by Amanda Tru
She gave him a look that could mean anything from ready to run to curious for more. Her next question answered that dilemma. “Hmm… insects. Interesting. Anything else? What about fish?”
“All clown fish are born male?”
“What?” Daphne’s features screwed up into irritation. “Not funny, Heath.”
“No, really. They are”
“Then how do we get more clown fish?”
“Some turn into females at mating time. Weird, right?”
It might have been paranoia—truth be told, Heath hoped it was—but he could have sworn she muttered, “You sure are,” into her coffee cup.
“What about you? Do you have hobbies?”
What she answered, he didn’t know. He’d done it again. Resisted the urge to go on and on, telling about the two jaws of a moray eel or the lack of vocal cords in giraffes. In fact, he was so proud of himself that Heath missed the part where she answered the question.
If she did. It took everything in him not to tell her about manatees and tiger stripes. And by the time he remembered to ask what she did for a living, she’d finished the donut. “Well, it’s been… interesting.” Daphne stood. “I think I’ll be going. I don’t think…” She seemed to struggle for words. “We have enough compatible interests, but thanks for the donuts.”
Heath tapped out a text message to Selby as he strolled back to his car.
Heath: Didn’t give out facts that she didn’t ask for. Kind of a win. She won’t say yes again, though. Oh, and even if she wanted to, I wouldn’t have. It was just not a good fit. Period.
The time—just after nine o’clock. He didn’t have another date until six-thirty… in New Cheltenham. Fairbury wasn’t even on the way, but he’d have time to catch Jordan if she planned to do his scavenger hunt. The previous evening she’d just gone home and disappeared into the garage. Now…
It was ten before he pulled up in front of the music store, but he let the car idle to keep him warm as he finished one of the letters in the audiobook he’d bought. Frustration mounted as the writer went on and on about every topic but the one that piqued his interest. It was just a mention of soap in passing, but the respondent didn’t ask. Then, in a quick postscript, she asked about the soap, and all was well. Heath tapped his phone screen and turned off the car.
A walk around the square and behind The Fox Theater showed no sign of Jordan anywhere. A pass by the music store caused a double take at the sight of a service dog inside. That… is a strange-looking service dog. At that moment, the German shepherd glanced over at him as if to say, Ya think?
At ten twenty, her Fit zipped around the square and slowed to a crawl as the local cop pointed at her and shook his finger. It’s like time out in Fairbury instead of law enforcement.
He made it to the opposite corner by the time Jordan rounded the movie theater building and strode toward him. In her hand—the sticky note, but she didn’t even look at it. She plowed toward him as if on a mission.
Braced for impact, Heath waited for her to recognize him and unleash pent-up fury. She didn’t. Her gaze locked on something behind him, Jordan scurried past. A glance back showed her making a beeline to The Diner.
Oookay. Maybe she’s doing things out of order? Got a call?
Heath followed.
Jordan dodged pedestrians with the skill of an obstacle course runner. A slick patch—frozen coffee it seemed—nearly tripped her up, but she managed to make it to The Diner before the alarm on her phone sounded. Once inside, she silenced the alarm and begged for the back-corner booth before Earlene could sit her up front.
The wait began. Gary Brighton had asked to meet at ten-thirty, but a text message apologized for a delay.
Jordan: Closer to ten forty-five. Troublesome client.
That was it. Still, Jordan took the words for an apology and ordered Coke and fries. Earlene eyed her. “No pie?”
“Not today. I just feel like something a little simpler.”
“There’s nothing simple about fries, honey. I mean, I am a french fry.”
It was probably the long night of little sleep, but Jordan didn’t follow. “Okay, ‘splain, Lucy.”
“Very funny, Ricky. No, really. My husband says it all the time. I’m a french fry. I’m a hot potato, I bring people happiness, and I’m a little ‘salty.’”
“Nothing ‘salty’ about you, Earlene, unless you used to work a fishing boat on the ocean. You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met.”
