“Relax. Everything is fine.” Maggie moved with the lazy grace of a cat, sauntering to the table, sitting and crossing her legs like there hadn’t been a fire licking at her bacon only moments ago.
Huffing, Rachel tossed the towel into the washing machine. She’d start a load later. She spared the machine one last glance, wishing she could chuck Maggie in. The adrenaline slowed as she reentered the kitchen.
Maggie sat at the table, cradling a cup of coffee. A different mug, thin steam rising from its depths, waited for Rachel.
She crossed over and sank into the chair. The dregs of adrenaline turned her legs to mush. Caffeine should perk her up now that the danger had passed. “Thanks. Now I really need this.”
Maggie scowled. “Very funny. I just thought I’d do something nice for you.”
“Next time, money works better.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Right, ’cause you’re out of a job.”
Maggie’s eyebrows formed a scarlet vee. “Look, I quit. No one fired me. Will you ever get over that amazing chip on your shoulder?”
Surprised, Rachel set her coffee cup down. “I’m not mad. Just pointing out stuff.”
“Can’t you leave things be?”
“No. Truth needs air.”
Maggie glared at her, the wall between them rising by the moment. Obviously this wasn’t the way to handle things. Truth also needed time to absorb, tenderness to ease the sting. Rachel swallowed the automatic words that rose to her aid and instead cast a quick prayer heavenward. Now wasn’t the time to be snippy. Or defensive.
Lord, you know the things Maggie needs to hear. The truths. Please, give me the words.
“Last night opened my eyes.” She gripped her coffee cup and recalled Maggie’s anguished weeping. “I’m so sorry for judging you all this time.” She released the mug from her stiff fingers. “I forgive you, Maggie.”
Maggie went rigid, her hands curling into claws. Rachel saw her eyes flicker, heard the tap of her toes against the kitchen floor. A muffled pattering that betrayed her uneasiness.
“Forgive me for what?” Maggie tilted her head, daring her to make it real. To say the truth.
“For Scott.”
His name hung between them, a chain that bound them to the same prison.
Maggie banged her cup down against the table. Coffee sloshed out but she didn’t seem to notice. She stood quickly, turned her back and swiped at her eyes. “You had to make me cry again.” Her voice was muffled, but Rachel heard the strain.
She stood, a lump of pain in her chest where her heart used to beat. Would it be so hard to hug her sister? She forgave Maggie, even if hurt still lingered. She would choose this path though her nature burned for a more cruel justice.
She walked to Maggie, reluctance weighing her feet down as surely as guilt bowed Maggie’s shoulders. She slid an arm around her sister, turned her. Met her watery gaze, the eyes shaped like hers, but darker.
“And I’m sorry about your little boy.”
Maggie’s eyes filled to the brim. She fell into Rachel, and Rachel had to brace herself against the table.
“I didn’t know,” Maggie sobbed. “I pretended the baby wasn’t real, just tissue, but I didn’t know I was so far along.”
Feeling both sympathetic and uncomfortable, she stroked Maggie’s hair. Now there would be two things on her agenda. Bring down Mayor Owens and bring down the pregnancy center that did this.
But first she had to know one thing. She sat Maggie down at the table, grabbed some tissues from the bathroom, and came back to the kitchen.
Maggie blew her nose quietly, a lady’s clearing of the passages, mom always said. She’d taught her daughters how to have manners but not how to clean. She’d taught them how to find pricey clothes for bargain prices, but not how to find a man worth loving.
With a start, Rachel realized how much she’d judged her mom in the past. Hadn’t mom done what she could? Provided a home and food? Nice clothes and stylish haircuts? She owed her mom an apology.
She knelt beside Maggie and placed her hands on her sister’s knees. “I need to know what you were doing meeting with the mayor.”
Maggie’s head snapped up. Her fingers clenched the tissues. “What do you know about that?”
“I saw you,” Rachel said flatly.
Maggie sniffed. “He owed me money.”
