge of guilt because she was curious and growing more so. “I’ll lay off,” she said softly then added, “I love you, Hank.”
“Love you too, now go be the boss. I’ll call you later.”
Arissa disconnected the call, stared at the wall but didn’t see it. Harley was dead. She was more disturbed by that than she let on. Hank was right; she shouldn’t be looking into it. It was a murder investigation. She told herself that a few times, but the more she thought about it, the more questions she had. Standing, she headed to Craig Finch’s office. He was their fact checker, but he’d missed his calling as a private investigator. The shit that man could dig up was scary. Knocking on his door, she popped her head in. She was just asking, not pursuing…what was the harm?
“If I give you a name, can you get me info, associates, interests, that kind of thing…but it’s got to be on the down low.”
Craig’s brow lifted, interest written all over his face. “Why?”
She bit her lip, she could just walk away, it wasn’t too late, but she didn’t. That curiosity was nagging at her. Something felt off. “It’s a murder victim.”
She saw the spark. He was in. “What’s the name?”
She hesitated only a second before she said, “Harley Aldridge.”
* * *
Hank looked at the phone in his hand. A bitter taste formed in the back of his throat. His thumb swiped over the screen.
“I’ll be easy on her, buddy, promise,” Sean said when he answered the phone.
“I know you will but I want in. Wanna know everything you got so far.”
Sean spoke lowly when he said, “I understand.” He paused a second before he added, “For your eyes only, but I could use a second set. I’m emailing all I got so far.”
“Appreciate it,” Hank muttered. “If I see anything odd in what you got, I’ll call.”
“Sounds good.”
It came out of nowhere, like a bolt of lightning on a clear day when the power cut off, the humming of electricity dying to silence.
Hank heard Jo shout, “Those old motherfuckers!” Before he saw her rise and head to the front door.
“I’ll be in touch,” Hank told Sean before he disconnected the call and tossed his cell on his desk before he walked out of his office. Yeah, he needed more Advil, one of the huge bottles you’d get from Costco.
19
Thanks to Craig, Arissa had the name and address for Harley’s assistant. Marguerite Bancroft lived just off the historic business district of Charleston. She had been the assistant for Harley Aldridge for the better part of forty years. Arissa was biting her nail to the quick because she felt guilty. She had told Hank she would lay off. She wasn’t laying off. The deception didn’t sit well. Looking into this went against Hank’s wishes, but she was looking into it for him. It was a catch twenty-two.
Marguerite’s narrow, three-story home was one Arissa had walked passed often, the pale pink wood siding eye catching. Dressed in tan slacks, a white cotton blouse with her mostly gray hair pulled up in a bun, Marguerite looked more like a retired movie star than the office manager for a southern law firm.
Sadness came off Marguerite in waves. She had already been informed of her boss’s death. She tried to be hospitable, offering sweet tea and the best key lime pie Arissa had ever tasted, but her grief clung to her.
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” she said, her eyes misting. “Him missing your appointment wasn’t unusual. He was never one for remembering dates and meetings,” she said, a sad smile touching her lips. “It’s why he paid me. But he hadn’t missed it, or rather he was already…” She leaned back in her chair, biting back the sob and reached for her tea. “He never bought into technology. Never had a cell phone, and didn’t want one. Maybe if he had one…” She let that thought trail off. “He was a great boss and a better man. Continuing to do pro bono work even after he retired.” She took a sip of tea before adding, “Not that he was doing any recently. We all reach the age when we really are too old.” She placed her glass down. “You mentioned on the phone you were interested in Harley’s visit to some of the suburbs back in the early eighties.” She reached for a file, meeting Arissa’s gaze. “Do you think that’s related to his death?”
Arissa was honest when she said, “I can’t see how, but my interest is personal, looking to fill in a few holes.”
She nodded. “I’m afraid I’m getting close to being too old also. I remembered him visiting towns, but I couldn’t remember why. I went through his calendar. I still have them. My mother taught me never to throw anything away.”
Arissa leaned up, her focus on the old leather datebook. “What did you learn?”