Earlene winked and said, “Yeah, but you don’t live with me. Hank’s a good guy, but he’s not perfect. I can afford to let loose the snark with him. He doesn’t give me tips. I’ll get that Dr. Pepper right away.”
She’d made it three steps away when the words registered with Jordan. “Hey, Earlene?”
The woman looked back. “Yeah?”
“Let’s make that a Coke, okay?”
“Coke…” A shake of the head. “Right. Got it. Coke.”
Finally alone, Jordan set her phone aside and looked at the pink sticky note. Just a single Bible verse. “…not forsaking our own assembling together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another; and all the more as you see the day drawing near.” Hebrews 10:25
“What does it even mean?”
A glass appeared before her. “What does what mean?”
“Found this in my car this morning. I figure there’s some kind of message in it, but I don’t know what.”
“Well,” Earlene said, pulling out a straw as if she always did drink and straw in the same trip. “I’ve always heard it with church. You know how preachers are. They want to get you in those doors. Maybe it’s a hint you need to go to church more.”
Jordan didn’t notice the woman leave. Her mind swirled with possibilities. Church… “Yeah, that could be it…”
“What could be it?”
The deep male voice jerked Jordan out of her musings. She jerked her head up to meet the stony gaze of a man with dark hair… and a beard… a man just like… “Um… and you are?”
“Gary Brighton.” He pointed to the bench opposite her. “Mind if I sit?”
A bunch of dots connected. Arnie saying he’d liked a girl in school who had freckles. Arnie asking if she liked her audiobook. Arnie asking about pie… “It was Arnie, wasn’t it? You did all that stuff for Arnie. He’s the sorta secret admirer.”
“Arnie Holtz? My dad’s so-called father?”
The fuzzies that had begun to warm up chilled instantly. “Excuse me?”
“I want to know just what Arnie Holtz expects to get out of my father.”
Indignation flared. She sputtered, fumed, and sputtered some more. A drink of Coke steadied her enough to break into a weird tirade about “that old guy” thinking he could butt into their lives. “Excuse me?”
“I said—”
“I heard you. That was me trying to calm myself before I said something rude.”
Gary glared.
“Let me remind you, Mr. Brighton. Your father contacted my client. Not the other way around. Your father asked to meet. Not Arnie. The DNA tests prove that your father’s adoption lawyers found the right man—”
“So you say.”
“Excuse me?”
He folded his arms over his chest, still glaring at her.
“What?”
“Just waiting for you to calm yourself before you keep saying stuff that’s rude.”
Jordan fumbled for the cash she’d stuffed in her pocket. Dropping ten dollars on the table, she scooted out of the bench and paused by Gary’s side. “Just a hint… accusing someone of having ulterior motives when that person didn’t initiate contact—that is rude. If you have a problem with this, talk to your dad. This isn’t on Arnie, and it certainly isn’t on me.”
She bolted from the restaurant before the temptation to say what she really thought overpowered her. Forget that. It already had. All the way out the door and down the sidewalk toward the church, she blasted him for everything from
his bullish attitude to using Arnie’s desire to give her a surprise against him. “Despicable.”
“That’s right. Good word for it.”
That voice. It would become the voiceover for her nightmares. She whirled and glared. “Leave me alone. Do you get that? Just go.”
“I want to know just what your—”
“He’s a friend. And you letting him use you with this whole sorta admirer thing and then turning on him? Yeah. Despicable just about covers it.”
Gary’s eyes held conflicting emotions. Anger? Definitely. But there was something more to it. Confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about with this admirer stuff, but I do know that I want you to tell Arnie Holtz to leave my father alone. It’s sick to prey on a man in his grief.”
“That’s rich! Your father is the one who dragged up—”
The man stepped closer—too close. Natural instinct demanded she step back. Anger and a refusal to be intimidated propelled her forward. They stood, puffy coats nearly touching while she stared him down.
