The Woman He Knows

by Margaret Watson

  He kept up with her easily. By the time they reached her house, her breath was sawing in and out. He was barely winded.

  “You’ve got a nice kick,” he said, leaning against the side of his SUV.

  “And you look as if you’ve hardly broken a sweat.”

  He pushed away from the truck with a grin. “Need to give you a goal, don’t I? You think you can beat me next time?”

  “Probably not,” she said, stretching. “Time after that, though? Watch out.”

  She stood abruptly. On what planet was flirting a good idea? There wouldn’t be a next time. “Thank you for running with me,” she said. “It wasn’t necessary, but I appreciate it. I’ll see you at work later.”

  He caught up with her. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

  To make sure everything was okay. During their run, she’d forgotten about the mud on her porch. About Chuck. About Tim. About the car that had been parked next door last night. “Thank you.”

  He had thought about this. About reassuring her.

  Keeping her safe.

  She could trust Patrick.

  He raised an eyebrow as he walked beside her. “No argument?”

  “Would it do any good?”

  “Of course not.”

  “There you go.” She wouldn’t tell him she wanted him to walk up the stairs with her. Couldn’t tell him it made her feel safer. If you showed the chinks in your armor, people used them against you.

  He wasn’t Tim.

  Patrick wouldn’t hurt her. She trusted him.

  They reached the top of the stairs with no signs of any intruders. The curtains hung over the windows as usual, and the mud footprints had dried to a crusty dark gray.

  “You want me to check the inside?” he asked.

  If he did, it would only be harder to walk into the place alone the next time. She had to get back on the horse right now, in the light of day. “Thanks, but I’m sure it’s fine. It’s daylight.”

  “Okay, then.”

  Instead of leaving, he waited. Did he want an invitation to come in for coffee? She was tempted. But she unlocked the door, turned and said, “Goodbye, Patrick. See you tonight.”

  Then closed the door firmly behind her.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Patrick sprawled at the kitchen table as he turned the page of the Sunday Herald Times and took another sip of coffee. He glanced at Nathan, who was studying the sports section as he ate his omelet. “More coffee, Nate?”

  Nathan looked into his cup, as if surprised it was empty. “Thanks.”

  As Patrick poured, he asked, “Cal coming over to watch the game today?”

  “Said he was,” Nathan said absently. “Did you see this story about the Cubs?”

  “Someone’s been hogging the sports page.”

  Nathan rolled his eyes, but smiled as he shoved the section across the table. “Give me Travel,” he said. “I have to figure out where I’m going when I get some time off.”

  “I thought you were anxious to get back to work.”

  Nathan’s smile faded. “I am. But sooner or later, things will...settle down at Mama’s. Get back to normal. I’ll take some time off then.”

  “You going to make Darcy a manager?”

  Nathan rolled his shoulders. “Don’t think she’d want the job. But I’ll find someone.”

  “I think you’re making a mistake,” Patrick said as he glanced at a story about the Cougars, the football team his soon-to-be brother-in-law had played for. “She’s bright, she’s a fast learner and I think she’d do a good job.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s my call. Not yours.”

  Patrick studied his brother. Maybe Nathan’s weirdness about Darcy was related to the situation at the restaurant. “Is she involved with whatever’s going on at Mama’s?” he asked quietly. “I would have guessed no, but maybe I’m wrong.”

  “She’s a waitress.” Nathan pretended to be absorbed in a story about the new Cubs president. “That’s it.”

  “Ah. So that’s why you don’t want her to manage. You’re afraid she’ll figure out there’s a problem.”

  “Goddamn it, Paddy!” Nathan shoved the newspaper away and it fluttered to the floor. “You think you’re so smart? So clever because you’re an FBI agent? You got away. You got to pick your career. I was stuck here, running the restaurant, raising Frankie and Marco. So don’t start with me. Don’t act like you know better than me what’s going on in my place. I might only be a restaurant manager, but I know what I’m doing. I’ve kept this family together. And made a few bucks for you along the way.”