“It was for one of his pro bono cases. Harley used to help those who couldn’t help themselves.” Her voice grew softer. “I don’t like the term but drug addicts. He helped get them clean, looked for family because the chances of someone staying clean increase when they have family to support them. He was looking for information on one of these clients. Unfortunately, I don’t have a name, but I do have an address. He did about ninety-five perfect of his pro bono work out of a shelter on Tenth Street, the one next door to the Sacred Heart Hospital.”
“So he was looking for family?” Arissa clarified.
“I’m not sure. Either looking for family or looking for his client, most likely a woman since the majority of those cases were women. Sometimes they ran off and he’d track them down.” Another sad smile, her focus drifting past Arissa as she remembered. “He never gave up. It was one of his most admirable traits.”
Arissa sank back in her chair. Harley’s death notwithstanding, Arissa’s interest in the man was why Harley had come to Summerville in the eighties, and based on what Marguerite shared, he was either looking for one of his down on their luck clients, or anyone who knew them. Arissa was making assumptions, huge leaps, but Harley showed up in Summerville looking for anyone who had moved to town within a two-year window of his visit. According to Penny during their talk at bingo, the Weathers’ arrival to Summerville was within that window. Was it possible Catherine was the one Harley was looking for? Was that Catherine’s secret, she’d been dependent on drugs, so much so that she’d lived in a shelter? It was sad, heartbreaking, but she wasn’t a victim. She got clean, found her way. Hank would only admire her knowing that.
“I really appreciate you taking the time to see me, especially under the circumstances,” Arissa said softly.
“It was nice to think of him, his life, and not focus on his death. Thank you for that,” Marguerite whispered. Silence settled for a minute before she added, “I hope I was helpful.”
“You were. Do you know if that shelter is still around?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I think maybe I’ll stop by. See if they remember anything,” Arissa shared.
“It’s hard work, the turnover is pretty high, but it is a federally funded shelter, which means they keep everything…have to because of the bureaucratic red tape. You might have to go through dusty boxes, but you should be able to track down who was there during the time you’re interested in.”
Arissa was willing to do whatever was needed to bring peace to Hank. “Thank you.” Her gaze moved to the pie plate and hoping to get a smile she confessed, “That pie is delicious.”
A little smile before Marguerite said, “My own recipe.”
The words just tumbled out. “Would you be willing to share it, not just with me, but as a featured summer pie for Southern Charm magazine?”
Her expression showed her interest, but more some of the sadness lifted too. “I must confess; I did look you up before you arrived. And may have made this pie
in the hopes of impressing you.”
“Consider me impressed. It’s the best key lime pie I’ve tasted and I’ve tasted a lot.”
She was out of her chair, moving like a woman thirty years younger. And considering how solemn she’d been during their talk, it brought a smile to Arissa’s face. “I have a copy of the recipe on the counter.”
* * *
Later that day, Arissa brought Danielle with her to see Detective Sean Fowler. He had called her, asked for her to come to the station.
“I’ve never been inside a police station before,” Danielle said, looking around. “It looks a lot like the ones you see in those crime shows.”
Arissa grew warm thinking about Hank, his office and how much she loved going to his station.
The sergeant that greeted them wasn’t anything like Jo, quiet, reserved and when she glanced up, instead of a smile, they got a frown. Nostalgia hit Arissa hard. Her legs went a little weak because she was risking fucking up things with Hank by going against his express orders. Nothing was worth risking what was growing between them, and still she felt compelled to keep pulling at the string…for him.
“Can I help you?” the sergeant asked.
“I’m Arissa Haywood. Sean Fowler is expecting me.”
“One second.”
Danielle leaned closer. “Are you freaking out? I’m freaking out a little.”
Arissa glanced over at her. “Why are you freaking out?”
She twisted her fingers. “I once shoplifted the most perfect color lipstick. You think he’ll know. Can they spy criminals with just a look?”
Arissa’s mouth opened, then she closed it and grinned.
A tall man, with blond hair and blue eyes moved through the bullpen, stopping when he reached them. He smiled; a dimple peeked out on his one cheek. “I’m Detective Fowler. Thank you for coming in, Arissa.”
He reminded her a bit of Hank. The same confident way of moving, the same sharpness behind his eyes…cop eyes. She gestured absently to Danielle. “This is Danielle. We work together.”
