What Laurel Sees: a love story (A Redeeming Romance Mystery)

by Susan Rohrer

  He shifted his weight, his eyes never leaving hers.

  “We’re so different, Joe, and I... I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. But the truth is, I don’t actually...do that. Nowhere short of marriage.”

  “Yeah,” he said, a sheepish look forming. “I figured.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to, Joe. I’m not some paragon of virtue. I’m actually a pretty normal person, as far as feeling the tug of that goes.”

  At that, Joe broke into a sly grin. “Who ever told you that you were normal? Because you are definitely not normal.”

  A chuckle escaped her. “No. I guess I’m not.”

  For the longest time, he just watched her. She drank in the warmth of his smile. What was it that was going on between them? Whatever it was, it was getting harder and harder to resist. In such a palpable way, he reawakened her as a woman. Yet that still, small voice cautioned her.

  Joe let out a breath. “So. Where do we go from here?”

  “I guess that depends.” She brushed a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “Part of me, I feel so drawn to you, but ultimately... I don’t know if we’ll be going the same way, Joe. In a spiritual sense.”

  “Does it matter?”

  She turned the question over in her heart. “I suppose some don’t think so. You may not. But to me—this relationship with God I have—I’m all in. And that has me on a certain path, you know?”

  He ground his boot against the concrete step. “And I’m not so much...there.”

  She paused. Bittersweet memories flooded. “I was alone in that way with Frank. For so long. I wouldn’t go there again.”

  “Even with me, huh?” Joe cocked his head wryly.

  She returned a warm smile. “Even with an amazing guy like you.”

  “Amazing,” Joe teased. “I’m amazing, am I?”

  “Yeah, don’t let it go to your head.”

  Joe sniffed. “Oh, it’s way too late for that.”

  “Tell you what, Joe.” She rocked back on her heels. “That open road thing you mentioned before? It’s looking better and better.” Purposefully, she moved toward her door. He wasn’t going to draw the line. She would have to do it for him.

  Joe headed back toward his car as she closed herself inside the glass storm door of her building. He was so tall, so strong and handsome, yet so vulnerable in so many ways. He was starting to consider her faith, in his own ever so tentative way. Even though he wouldn’t admit it yet, didn’t make it any less true. An ache pressed on Laurel’s heart as he waved from the car.

  Frank had been that way, too. At first.

  Shana held the duvet back as Grace climbed into bed. As terrifying as the day had been, her little girl was home. Safe. Snuggling under the warmth of her covers, Grace was right where she belonged.

  Shana leaned down. She brushed the silky tresses from Grace’s face. “Goodnight, Darling.”

  Grace sighed. “You’re mad at Mommy, aren’t you?”

  “Well...” What to say? She didn’t feel right about lying, not after the way she’d been lied to as a child. “It’s complicated.”

  Grace’s eyes searched hers. “But it wasn’t her fault. I went to see her.”

  Shana sat down on the edge of the bed. She drew the eyelet edge of Grace’s sheet loosely around her shoulders. “Honey, I need you to promise me. Promise you won’t ever run off like that again. Remember? You talked to the judge?”

  Grace’s mouth took on a dubious scrunch. “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, the judge...he considered everything very carefully to make sure of what’s best for you. He wants me to be your mommy, at least for now.”

  Grace’s face fell. “Mommy’s my mommy.”

  Though Grace’s words cut so deeply, Shana covered the wound. In time, Grace would grow to love her as a mother. Eventually, memories of Laurel would fade. “I know what you’re saying, in a way, but... Maybe it’s like I’m your new mommy. And your daddy, he especially wanted me to be the one to take care of you.”

  Grace’s eyes clouded. “Are you sure?”

  As gently as she could, she nodded. “That’s what he had always told me. But it was also in his will. That’s a very important document he left for us so we’d all be sure to know exactly what he wanted.”

  “What if he was wrong?”

  “I’m sure he wasn’t.” Shana’s heart went out to Grace. Perhaps the time had finally come to share something of her past. Maybe Grace was old enough to understand these things. “Did you know that something like this happened to me, when I was just a little girl like you?”