“For the abortion?”
Her eyebrows surged upwards. “No. Just…stuff.”
“You’re not blackmailing him, are you?”
Maggie gasped, then threw the tissues at her. Ugh. Rachel dodged them as they fluttered to the floor.
“That’s so disgusting.” She jerked to her feet. “Tell me the truth. What do you have on Mayor Owens?”
“Nothing.”
“C’mon. You had an affair with the man.”
Shock leached the color from Maggie’s face. “You know?” Then a crimson spot on each cheek appeared. “No wonder you let me move in, no questions asked. No interrogations.”
“Look, he’s dangerous. Just tell me what you’re hitting him up for.”
Her heart sunk when Maggie shook her head. Not a no, but a confused gesture that indicated the money was for something else.
“It was just for our place. We put money down on a condo together. Or rather, I did. But when I found out I was pregnant, he backed out.”
Rachel didn’t stop her gasp. It figured. She stomped her foot to get Maggie’s attention. “This is why you need a place to stay? Because that lecherous adulterer dumped you?”
Maggie’s brow wrinkled. Color filled in the rest of her face, indicating her rising temper. “You really have it out for William.”
“Why don’t you?” Rachel stabbed her finger in the air, unsure whether she was more incensed with Maggie’s stupidity or her own. All these months following the mayor and she hadn’t even seen this so-called condo. Could that be the financial withdrawals? Trying to hide a real estate purchase?
“I’m not upset because it’s what I expected.” Maggie’s chin lifted. “Besides, when he couldn’t get the money upfront I began to suspect he hadn’t told his wife about us.”
“Well, duh.” Rachel poked the air again, for good measure. “What do you expect? He’s just like dad.”
“What?” Maggie popped out of her seat.
“Yeah, the adulterous, charming father who disappeared from our lives on my birthday.”
“Dad wasn’t the only problem in that relationship.”
Rachel did an exaggerated eye-roll.
“Mom was unfaithful too.”
That stopped Rachel’s pace cold. The bottom of her over-sized t-shirt flapped against her knees when she halted, as though protesting Maggie’s statement. “No way.”
“Yes, way.” Maggie’s familiar sass gave her words an extra edge. “Dad left because she told him to deal with it or leave.”
Rachel wilted. Maggie’s tone left no room for doubt. Whatever Maggie was, she wasn’t a liar. The strength left her knees and she grasped the wall for support. “But he was the one flirting all the time.”
Maggie shook her head, screwed her lips into a disapproving movement. “At least he was honest. She’ll lie about her part still.”
“I hated the way Mom nagged him.” Rachel sank into a chair. “How she screeched all the time.” She could still hear her mother’s voice piping through the paper-thin walls of their new trailer, sharp and hot. Slicing Rachel’s young heart to shreds with her bitterness. She shoved the memory away. Because of her parents she’d longed for a safe man, an honest man. She’d chosen Scott.
Maggie shoved past Rachel. “Well, now you know. Sorry to burst your bubble that all men are liars.”
She didn’t sound sorry, Rachel mused. She watched Maggie disappear into the room, then turned to the stove. Maggie had left a sticky mess. The eggs sat to the side, rubberized. Sighing, she dumped them in the trash then grabbed her lemon Pine-sol.
There were more
important things that needed cleaning out than her kitchen. She’d start with the little stuff and work up to her mom later.
She scrubbed the stove, the aroma of Pine-Sol comforting her. Once the kitchen looked good, she went back to her room and fiddled in her laptop files until she found the Mayor’s statements for December. Sure enough, the withdrawals were there.
But Maggie had said he couldn’t come up with the money. So the mystery remained. Now, however, it wasn’t her business. Just for fun, she pulled up the one mental case who shared Gerta Owen’s birth date and initials.
Gail Orrick.
She’d checked into a prestigious facility that tended to house celebrities and officials who desired secrecy and room service. No physical description on file though. Rachel clicked around until she found a place to slip into. Medical records could be tough to hack, especially remotely. This place wasn’t an exception. She backed out of the site and bookmarked it to come back to later.
