A Done Deal

by Jenna Bennett

  There was a pause. “I see,” mother said.

  “I’m sorry. It sounds crazy, I know. But after this is over, he’s done. He’ll be able to have a normal life again. You can get to know him.” And fall in love with him, the way I had. If he came back to me, of course. But he would. He had to.

  “Lovely,” mother said, sounding like she had a hard time getting the word out. I took pity on her.

  “I know it’s a lot to process. But you’ll get used to it. I love him.”

  “So you said,” mother managed.

  “You do want me to be happy, right?”

  “Of course, darling.”

  “He’ll make me happy.” When he didn’t drive me out of my mind with worry.

  “If you say so, darling,” mother said. When I didn’t answer, she added, “I just wanted to make sure everything was all right. I didn’t see the news myself last night, but after everyone called...”

  “Everything’s fine. The news made everything sound worse than it was. You know you can’t trust the news.”

  “Of course not,” mother said. “All right then, darling...”

  “Right. Places to go, people to see. I’ll call you later.”

  “All right,” mother said. As she hung up, sounding rather subdued, I wondered what my involvement with Rafe would mean for my family in the future. Not so much for me and him—because I’d deal with it, whatever it was, if he’d stick around—but for the rest of them. So far, I’d only considered things from my own perspective: how my family’s reaction to Rafe would impact him and me. Now, for the first time, it crossed my mind to wonder how my involvement with him would affect everyone else.

  Chapter 15

  When I walked into Kylie’s room at Vanderbilt Medical Center, she was sitting up in bed, in earnest conversation with Aislynn and...

  I blinked. “Officer Spicer?”

  He looked up from the notepad in his lap and brushed a hand over his thinning ginger hair. “Miz Martin.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  A glance around showed me that Truman was hanging out over by the window, as far from the bed as he could get while still staying within the same room. Maybe Kylie’s injuries made him uncomfortable, or maybe he was still young enough to be embarrassed about a woman in a bed.

  “Taking a report,” Spicer said. “You know anything about what happened the other night?”

  I shook my head. “Just what Aislynn and Kylie have told me. The brakes on the car gave out and they had an accident.”

  Spicer nodded. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Miz Martin.”

  “Kylie and Aislynn are trying to buy a house.”

  “That have anything to do with this?”

  I glanced at Aislynn and then at Kylie. “I can’t imagine how.”

  Spicer kept the pencil poised over the notepad. “No bidding war? Nobody who’ll get the house if your clients were out of the way?”

  “Gosh,” I said, “I don’t think so. Tim didn’t say anything about anyone else having made an offer.”

  “Tim?”

  “Timothy Briggs. My broker. He’s the listing agent.”

  “M-hm,” Spicer said and wrote the name down. “Phone number?”

  “For Tim?” I rattled it off. “Do you plan to call him?” He might not be happy about that.

  “If I have to,” Spicer said. “For now, we’re just gathering information.” He got up from the chair. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Thank you, officer,” Aislynn said. After the two policemen had excited the room, she turned to me. “Do you have news about the house?”

  “We have a counter offer.” I relayed the information Tim had told me, and gave them the printed counter I had gotten off my email. “Look it over and decide what you want to do. If you still want the house, you can accept their counter or counter back with your own terms. If you don’t... just let me know you’ve decided not to move forward, and we’ll reject their counter and leave it at that.”

  They looked at each other for a second.

  “We still want the house,” Aislynn said, turning back to me. Kylie nodded.

  Nice, how they communicated with just glances.

  “Great.” I smiled. “Talk about the counter, decide what you want to do, and let me know.”

  They nodded.

  “How are you feeling today?”

  “Better,” Kylie said. Her voice was less hoarse, and her bruises had faded from black and dark purple to yellow and green. The neck brace was also gone. “If all goes well, I’ll be going home tomorrow.”