  “They took you away from your mommy?”

  “It was more, well... My parents passed, both at the same time. So, I know how it is, Grace. I really do. It’s really hard at first. We’ll get through it together, though.”

  Grace’s eyes welled. “But what about Mommy?”

  Shana dropped her gaze. It had been too soon to hope that Grace would understand. One day, she would tell her more. When she was older.

  Shana drew in a breath. “You know what I think? I think it’s way past your bedtime. You should be fast asleep by now. You have school tomorrow, Little Miss.” She leaned over and gave Grace’s forehead a kiss. “Goodnight, Darling.”

  Grace settled over on her side. “Night.”

  Shana flicked off the light. For a while, she just sat there, watching Grace as her eyes fluttered to a close and she nodded off to sleep. Memories echoed through her mind. Shana had been impossible to console for so long when she’d lost her parents, too. The harder anyone had pushed, the more she had pushed them away.

  Had it not been for Helen, what would Shana have done? Helen had been like a surrogate mother to her. As much as she adored Helen, the irony weighed on her heart. What a pity when the hired help loves you so much more than your so-called blood relations. Plenty of aunts and uncles had rung Howard’s phone back then. They’d hovered around at first, but even as a child, Shana could tell that something was off about them. It was the downside of being a trust fund orphan. Everyone wanted her, but no one really loved her—no one but Helen—and Howard, she supposed, in a quasi-fatherly sort of way.

  Shana resolved herself. She would be there for Grace. She would be there despite the fact that no one had ever been there for her. She’d be the mother that she’d always missed having. Given time, Grace would come to embrace her that way. And Shana would wait for that day to come, no matter how long it took.

  Joe trudged down the stairs to his apartment. Outside on the street, a car alarm began to wail. It cycled through those grating patterns no one ever seemed to pay attention to anymore. Peace and quiet just wasn’t to be had.

  He dug out his keys just as Clay swung the apartment door open.

  Joe reached over the mound of Clay’s mess to hang up his keys. “You going somewhere?”

  “I told you. Manhattan.” Clay looked so perturbed. Still, he closed the door behind Joe and trailed him back into the apartment. “My manager is already there. I can’t work till I get my face back. So, I might as well heal en route. I’ve packed what I can carry and the rest is in the hall closet floor. I’ll send for it.”

  Joe raised a hand toward the hall. “That’s where Stella sleeps.”

  “I pushed her bed over to the side.”

  All Joe could do was shake his head.

  “She’s a cat,” Clay said. “She won’t even know the difference.”

  Joe scratched his head wearily. “You’re actually moving. On five hundred bucks.”

  “Fifteen hundred.” Clay tossed what makeup supplies were left in the kitchen into a stained nylon pouch.

  Joe’s eyes widened. “Where’d you get fifteen hundred dollars?”

  “My date last night spotted me a grand.” Clay zipped up the pouch with a flourish.

  “Spotted you a...” Joe reeled. This was worse than he’d thought. “Your date. Was this before or after you got pummeled?”

  Clay sashayed by with a shrug. �
��What can I say? Some like it rough.”

  “A trick did this to you?” Joe whirled. “I thought you said it was a bunch of thugs.”

  “Did I?” Clay stashed the pouch inside a bigger bag. “And I wouldn’t talk about my proclivities given the psycho you’re seeing.”

  Quietly, Joe felt himself recoil. Clay knew nothing about Laurel, and she was anything but a psycho.

  “Yes, yes.” Clay straightened. “Despite your valiant attempts at personal privacy, and the fact that you’ve never once come to see my work, I do happen to read yours.”

  Joe sunk into his chair. “That doesn’t mean you know the truth.”

  “Are we waxing philosophical, Joe? Because maybe we should invite Madam Laurel to join this conversation.”

  Joe rubbed at his brow bone. “She happens to be worried about you.”

  “Who wouldn’t be after what you probably told her?” Clay stuffed his suitcase closed and latched it.