Fear grew like cancer, and any second now, she’d capitulate. The angrier his features became, the more self-preservation overrode pride and anger. Just as she would have stepped back, Gary grabbed her shoulders.
“Tell him—”
Someone separated them. One second, she’d been about to knee the guy into a new career in overrated musical theater, and the next, another body stood between hers and Gary Jerk-ton’s. “I believe she told you to leave her alone.”
“This is none of your business.”
“That’s what’s wrong with this country! We ignore when people like you break the law. Yeah. Law. You just manhandled a woman. And in five… four… three…”
She followed intervener’s head and saw Officer Brad jogging across the street.
“What? You can count backwards. How great for you. Now butt out.”
Brad stepped up before the new guy could respond. “What’s the problem?”
Gary had no problem spinning it in his favor. “This guy just pushed into our conversation.”
That, Jordan couldn’t let go. “Actually, Gary grabbed me. This guy stepped in to help.” She eyed the new guy and offered a smile. “Thanks, by the way.” Something familiar in his face stopped her. Her eyes darted from him to Gary and back again. “Wait…”
“Jordan?”
Her gaze shot back to Officer Brad. “Yeah?”
“Who do you want to go away?”
“Hey!”
Jordan shot a glare at Gary. “Him, actually. He just insulted Arnie and me and accused us of trying to…” She blinked. “Well, I don’t know. What were you accusing us of?”
He ignored her. Focusing his attention on Brad, Gary spun a tale of two conniving people out to milk Floyd Brighton for all he was worth. If the guy had any brains, he’d have shut his mouth—fast. But he didn’t. The longer he spoke, the more Jordan fumed, and the more rigid Brad became.
That’s when the other guy murmured something in her ear. “Maybe call the dad?”
“Duh!” She whipped out her phone and dialed. Gary shot a nasty look at her. “What?”
Jordan ignored him as Gary answered. “Hi. Sorry to bother you. We have a situation here. Can you talk to your son?”
“My son?”
“Gary is here accusing Arnie and me of attempting to—I don’t know—swindle you out of your life savings or something. I don’t get it. Anyway, there’s an officer here, and I’m about to just ask him to have Gary arrested for harassment—if that’s a thing.”
Officer Brad whipped his handcuffs off his belt with speed that should have indicated much experience with arresting folks. He’d probably only used them half a dozen times in his whole Fairbury career. “Yep. I can do that.”
“Hey! It’s no crime—”
Floyd’s voice jerked her back to the phone conversation. “Can I talk to Gary?”
She passed her phone over. “Your father.”
Never had she seen a man cower faster. The one-sided conversation? Enlightening. Gary still had a lot of respect for his father—and love. Her heart softened as she saw the scene through new lenses. I might have been concerned, too. More rational thoughts reminded her that it would be reasonable if Arnie had found Floyd rather than the other way around.
With each passing second, the hostility and aggression on Gary’s face softened into a subdued shell of its former self. “But Dad—” A moment later, he nodded. “All right. See you in a few.” He eyed her. “Unless she presses charges. It seems to be a thing.”
Brad piped up just then. “Oh, it’s a thing. One I recommend, actually.”
Jordan shook her head. “As long as he promises to leave me alone from now on, we’re good. You’ll have to play with your handcuffs another day.”
“If Nichole didn’t live here and love her job, I’d be in Rockland by now.”
“If you married her…”
Gary broke in. “Can I go? Dad expects to meet me in thirty minutes. I just have time if I leave now.”
Brad let him go and returned to his spot at his favorite corner on the square. Gary mumbled a half-hearted apology to her and glared at the other guy as he left. Jordan turned to him as well. “So, are you a sorta secret rescuer as well?”
It wasn’t supposed to play out like this. In Heath’s version of things, she’d follow the scavenger hunt, maybe she’d notice him at every place. And finally, at The Diner, she’d come sit at his table. They could try again. Maybe. He could mix up that last one if he got there first…
“Maybe I shouldn’t have butted in…”
“You probably diffused something awful.”