  “That’s wonderful.” If a little scary, how quickly the hospital wanted to get rid of her. I’d noticed the same thing myself, when I was in the hospital last month: as soon as you could survive on your own, they kicked you out. “Do you need a ride?”

  Getting to go home was one thing; getting there on the back of Aislynn’s scooter was something else.

  “We can take a cab,” Kylie said. She tried to move down in the bed and winced. Aislynn rushed to help shift her.

  “Don’t be silly,” I said. “I’ll be happy to drive you home. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Thank you, Savannah,” Aislynn said. Easing Kylie back down against the pillows, she glanced at the clock above the door. “I need to go soon. Sara Beth opens at eleven.”

  “I’ll give you guys some time to talk about the house,” I said. “Call me when you know what you want to do. Anytime today will be fine.”

  I turned toward the door and then did a Columbo. “Um... what’s going on with the car? And the police?”

  “The auto shop notified them,” Kylie said. “The brakes on the car may have been compromised. The police wanted to know whether we had any enemies. Anyone who might be trying to cause an accident.”

  Good Lord. “Do you?”

  “Not that we know of,” Aislynn said.

  “Have you been arguing with anyone? One of the neighbors? Taking his parking space, or something? Or did someone complain about the bill at the café? Did you foreclose on anyone’s house?” Kylie’s work in the bank might have precipitated something like that.

  She shook her head. “Not that I can think of.”

  “Me, neither,” Aislynn said. And added, her tone almost apologetic, “the officer said it might be a hate crime.”

  I blinked. “How so?”

  “Well, we’re two women together, right? And this is the buckle of the Bible belt. People are conservative here.”

  “Not all people,” I said, since most of the people I know, at least in Nashville, couldn’t care less about Aislynn and Kylie and what they chose to do behind closed doors.

  “But some people mind. And the police thought it might be someone who saw us together and thought they’d strike a blow for heterosexuals everywhere.”

  It was possible, I supposed. Although I thought heterosexuals everywhere were more inclined to just want to leave Aislynn and Kylie alone. Most of us are too preoccupied with our own sex-lives to take that much of an interest in someone else’s.

  “When do they think it happened?” How far could someone drive with punctured brake cables? Half a day? Or just a few blocks?

  “Most likely at the coffee shop,” Kylie said. “It was dark by then, and we were parked out of the way. Not as far out of the way as you, but not right in front either. Someone could have paused for a minute next to the car and no one may have noticed.”

  “That’s awful.”

  They both nodded. Then Aislynn’s face lightened. “But at least we had insurance. And the settlement will pay for another car. As soon as Kylie’s back on her feet, we’re going car-shopping.”

  “Good for you.” I opened the door again. “I’ll give you guys some time to discuss the offer on the house. Just give me a call when you’re ready. And let me know when you need to be picked up tomorrow to go home.”

  They promised they would, and I left. Only to walk into Spicer and Truman as soon as I got to the lobby.
>
  “Gotta few more questions,” Spicer said.

  “Of course.” I looked around and spied a conversation area off to the side. “Why don’t we go sit down.” I had a few questions myself.

  “So what’s going on?” I added when we were comfortably positioned, Spicer and Truman in two blue armchairs while I had the matching sofa to myself. I folded one leg over the other and smiled across the table at Truman, who blushed.

  “Auto repair contacted us,” Spicer grunted. “Said it looked like the car had been tampered with.”

  “That’s not good, is it?”

  He shook his head. “Seemed like a couple of nice girls. Can’t imagine why anyone’d wanna hurt either of’em.”

  “I can’t either.” Nor could they, it seemed.

  “Have you known’em long?”

  I said I hadn’t. “Aislynn and I met a couple of weeks ago, when my sister-in-law was killed. She works at Sara Beth’s Café in Brentwood, and Sheila had lunch there the day she died.”

  “This don’t have nothing to do with that, does it?” Spicer said.