  He jerked the wheelchair control and shot back into the wall. Then forward too far. As he tried to turn, Patrick leaped to his feet and blocked his exit.

  “You resent my leaving? The fact that I didn’t stick around?” He sucked in a lungful of air, trying to be rational. Thoughtful. But the words spewed out. “I couldn’t stick around. Every time you or Frankie or Marco looked at me, I knew what you were thinking—he killed them. If it weren’t for me, Mom and Dad would still be alive. So don’t tell me about getting away. I can’t get away from the guilt.”

  Frustration and anger roiled inside Patrick. The same emotions filled his brother’s eyes. Along with fear.

  Before either of them could speak, the front door opened. The breeze ruffled the newspapers on the kitchen table and a page floated to the floor.

  “Hey,” Cal called. “What’s the matter with you two losers? Why isn’t the television on yet?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  NATHAN FUMBLED WITH the wheelchair control, and Patrick stepped aside. The hum of the electric motor revved as Nathan left the kitchen. Patrick heard him say, “Hey, Cal. Frankie. Glad you’re here.”

  Patrick’s heart battered against his chest and the sound of blood rushing through his head was all he heard. God, why had he let Nathan provoke him?

  With a low growl, he moved to punch the wall, pulling back only at the last moment.

  Damn it!

  “Thanks for rescuing me,” he heard Nathan say.

  Rescuing him?

  A ball of ice filled his stomach as he stormed into the living room. Then stopped abruptly. Not the time to continue that conversation.

  Frankie stood at Cal’s side, his arm draped casually over her shoulder, as if the two of them needed to be connected.

  “It’s my favorite sister,” Patrick said, trying to smile. “And her shadow.”

  Cal kept his arm around Frankie as he grabbed the remote and turned on the television. He grinned at Patrick over his shoulder. “You got that right, Paddy. If I let her go, she might get away.”

  Frankie elbowed Cal lightly in the ribs. “Not ready to let you go just yet.”

  Patrick hadn’t often seen this tender side of Frankie. He looked away, but not before longing washed through him. He wanted what his sister and Cal had.

  Darcy’s face filled his head.

  “Hey, Cal,” he said. “Want a beer? Frankie? How about you?”

  “You don’t have to wait on me,” Frankie said. She let Cal go and reached up to wind her arms around Patrick’s neck. “You probably do enough of that at Mama’s.”

  Patrick squeezed her tightly and held on for a moment too long. Then he let her go. “Cal? Beer?”

  “Little early,” Cal said. “Got any coffee?” He elbowed Nathan. “I’ve got to keep my head with this one. We’re going to be talking bets in a few minutes.”

  “Don’t bother, Stewart,” Nathan replied. “I’ve got it sewn up this week.”

  Patrick wondered if Frankie and Cal heard the strain in Nate’s voice.

  He retreated toward the kitchen, adrenaline still rushing through him. In a burst of anger he’d revealed that ugly ho
le inside him, and it was too late to take back what he’d said. “How about you, Nate? Want anything?”

  Nathan glanced at him, and Patrick saw the regret in his expression. But there was still anger beneath it. And defiance. “I’ll finish my coffee. Thanks.”

  Patrick walked into the kitchen and pulled a mug from the shelf. It was great of Cal to come over every Sunday and watch football games with Nathan. Cal’s commentary on the games, especially when it was the Cougars, was insightful. Often hilarious.

  Nathan looked forward to it. And it freed Patrick up to work on Mama’s books. He’d only made it through the first few years after Nathan took over.

  He listened to Nate and Cal laughing. Frankie said something, and Cal responded. Nathan chimed in, and Frankie laughed.

  The three of them were comfortable together. Friends as well as family.

  Him? He was the guy who got the coffee.

  Frankie stepped into the kitchen behind him. “Let me help you with that.”