If she came back. Feeling guilty for even trying to hack in, she deleted the link from her favorites. Maybe it was time to leave this case alone. Stop following the mayor and focus on the cases that mattered. The people who mattered. Not slimy politicians.
She pushed the laptop to the side. Miss Priss immediately claimed her empty lap, jumping from the floor to the bed with surprising gusto. Her heavy, warm weight settled into a rhythmic rumble against Rachel’s legs.
She wasn’t soothed. If anything, she felt more indecisive than she had in years. Had she been judging her dad all this time for something her mom had been guilty of too? She'd let her heart become an ugly cesspool of bitterness. She stroked Miss Priss, the silky fur barely noticed beneath her trembling fingertips.
God would forgive her, she knew that. He was faithful and just. And dad had died years ago, according to some news articles she’d dug up in college. But would her mother forgive her?
With Grant, she’d seen her dad and feared becoming her mom. She owed Grant more than to watch him through the lens of a distorted past.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Rachel didn’t make it to her mom’s until Thursday afternoon. She’d gone to a movie with Grant Tuesday evening and afterward stayed up late with him at a Barnes and Noble, chatting about music, discussing the twisted minds of criminals.
Flirting.
Even now, pulling onto her mother’s dusty road, she flushed at the memory. Then last night after church they went to the park and sat talking on the swings. Mostly about their pasts.
He’d promised to buy her dessert tonight for apologizing to her mom. Four more hours to go.
She parked her car and strode into Mom’s trailer.
Five minutes later she slammed out of the house, a vise around her chest and rage in her steps. Dirt flew behind her as she squealed out of Mom’s yard. Her jaw hurt from gritting her teeth so hard. She took a deep breath, forcing it in, exhaling slow and calm.
It figured. Mom had always been faithful. Couldn’t believe her daughter was so judgmental as to think otherwise. Blah, blah, blah.
What could she think now? Maggie had sounded so certain, yet mom refused to admit to anything. Not that she’d asked her mom to. She’d simply gone in and apologized for judging her Mom and Dad for so long.
Somehow the conversation turned to his indiscretions and then boom, mom’s temper exploded like a cloudless night on the fourth of July. So Rachel left, trying her best to control the temper that always seemed to get the best of her.
She believed Maggie over mom, anyway.
What she needed to do was organize her office tomorrow. Organizing always leveled her emotions. She’d pray for patience and faith while putting things in order. Patience to deal with her lying mother, because even if Dad had been unfaithful there was no denying the guilt staining her mom’s neck red when she denied her own infidelity. And she needed faith to trust Grant.
Her relationship with him felt blind, like she didn’t know what to expect from him anymore, only what he claimed to be. That was tough to handle. His past with women ranked him pretty far down on her trust radar, yet he seemed to have changed.
Besides, predictable wasn’t always better, Scott being the prime example.
A little faith in the goodness of man might be what kept her safe this time around.
***
Grant watched Rachel over the rim of his coffee cup. They lounged in Roasted, the scent of mocha lattes inducing a line of customers to wait ten minutes for their fill. Though it was past eight, light remained outside. The dying sun bled streaks of pale orange against Rachel’s cheeks. The rays hued her hair copper. Like a finely polished penny, only softer. Most of the time her hair looked red, but tonight, the glow of sunset changed the strands into something different. Something unique to match the woman relaxing beneath sunset’s sleepy kiss.
“How’d your meeting with your mom go?” he asked.
She sipped her caramel macchiato without meeting his eyes.
Not so well, apparently. “I went to see my mom. too.”
That got her attention. “When? Why?”
“Today, because you inspired me. If you can forgive people that way, maybe I should too. Sure the Bible says to do it, but I haven’t met too many people who actually follow the rules.”
“You and your rules.” She shook her head. “What did your mom say?”