  “I can’t imagine how. Sheila’s killer is behind bars, and it isn’t like Aislynn knew anything about it.” I thought for a second. “Kylie told me she has an ex-husband. Damian, I think she called him. They got divorced a few years ago, before she met Aislynn, but I suppose a certain type of man might feel resentful about being replaced by a woman.”

  “We’ll look into that,” Spicer said, making a note. “She mentioned him, but said they parted on good terms.”

  “They may have. I wouldn’t know. I’m grasping at straws here. I mean, I don’t know them well, but I can’t imagine why anyone would want to harm either of them. Are you sure about the car?”

  “The auto repair people seemed sure,” Spicer said and changed the subject. “You still driving a Volvo, Miz Martin?”

  I wrinkled my brows. It was just a few days since he’d seen my car, parked in Maybelle Driscoll’s driveway. “Yes. Why?”

  “Just thinking. The car those girls were driving was a Volvo too, wasn’t it?”

  “So? If you’re thinking I’d know how to do something to a Volvo because I own one...!” I stopped when Spicer shook his head.

  “You sure this don’t have nothing to do with you, Miz Martin?”

  Oh. “You mean, someone was trying to disable my car and got theirs instead?”

  “It could happen,” Spicer said, and Truman nodded. “Specially considering the company you keep.”

  “Rafe? I don’t see why...” But I stopped before I said anything else, because the theory made a lot of sense.

  No one seemed to have a reason for going after Aislynn or Kylie; I was a much more likely choice, to be honest. If the sabotage had taken place Sunday night, outside the coffee shop, then it was possible that someone had been aiming for my car and had gotten Kylie’s instead. They’d both been there: two blue Volvos, very similar in appearance and age. Someone might have been excused for mistaking one for the other, especially in the dark. Whoever it was might not have watched me park; had just seen me at the coffee shop and attacked the first blue Volvo they got to. Which would have been Kylie’s. Mine had been tucked away all the way at the back of the lot, beside the dumpster.

  “I can’t imagine who I might have upset lately,” I said. “I suppose Carmen Arroyo might have noticed me Friday night at Fidelio’s.” I’d certainly noticed her. I hadn’t seen Rafe glance my way at all in the restaurant, though—I’d gone home thinking I’d dodged a bullet—but I supposed it was possible Carmen had picked up on something I hadn’t. But it had to have been blatant for her to go to the extreme of trying to get rid of me, and I doubted Rafe was ever that transparent. Especially with someone he knew was a criminal.

  “Anyone else?” Spicer had his pencil poised.

  “I spoke to Heather Price the other day. Remember her? She was dating Julio Melendez back in September, when you arrested him for those open house robberies? I guess it’s possible she blames me for that.”

  “We’ll look into it,” Spicer said, writing it down.

  “What are you two doing down here in the first place? This isn’t your usual beat, is it?”

  Lyle Spicer and George Truman were patrol officers, and their beat was East Nashville. Vanderbilt University Hospital and the south side of town, where Kylie and Aislynn’s accident had happened, were out of their area. So, frankly, was the questioning they were doing.

  “When the report came in from the auto shop,” Spicer said, “it got flagged for the detective’s attention.”

  ‘The detective’ is his name for Tamara Grimaldi, as if she were the only member of the Nashville PD with that title.

  “Why?”

  “Cause of the St. Jerome’s investigation,” Spicer said. “Miz Turner’s name’s in the file cause of your sister-in-law.”

  Of course. Aislynn had been interviewed in connection with Sheila’s death since Sheila had been at Sara Beth’s for her last meal. The Nashville PD must have automated their process enough that when another report involving Aislynn Turner came in, a red flag went up.

  “Do you know anything about what the detective’s up to?” I asked. Innocently, since I didn’t want them to think I had anything invested in the answer.

  They exchanged a look. Truman tried to hide his grin but Spicer didn’t even bother.

  “Fine,” I snapped, even as I could feel myself blushing, “so I’m worried. I don’t want anything to happen to anyone.”