  “Thanks,” he said without looking at her. “Nate takes cream and sugar.”

  “Got it,” she said.

  After she carried the two mugs to the other room, Patrick poured himself a cup and stared out the window at the backyard. The tire swing they’d played on as kids was still there, hanging from the huge oak tree, but the rope was dark and frayed. As the tire swayed in the breeze, water that had collected from the last rainfall splashed out.

  What had happened to those kids who’d played together for hours?

  Frankie stepped back into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around his waist. “What’s wrong, Paddy? You missing someone in Detroit?”

  No. He was missing his family in Chicago. He closed his eyes and forced himself to smile before he turned to face her. “You have romance on the brain, don’t you?”

  “Is there anyone back in Detroit?”

  “Nah. I’m an all-work guy.” He dated his share of women, but there’d been no one serious since the woman he’d lived with broke it off two years ago. Frankie didn’t know about her, though. Frankie didn’t know anything about his life.

  Neither did Nathan or Marco.

  But that was his choice.

  “There was a woman a few years ago,” he found himself saying. “Caroline. She was a high school teacher. We talked about getting married, but then she took a job a couple of hours away. Being apart killed it. Long-distance relationships don’t work out.”

  “I’m sorry,” Frankie said. “Even if it wasn’t right, it still hurts.”

  “Yeah.” He brushed his hand over her spiky hair. “You and Cal are good together.”

  “Better than good.” Frankie glanced toward the living room, as if she could hardly bear to have a room separating them. “We rock.” She turned back to Patrick. “You and Nathan are having problems, though.” She held his gaze, as if daring him to deny it.

  He shrugged. “We’ve had our ups and downs. He doesn’t want anyone else running Mama’s. I’ve asked him some questions he doesn’t like.”

  “We all appreciate you staying here and taking this on,” she said quietly. “It should have been me.”

  That would have made things easier for him. He could have gone back to Detroit and picked up his life where he’d left off.

  If he had, he wouldn’t have gotten involved with Darcy.

  He wouldn’t have known about the problems at Mama’s.

  He wouldn’t have realized how much he’d isolated himself from his family.

  “You’ve got a few things on your plate right now,” he said. “A wedding to plan, a teen center to run, Cal settling into his post-football life. And how’s that pregnant girl you were helping?”

  “Martha’s doing okay,” Frankie answered. “Had her baby, a little girl, and signed the adoption papers. She’s back home with her parents, and they’re all going to therapy.” She tilted her head. “Yeah, we’ve got a lot going on. But there must be something Cal and I can do.”

  She didn’t even need to ask before offering Cal’s help—they were a unit. Patrick’s parents had been the same way. How did you get that kind of bond?

  He had no idea.

  Patrick drew his sister to the kitchen table. “If you want to help, there’s one thing you can do.”

  “Anything, Paddy.”

  “Tell me what’s going on at Mama’s.”

  Frankie frowned. “What do you mean by ‘going on’?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know. But something is.”

  He stood up and looked into the living room. Cal was sprawled on the couch, next to Nathan in his chair. Both men were talking at once and pointing at the football game on the screen. “That’s what I’m talking about,” Cal said. “The guy is an idiot. Couldn’t find his ass with both hands.” He turned to Nate. “Total douche bag in the locker room, too. Thinks he’s God’s gift.”

  “Don’t hold back, Cal,” Nathan said with a grin. “Tell me what you really think.”

  “They’re good for a while,” Patrick said. He slid into a chair and waited for Frankie to sit. “Nathan’s worried about something. Scared, almost, and he insisted on doing the books every night.” He told his sister about their fights, about Chuck and the free drinks. “Since he was so determined to do the books, my gut told me it was about money. Then I found out some money was missing from a deposit. Now I’m going through all the old ledgers. You’ve spent a lot more time with him than I have. Do you have any idea what’s bothering him?”