“A jerk like that should have been arrested.”
Jordan shoved her hands and phone in her pocket. “No, he’s just worried about his Dad. I get that. I do. He just addressed it the wrong way.”
Don’t be amazing about something like that. You’ll give me hope.
The pink sticky note appeared from her pocket—folded, half-crumpled. She shook it at him. “You?”
Heath shrugged and gave a weak smile—one he hoped looked genuine at least.
“So, is this the church?”
“Yes.”
“What do I do there?”
She hadn’t figured it out yet. Excitement gave life to that smile. “Check it out and see?”
Despite temperatures hovering in the low single digits and wind that occasionally blasted them from the side, she stood staring at him. “You look so familiar—not just because you were at the coffee shop or The Diner. Your voice…”
“Some people think they hear a trace of an accent in it.”
“‘Trace of an accent…’ Where have I heard that?” Jordan stared at the note, back at Heath, and shrugged. “I feel like I should know you.”
“Maybe you should go check out the church.”
Jordan shot a look at him. “Are you coming?”
“I’ll be around. Later…” He turned to go.
“Are you going to tell me where I know you from?”
“You’ll figure it out.”
An exasperated huff followed that one. “Yeah? Then why not tell me?”
After three steps back toward the diner, Heath called back, “I’ve got to give me a fighting chance.” To himself, he added, And time to figure out why I can talk to you like this and not on a date. Maybe Selby…
However, despite his words, he sprinted down one of the side streets and arrived at the church just after her. Jordan stood at the front walk, staring up at the building as if expecting to see some message spray-painted across the front. She strolled out to the parking lot. And walked back again. All it would take was a single text message. That message could also kill any chance he had. She’d see my name.
Heath tried the next best thing. Ann.
Heath: Spoke to Jordan. She’s on a scavenger hunt. Stumped at the second spot. Not boding well for the success. Do I stick around and tell her it’s me or wait for anoth
er time?
Three minutes later, just as he’d almost given up and shown himself, her reply came through.
Ann: Good idea. Be there at every stop. Help if she asks. Make her have to work to find you. I’ll do what I can.
A minute later, another one came through.
Ann: She just asked for help. Where should she look?
Heath: Door marquee.
Sherlock would say the game was afoot.
“Okay, Mom. Where do I find this thing? And am I going to end up some guy’s prisoner or something?”
“Stay in public places, and you’ll be fine.”
Jordan didn’t quite know what to do with a response like that. “I can’t believe you’re not telling me to run. I think that’s what a responsible mother would do.”
“Since when have I ever been responsible? Now. What about some kind of bulletin board? Do they have something like that inside? For reminders about potlucks and Bible studies?”
“Listen to you gettin’ all churchy. Yeah. There’s one inside…” She jogged up the step and reached for the door handle, but her peripheral vision caught a blur of pink to her right. “Wait… the marquee. There it is. It’s got a drawing of a ticket that says ‘admit two,’ and then it has a note below it that says, ‘Do you talk during movies?’ I don’t. That’s a relief.” As Jordan turned to go, she caught sight of a coat disappearing around the tall junipers that served to block the parking lot from the street. “I think he was here.”
A dash down the walk and to the sidewalk showed him power-walking down the street. “I think he’s keeping an eye on me.”
“Well, have fun, but seriously. Don’t go into any alleys or anything stupid like that. And call me. I’m going to be going nuts here.”
At The Fox, Heath stood, his back to her, staring at a poster of the new time slip Valentine’s movie. A hint? Maybe. She could take it as one…
The ticket booth showed her next clue. A pink sticky note with Jordan written on it. When she asked for it, the girl in the booth handed her the note and two tickets. To the Valentine’s movie, of course.
Jordan moved beside him to check out the poster as well. Without looking his way, she sighed. “I hope it is the sappiest move I’ve ever seen.”