  “Anyone?” Spicer looked like he was enjoying himself a little too much, and Truman could hardly hold back his laughter.

  “Rafe,” I snarled. “I don’t want anything to happen to Rafe. Or anyone else either, but mostly Rafe. Do you know if anything’s going on?”

  “No,” Spicer said, taking pity on me. “Last we heard, nothing’s going on. Every squad car in Nashville’s keeping an eye out for Hector Gonzales, but nobody’s seen him. And he ain’t been in touch.”

  “They have some protection where they are, right? He and Megan Slater?”

  “Your boyfriend can take care of himself,” Spicer said. “So can Officer Slater. Plus they’ve got the detective and her team standing by, and a taskforce from the TBI. They’ll be fine.”

  “Have you been over there?” And while you’re at it, why don’t you tell me exactly where ‘there’ is?

  “No,” Spicer said, “and you ain’t going, either.”

  “Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Right,” Spicer said and didn’t try to sound like he believed me. “We’ll look into Miz Price. Meantime, why don’t you just try to stay outta trouble, Miz Martin? Just in case someone’s gunning for you, too.”

  I promised I would, but between you and me, I was still more worried about Hector Gonzales looking for Rafe than I was about someone hypothetical possibly trying to get at me.

  “Wilkins,” my ex-husband said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “That was Maybelle’s last name when she married my uncle. Wilkins.”

  Of course. “Your dad called?”

  “I called him,” Bradley said.

  “Did he have any information on Mr. Wilkins? First name? Cause of death? Did he die from a heart attack, too?”

  I was in the car, on my way back home after leaving the hospital, and while we were talking, I was navigating down the highway in the direction of home with one hand and holding the phone to my ear with the other. It had started sleeting while I was inside, which didn’t help matters. The road was slippery and the other drivers were alternately slowing to a crawl or pretending it was a bright, sunny day with no road challenges whatsoever. I wasn’t sure which segment of the driving public was more annoying at the moment.

  “Lenny,” Bradley said. “Lenny Wilkins. Might be Leonard, might not.”

  I nodded. In the South, it’s hard to be sure. People really do name their children Lenny.

  “And I don’t know what he died from,”
Bradley added. “All I know is they got married in Florence, Alabama. But I’m sure dad would have checked to make sure Lenny was really dead. If my mother could have annulled Uncle Joshua’s marriage for polygamy, she would have.”

  Having known Althea, I didn’t doubt it.

  “I’ll try to track down the information myself,” I said. After all, it wasn’t fair to expect my ex-father-in-law to have suspected Maybelle of any wrongdoing beyond being after Uncle Joshua’s money. “I appreciate the help.” I put on my turn signal and moved ponderously over in the right lane.

  “Glad to do it,” Bradley said. And hesitated. “Are you all right, Savannah?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Traffic’s a little difficult right now, but I’m holding my own.”

  A four wheel drive SUV with big, beefy tires zoomed by with a beep of his horn and a squirt of wet matter that hit my windshield. I resisted the temptation to make a rude gesture, mostly because both my hands were occupied.

  “I felt bad leaving you with that guy last night,” Bradley said. “I know you said it would be all right, but...”

  “Oh.” Right. He’d dropped me off outside the condo after dinner, long before any of the events happened at La Havana. And he must not have been watching the news. He was just concerned about having left me with Rafe. “It was. All right, I mean.”

  There was a tentative pause before he continued. “That man... was he a friend of yours?”

  “Boyfriend,” I said, looking left and right and left again before merging onto the ramp for I-65 north.

  Bradley was silent, and part of me really wished I could see his face. The tone of his voice made up for it, to some degree. “Excuse me?”

  I managed to restrain my giggle, but just barely. “I’ve known him for years. We went to high school together.”

  “He’s from Sweetwater?”

  “Uh-huh.” The ramp was ending and Interstate 65 was coming up; I concentrated on merging and cutting across a couple of lanes to put me in the right position to merge onto I-40 up the road.