  “I didn’t tell her anything. Not even your name. She says... She said God told her.”

  Clay turned, a superior look on his face. “This would be the God you don’t believe in?”

  “I guess that’s something I’m rethinking.”

  “Wait.” Clay’s gaze narrowed. “Supposedly God told her what? That I’m a sicko reprobate? That I’ll burn for all eternity?”

  “No.” How could he say this in a way that Clay would understand? It wasn’t like Clay seemed to be in a listening mood. But then again, he was standing there, waiting for an answer.

  “She cares,” Joe started. “It was more like... She said that you’re scared, that you’re hiding. That you were abused. And she knew that you have a thing about Marilyn.”

  Clay scowled. “She could have read about any of that.”

  “Could have. That part, but I don’t think...” Joe shook his head. It was so hard to accept Laurel’s gift himself. “But there was also something she said about... She said she saw blood on you.” He lifted his palms. “And I swear I did not tell her you’d been beaten up till after.”

  Clay’s eyebrows hiked. Clearly, he was just as unnerved to hear this as Joe had been. He crossed his arms in front of himself, then rotated his neck with a crack. “Is that all?”

  “About. For the moment.”

  Abruptly, Clay headed toward the door. “You know, I’d love to hang and play spooky night séance, but I don’t feel so welcome here. And besides. I’ve got a bus to catch.”

  Joe pushed out of his chair and rose to his feet. “Come on. Stay.”

  Resolutely, Clay collected his things. “Despite the fact that my leaving undermines your whole messiah complex, I don’t think so.”

  Joe wandered toward the door. When would he ever see his brother again if he moved to Manhattan? As hard as it was to live with Clay, the prospect of his moving away still left Joe hollow. Sure, they had their differences. But he was the only family Joe had left. “So this is it?”

  “Were you looking for more, Joe? It’s not like we’ve been close.”

  As much as he hated to admit it, Joe couldn’t argue the point. He had no right to tell Clay how to live his life or where he should be living it. There seemed nothing left to say. Joe lifted his palms in surrender. “Okay.”

  Clay shoved a duffel bag under his left arm. He looked more hurt than angry. “Last time you may ever see me and all you can come up with is ‘okay.’ Thanks a lot, Joe.”

  “Come on, Clay.” Joe closed the gap between them. But once he got there, there were no words. “You know I’m no good at this.”

  Clay threw the door open. “Well, watch and learn, Baby, because I am.”

  Just that quickly, Clay was gone.

  For crying out loud, the guy’s face hadn’t even had a chance to heal. Joe rested his eye sockets into the heels of his hands.

  Once again, he’d failed his brother.

  Joe could chase after Clay, but still. What could he say that hadn’t already been said?

  He went to the window and lifted a slat in the blinds. There was Clay, headed toward the bus stop with most of what he owned in his hands. Perhaps this was what Laurel had meant when she said she was afraid that he might lose his brother. He could only hope that part hadn’t meant more. Should he have warned Clay somehow? There probably would have been no point. Clay was going to do what he was going to do, no matter what anybody said.

  Joe told himself he had to face facts. It was the end of a torturous era. Together, they were such a toxic combination. Besides, what did he know? Maybe Clay would surprise him. Maybe he’d make it in the New York club scene. Maybe a little distance would do them both some good. Long and hard, he tried to persuade himself of all those things. But what was the use?

  Nothing inside Joe believed a solitary word of it.

  fourteen

  Adele dialed Laurel’s number from the passenger seat of Lou’s van. Lou had just about squeezed that behemoth into the only available parking space, a city block from Laurel’s apartment. Adele gazed around the blue-collar environs. Parking was sure a feat in this neighborhood. Here it was, broad daylight. You’d think most people would’ve gone to work. Then again, unemployment might have hit harder among the lower-middle class.

  Adele counted the phone rings on her fingers. Five, now six. Laurel’s landline clicked over to her machine. Either Laurel was screening her calls or she wasn’t home, just as Adele had been hoping.

  Adele hung up and opened the passenger door. “I’m going in.”