  Frankie pulled a beer from the fridge. “No idea. He did say last spring that he needed to get away. That he was sick of the restaurant and wanted to do something else.” She slid into a chair. “Seemed reasonable to me. He didn’t get to choose his life. He was stuck with the restaurant, stuck with three kids to raise.”

  “Hey,” Patrick said, trying to lighten things up. “That was two kids. I was practically an adult.”

  Frankie didn’t smile. “You were more screwed up than me and Marco. You blamed yourself for Mom and Dad’s death.”

  “I was driving the car.”

  “Jeez, Paddy. Haven’t you figured out yet that there was nothing you could’ve done? The other driver ran a red light.”

  “So the therapists told me.” His gulp of coffee scalded his throat. “Nathan told you he wanted to get away. Did he give you any reasons?”

  She shrugged. “I thought it was pretty obvious. He needed a break. He did the big renovation last winter—replaced the stoves and freezer and refrigerator, put in new pizza ovens, updated the dishwashing system—and I know that was stressful. That he worried about it.”

  “Worried how?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Obviously, you’ve never had any work done on your condo. It always takes longer than you think it’s going to take. Costs more than you’d planned. And that’s before you get the contractors involved.”

  “Was there something more specific about the renovation that was bothering him?”

  She took another sip of beer and frowned. “I know he was worried about financing.”

  “Where did he get the money for the work?”

  “Loans. I didn’t ask for details. He said he’d taken care of it.”

  Patrick felt a familiar tingling at the back of his neck. This could be the link. He glanced at Nathan’s computer, sitting on the dining room table. Tomorrow. “Thanks, Frankie.”

  * * *

  THE SUN WAS JUST beginning to rise on Thursday morning when Patrick closed Nathan’s computer and stared out the window at the eastern sky, washed with pink.

  Bad weather coming.

  Nathan had kept his computer close at hand on Tuesday and Wednesday, and Patrick hadn’t had a chance to look at his spreadsheets. This morning, though, he’d gotten up way before dawn, snagged the computer f
rom the table next to Nathan’s bed and finally been able to examine Mama’s books.

  It had made everything more puzzling.

  According to Nathan’s spreadsheet, several lump sums had been paid into the restaurant account early in the year. Bank loans, he assumed, for the renovation.

  Then, about a month after the last payment, there had been payouts every week. But the amount varied. There was no pattern. And there was no bank name attached to the payments.

  He’d never seen a bank loan repaid like that.

  He needed to see the paperwork from the renovation—it should include the loan documents. After emailing the spreadsheet documents to himself, he dialed Frankie’s cell number.

  “Paddy? Is something wrong?” People yelled in the background, and a rhythmic thumping underlined Frankie’s voice. One of the giant mixers they used at the bakery, probably.

  “Nothing’s wrong. Sorry. You’re at work.”

  “No problem. What’s going on?”

  The thudding faded, as did the voices. A door opened and closed, and then there was only the whistle of the wind in the background.

  “Look, Bunny, I’m sorry I’m calling so early. But I have a question and Nate is still asleep.” And wasn’t that a good excuse for not asking his brother?

  “Shoot.”

  “Do you know where Nate would keep all the paperwork from the renovation? Receipts, building permits, that kind of thing.”

  “Yeah,” Frankie said. “I know exactly where all that stuff is.”

  * * *

  DARCY BRUSHED HER TEETH, wondering if Patrick would be waiting for her downstairs. He’d been there every morning since her car had been vandalized. On Sunday, she’d told him not to bother. That she was fine. On Tuesday, she’d rolled her eyes. Yesterday, she’d simply fallen into step as they jogged down the street.

  Every night after work, he’d followed her home, walked her up the stairs and checked her apartment.

  She would have thought he’d lost interest. But his gaze scorched her as he stood in her kitchen and said goodbye.

  She knew what he was doing. If anything was going to happen between them, she’d have to initiate it. He wasn’t going to push.