by Beverly Long
* * *
THERE WAS SOMETHING very comforting about being in the big old house and listening to Chase and his nail gun on the roof. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.
She was tackling her own project with vigor, very grateful for the big garbage cans that Chase had provided. While it felt odd to go through someone else’s things, she hadn’t found it as difficult to do as she’d anticipated. If it was something that she thought someone else could get some use out of, she put it in the keep-and-give-away pile. Otherwise, it was garbage. There were only a few exceptions that made her pause.
She heard the front door open and quickly walked into the kitchen. She was standing at the stove making a cup of tea by the time Chase took off his work boots and walked in.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Good. How’s the roof?”
“Big and steep. Other than that, fabulous.” He reached for the cookies that she’d pulled from the oven just ten minutes earlier. “These look better than fabulous.”
“They may be hot still.”
He opened the refrigerator and poured a big glass of milk. He ate the first cookie in three bites. “Oh, these are good.”
She smiled. So far Chase had eaten everything she’d made with gusto. She could probably mix straw with honey and bake it and he’d proclaim it the best yet.
“Gordy Fitzler just stopped by.”
“To check on your progress?”
“I’m sure. Plus he wanted to invite us to his birthday party tonight at the Wright Here, Wright Now Café. His kids are throwing it for him.”
She looked at him. “That’s sweet.”
“I thought we might go. If you didn’t have other plans.”
She wasn’t exactly in the position to be making plans. But she didn’t dismiss the comment. For the first time, it seemed as if Chase was tentative, not completely sure. Was it because this was almost like a date?
“No other plans,” she said. “Will it be safe?”
“I wouldn’t go if I didn’t think so.”
“We don’t have a gift.”
“He said no gifts.”
She considered this. “Maybe we could make a charitable donation in his name to something that he supports.”
Chase didn’t even have to think about it. “He’s always supported the local park district. When I was in high school, he donated over half the funds needed to put in the first swimming pool so that kids would have someplace to go in the summer. He’s still wearing his Ravesville Park District ball cap.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Can we talk about the rules for a minute?” he asked.
“Rules?”
He waved his hand. “Expectations. Firm expectations. We remain in visual contact at all times. That means you don’t even step outside for a quick breath of fresh air without me. If you have to go to the bathroom, I’ll check it first and then stand outside the door.”
“I know we’re supposed to be newlyweds but won’t people think that’s just a little over the top?”
“I’ll do it in a way that people won’t even notice.”
She thought he perhaps underestimated how closely every woman’s eyes in the place would follow him. He was just so darn handsome, so darn male. “Got it. Visual contact. At all times. It’s just that I’m a little disappointed.”
“Why?” He looked very concerned.
She lowered her lashes. “Well, Detective Hollister, that wasn’t the only kind of contact I was hoping for tonight.”
Shaking his head, he got up and pushed his chair back. He leaned close, his breath warm on her neck. “Don’t you worry,” he muttered. “As soon as the cake is served, you better be ready.”
* * *
FIVE HOURS LATER, Chase stood in the living room, waiting for Raney. She was excited about the birthday party. He could tell. It made him realize that she’d steeled herself to several more weeks of house arrest and this was a welcome respite.
When he’d come in a half hour ago, she’d been finishing up her painting in the kitchen. She was, he thought, about the slowest painter he’d ever seen. He could whip through a room in a couple hours and she’d been working for two days on one wall. But it gave her something to do and he was happy enough to let her plod along.
He’d grabbed clean clothes and gone upstairs to shower. Even though he was sleeping in her bed, it seemed too big a jump to move his clothes into her space. It would require a discussion and right now, that was the one thing that neither one of them wanted to have.
He understood his own reasons. He was conflicted as hell. He liked Raney. A lot. But he suspected that she was looking for what most women were looking for—a husband, someone who was willing to sign on for the long term. That wasn’t him. He was ultimately going to disappoint her.
Why she didn’t seem to want to talk about the future was a mystery to him. She’d been married. That had to mean that she believed in marriage. She didn’t seem terribly angry or bitter about her divorce. And so like a good detective he watched and listened for clues, but so far she wasn’t showing her cards.
When she came downstairs, he almost showed his whole hand. She looked incredible. While she wasn’t overly tall, she had nice long legs that were looking really good in her black skirt. She had on a white silky-looking tank that he was itching to touch and put his hands under. “You’re beautiful,” he said.
“You’re looking pretty good yourself.”
He wore khakis and a loose tan shirt that would make it easy for him to carry his gun undetected.
“What time do we need to leave?” she asked.
He looked at his watch. “We have a few minutes.”
“Good. I...uh...need to tell you something.”
As quick as that, he saw his world changing. She was going to tell him that she’d thought it over and it had been one big mistake. A rush of disappointment filled him.
“Okay,” he said.
He sat down on the couch and motioned for her to take the chair. He’d been disappointed before and survived it.
“I saw something the other day and it’s weighing heavily on my mind.”