He grunted, realizing he didn’t want to share either.
“That bad?” A sympathetic look crossed her face, followed by a smile. “Did she throw anything at you?”
“She didn’t care enough to.”
“Oh.” Her eyebrows arched. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
He loved the way her eyes glazed when that brilliant mind of hers sprung to action. In fact, he was starting to notice a lot of things he liked about her. Her eyes sparkled when she was happy, like on their first date. She helped when she didn’t want to, like at the wedding. Rachel gave more than she wanted others to know.
His jacket vibrated. The phone. Groaning, he retrieved it and checked the text message. The words jolted him, sent him to his feet so fast the table wobbled. Rachel leaned forward and steadied his coffee.
“Thanks. I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to go.” He reached down for the cup, surprised when she didn’t move her hand. His fingers grazed hers. “Can I have my coffee?”
A mischievous smile spread across her face. “I’ll trade you.”
“For what?” He glanced at his phone. The Medical Examiner would be there any minute. He needed to get a move on.
“Let me come with you.”
“You’re not coming to a crime scene.”
“I won’t mess anything up.”
He glared at her, knowing full well she’d try to weasel her way into this investigation.
“I really won’t.” She rose from her chair, and the light shifted so that her hair became red again. “Pinkie swear.” Her hand stuck toward him and he had to resist the impulse to laugh. This was child stuff, but somehow he knew she was serious.
He’d have to pass the scene to take her home. It wouldn’t hurt to let her wait in the truck while he took care of stuff. See what legit detectives did.
“Fine,” he said. “But no funny business. You’re staying in the truck.”
“Touché.” She slid out from her seat and grinned up at him. “Don’t worry. I won’t get in your way, grumpy.”
Her perfume tangled with his senses. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, then looked down at her happy smile. “This is serious business.”
“Vandalism?” Though she still smiled, the curve of her lips quavered. She’d heard his tone. Good.
He took her arm and guided her out of Roasted. A quick sniff told him the scent that had so befuddled him was actually her hair. “What kind of shampoo do you use?”
“What?” She kept walking, but he felt her back tense beneath his palm.
“You’re so suspicious.” Despite the grim scene awaiting them. she m
ade him smile again. He couldn’t help it. The more time he spent with her, the more he was convinced that she both grounded him and lightened him up. A dichotomy he couldn’t figure out, but there it was. God sure had a sense of humor, giving him a sassy, cynical PI for a wife.
His step faltered.
A wife? Since when had he been considering that?
Maybe since he’d confronted her outside the mayor’s house, when her eyes had flashed emerald at him in the moonlight.
He recovered his balance and guided Rachel to the passenger side of his Ford. “This might take awhile.”
“No problem. I set my own hours. Besides, my office is a mess. When I get in tomorrow I’m not doing anything besides organizing.”
The truck door opened with a squeal and she climbed in. He shut the door behind her and headed to the driver’s seat. He cranked the engine and grimaced when it choked a little.
“You sound like you need a new truck,” Rachel said.
“Maybe.” He steered onto Main, aiming towards the older section of town. The address sounded close to where the old cement plant used to be.
“What kind of cars do you like?”
“Trucks. Big ones.”
She snorted. A distinctly unfeminine sound that sent a burst of pleasure through him. He’d never met a woman like her. Both professional and unprofessionally forward. Girlie and tomboyish.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her flip her hair over a shoulder.
“Well, I like little cars,” she said.
“Sure, that’s why you drive a monster SUV.”
“That was a gift, thank you very much.”
“A gift?” The wheel slipped beneath his fingers and he rushed to straighten it. Who gave Escalades as a gift?
“From an older client of mine. He was one of the first to hire me. A nice man.”
“What did you do for him?” He glanced over, caught her in profile. Her nose was straight and firm, the lips slightly pouty. Her chin jutted forward like a ram rushing to gore someone. He snickered at the mental image.
Rachel’s arms crossed. “Nothing immoral, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) Page 22