  Lou looked over toward Laurel’s building. “She could be at work. We could try her there.”

  “Her shift’s at eight a.m. She walks. Leaves at a quarter of every day except Sunday.” Adele rounded Lou’s car.

  “And you know all this because...”

  “I’m a journalist, now, Lou. I do my homework. Come on.”

  Lou had such a reluctant look on his face. Still, he grabbed his camera and locked up the van.

  What was it with this guy? Usually, he had no hesitation about following his boss’s bidding. Today, it sure seemed like he was dragging his heels, all the way up the walk, then up the stairs to Laurel’s door.

  A voice from Laurel’s answer machine sounded from inside. Thin walls, this building. “Hi, uh...you know, I actually kind of despise these things.”

  Adele signaled Lou to stay quiet. Someone was leaving a message, a man with a very familiar voice.

  Joe Hardisty.

  “I guess they give me some kind of weird performance anxiety or...”

  Lou backed away. “Maybe we should go...”

  “What, are you kidding? Shh...” Adele pressed her ear to the door.

  “...I don’t know,” Joe continued through the machine. “ So...I wanted to talk, about last night and...”

  Adele grinned at Lou. “Last night? I wonder what’s up with that.”

  “So, maybe I’ll run by the Grille. Grab a bite. I’ll see you soon.” There was a clunk as Joe hung up.

  Adele straightened. “I guess we should triple check. Who knows? Maybe she’s even screening his calls, now.” She gave Laurel’s door a couple of sharp raps. “When do we get those shots back from her daughter’s little field trip yesterday?”

  “Ask McTier,” Lou replied.

  “You didn’t have to turn the memory card in, you know. You could have made a copy. Debra’s pretty frosted about that.”

  Adele pressed her ear to Laurel’s door again. Not a peep. “Well, Buddy. I’m of the mind that we wouldn’t be too terribly out of line to check on her. Make sure she’s okay.”

  “I’ll say it again. She’s not home.”

  “You say that. But we really can’t be absolutely sure of that. Now can we?” Adele reached up to feel above the doorframe. Nope. No key hid there. She stooped to check under the doormat. Bingo.

  Lou put up a wary hand. “Walk away, Adele.”

  Adele rose. This was going to be good. “She has a medical condition. She could be incapacitated. Unconscious for a
ll we know.”

  Lou just stood there like a lump, shaking his head. There had to be some way to get the guy on board with this.

  “And hey.” Adele smiled coyly. That usually worked for her on men. “Key’s under the mat. The mat says welcome. Just following the occupant’s instructions.”

  Adele unlocked the door. Her pulse accelerated as she pushed it open and eased into the unit. She would follow this story, wherever it took her—hopefully, all the way to the top.

  Steam rose as Belle poured Joe a cup of hot coffee. As nervous as his stomach was getting about Laurel, the last thing he needed was caffeine, but it had seemed the best way to get Belle’s attention. The fact that Detective McTier was already seated across from the Grille’s owner did nothing to ease Joe’s mind. Where was Laurel?

  Ralph wiped his hands. “She’s fired is what she is. She don’t show, she don’t work for me no more. And I don’t know zip except I’m out a waitress.”

  “What about her?” McTier pointed to Belle.

  “The name’s Belle and, yeah, I’ll tell you what I know.” Belle set the coffee pot down. “I know Laurel. And I don’t care what you think you’ve got or what any kind of nonsense points to because that girl had nothing to do with this.”

  Belle moved along the counter and put Joe’s coffee down in front of him. “Laurel’s got a heart on her, you know. Don’t be taking advantage.”

  McTier answered his ringing cell. “McTier.” The detective quickly tossed some cash on the counter and rose. “Yeah. Uh-huh, gotcha. Right around the corner...I’m on it.”

  Joe cast a guarded eye at McTier’s hasty departure. He leaned closer to Belle. “Can you just tell me if she’s called in this morning?”

  Belle narrowed her gaze. “You want to know for business or personal reasons? And you think hard, my brother, because I can smell a lie six inches before it hits the griddle.”