She couldn’t be talking about his injury. They’d had that discussion.
“I should have said something but I’m fairly confident that the person involved doesn’t want that.”
He was lost. But he did know that she was truly worried that she was doing the right thing. He didn’t say anything. She needed to work through this.
“When I was in the café the other day, before the accident, Summer was clearing a table and her shirt rode up. I saw her back and she had a big bruise on it. An old bruise, maybe a couple weeks old.” She waved her hand. “I...I’ve become sort of an expert on the various iterations of bruised flesh.”
That made his stomach hurt. “Did you ask her about it?”
“No. Sheila was there and I certainly didn’t want her hearing the conversation, and I got the feeling that Summer was very sorry that I caught a glimpse. She didn’t want to talk about it.”
“There could be a thousand ways that somebody gets a bruise on their back.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s what I kept thinking about. It’s why I didn’t say anything to begin with. But...it looked a great deal like the bruises I had from Harry Malone’s shoe when he kicked me. I just can’t get it out of my head that someone kicked her. Hard.”
The picture he’d seen of Raney in her file, drawn, drained, beaten down, flashed in his head. She hadn’t deserved that. No other woman deserved that and he felt a special affinity toward Summer. His brother had almost married her. What would Bray want him to do?
That answer was pretty clear. Bray fought the war on drugs because he hated the fact that the big-money punks were living large at the expense of the masses hooked on bad product. He risked his life every day to save the unknown thirteen-year-old from dying of a heroin overdose.
“I’ll talk to her,” he said. “Tonight.”
Raney shook her head. “No. I want to do that. But I wanted you to know, because if she is in trouble, we may need your help.”
* * *
BOTH OF THE Wright sisters were working. Trish, wearing a chef’s hat and holding a big knife, was carving meat. She was smiling and laughing and delightfully entertaining people as they went through the line.
Summer was greeting guests. A young man of about fourteen who looked bored to death and a girl, maybe five, who was so excited she could barely stand still, were next to her. It wasn’t a leap to assume they were her children. Same skin tone, same shape of the eyes. The boy had dark hair and the little girl’s hair was a beautiful strawberry blonde.
It made sense that her children were there. She was a single mom who normally didn’t work nights. She probably hadn’t wanted to leave her kids at home alone.
They’d placed a sign on the door that said Closed for Special Event but Raney thought it probably didn’t matter. Based on the crowd, she suspected all their regular customers were on the guest list.
The café looked very different. Small twinkling lights had been hung from the ceiling and strung across the room. The regular lights had been turned down. Every table had a cream-colored tablecloth with a vase of fall flowers as well as candles.
There was music playing and they’d left space for a small dance floor.
It wasn’t New York fancy but rather, small-town nice.
She loved it.
They’d set the food on the counter and there was so much of it, it covered the entire length. Extra tables had been added, making it a challenge to circulate around the space. Not that that bothered Raney. She knew only a handful of people.
Mr. Fitzler, accompanied by two women she assumed were his daughters, probably in their late thirties or early forties, approached. They greeted Chase warmly and when he introduced her, they seemed delighted that she was there. “Thank you for inviting us,” she said.
Reneta, the oldest one, waved a hand. “Chase is practically family. The son my father never had,” she added good-naturedly. “We’ve got some empty chairs at our table, please join us.”
It wasn’t until she sat down that she saw Gary Blake in the far corner. He was out of uniform and had a beer in his hand. There were two other men with him and while they were talking animatedly and loudly, Gary was mostly staring in the direction of the far wall. At first, Raney thought he might be looking at his ex-wife and children. But that wasn’t it. No, it was definitely the door. She leaned toward Chase. “Did you see Gary Blake?”
“Yep. Want a glass of wine?”
“Sure.” Of course Chase had seen him. He’d probably already checked out everybody in the room.
He brought her back a glass of white wine in a little plastic glass and a bottle of water for himself. Then they started through the long line and filled their plates with roast beef, ham, mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, all kinds of salads and finally homemade rolls.
Raney was almost done eating when the door opened and Sheila Stanton came in. She was alone. Raney saw Gordy’s daughters exchange a look, and it wasn’t one of pleasure.
Reneta leaned toward Chase. “You remember Sheila, Chase?”
“I do.”
He wasn’t giving anything away.
“She’s a very good customer,” Reneta explained. “Owns over half the commercial properties in Ravesville and uses us exclusively for roof work. My husband thought it was important that we invite her.”
The underlying message was clear. If it had been up to the daughters, they’d have done something very different. Raney watched as Summer handed Sheila a plastic glass of wine. Sheila took a sip and made a face. Summer ignored it.
That was what Raney should do, too. Ignore Sheila Stanton. She turned the other way and struck up a conversation with Reneta’s husband, who had assumed the roofing business. Within ten minutes, she had convinced Jonah to interview Keith for the entry-level office administrator position that was available at the company.
When Chase overheard the conversation, he leaned in. “I thought Keith wanted his own restaurant. Unless Fitzler’s is putting a roof on the building, I’m not seeing the connection.”
“Keith is a wonderful waiter and there’s no doubt that he understands the customer service component. But to be a successful entrepreneur, he needs more general knowledge of how a business works. That knowledge can come from lots of places, including an office administrator job for a large roofing contractor. He wants to stay in the area. There aren’t a lot of jobs that will put him on the right path. This one looks like a win-win. He wants to work for several years to save money to qualify for a loan. This would allow him to do that. And Fitzler’s gets a good employee who is willing to work hard and learn.”
“You’re pretty damn smart,” he said. She felt warm inside.
“Not so...” She caught a glimpse of Sheila Stanton, who was seated at a table across the room. She’d pushed one side of her hair behind her ear and Raney could see her chin. “Oh, my God,” she said.
“What?” Chase asked.
She could tell that he was about to reach for his gun. She put her hand on his arm. “Smart. Not so smart. Chase, I think it might have been Sheila driving the SUV that pushed me off the road.”
He blinked. “You said it was a man.”
“I know, I did. And I thought it was. I saw facial hair. A glimpse but I was sure I’d seen it. But it’s her chin. I know it is.”
Chapter Thirteen
Chase was grateful he hadn’t been drinking. Otherwise, the whirling in his head might have made him vomit on his shoes. What was Raney saying? Was it even possible?
When Sheila had left the grocery store that morning, he’d caught a glimpse of her car pulling out of the parking lot. She drove a black Lexus SUV.
Would Sheila have done something like this? It was crazy. They hadn’t dated for more than ten years. She’d been married and divorced. He was currently married. Or at least she thought so. Surely she couldn’t still be thinking there was a chance of a reconciliation.
But then he thought about the times that Cal had claimed to have seen her. He thought about the crazy letter. He thought about her staking out the grocery store in anticipation that he’d be shopping.
“Stay here,” he said.
Sheila was getting a drink when she saw him approaching. “Chase,” she said. “Lovely to see you.”
“May I talk to you?” he asked. He was surprised at how level his voice was. He wanted to wring her neck if she was the one. But if Raney was right, and she’d taken the time to don a disguise, including facial hair, the crime had been premeditated and Sheila might be very dangerous indeed.
“Of course. Shall we step outside? It’s such a beautiful night.”
Visual contact at all times. He wasn’t going to be the one to break the rules. “Over here should be fine,” he said, leading her to the far corner of the room. He stood so that he could see Raney over Sheila’s shoulder.
“My wife had an accident the other day,” he said.
“I heard that. How is she?”
“Fine.”
“A black SUV forced her off the road.”
“Really?”
She was good. She didn’t even look nervous.
“You drive a black SUV.”
She nodded. “A lovely one.” She took a delicate sip of her wine. “Are you having this same conversation with everyone who drives an SUV or specifically with me?”
Her tone was suggestive, as if she liked that she’d perhaps been singled out. It took him one step closer to losing his dinner.
“Listen to me, Sheila. Whatever you and I had is long over. We both went our separate ways. I’m married. And I love my wife. I...” He faltered. I love my wife. He did. He really did. He took a breath. Steadied himself. “I don’t want to see anything happen to her. If she so much as breaks a fingernail, I’ll be upset. And I’ll hunt down the person responsible. I will make sure they pay.”
He paused. “Do you understand, Sheila?”
“You’re a fool, Chase Hollister,” she said, her facade finally cracking. “I am twice the woman that she could even hope to be.”
He was not going to defend Raney. She did not need to be defended. “I’m going to ask this question, just once. Were you driving the SUV that forced Raney off the road?”
“Of course I wasn’t,” she said.
He really couldn’t tell if she was lying or not.
“You’ve been warned, Sheila. Don’t forget it.”
As Chase walked away, he could feel her eyes on his back. When he got back to the table, Raney’s eyes were full of questions.
“I don’t know how I ever thought she was desirable. Or sexy.”
“You were nineteen. A jackrabbit in a dress might have done it for you.”
He laughed so hard that the other people at the table started giving him odd looks. He looked at her plate. She’d cut her ham into teeny-tiny pieces, so small that it would fall through the tines of the fork if she tried to eat it. “Mad at the ham?”
“When I’m nervous, I need something to do with my hands.”
He’d give her something to do with her hands. “Let’s go home.”
“I need to talk to Summer.” She got up.
Chase let her go. He watched her walk across the room.
* * *
SUMMER WAS STILL BARTENDING, handing out little plastic glasses of red or white wine and twisting tops off bottles of beer. She smiled at Raney. “How was your dinner?”
“Wonderful,” Raney said. “I’ll have the chardonnay, please.”
Summer poured it and handed it to her. Raney took it. There was nobody behind her in line. “Would you have just a minute that we could talk?”
She could tell that Summer was about to say no.
“Please,” Raney added.
Summer stepped out from behind the table that had been set up as a makeshift bar. She glanced around the room. It was full of people. “Follow me to the kitchen,” she said.
