LOVER COME HACK

by Diane Vallere

  THIRTY-TWO

  “Ned wouldn’t cheat on you,” I said.

  “He has. He is. He didn’t deny it.” She pointed to the computer. “I know how important it is for you to have proof, so when I couldn’t get him on the phone, I logged into his business account and I saw the credit card statements. I just talked to him and it’s all true.”

  Her use of the plural of ‘statement’ broke my heart. Ned and Connie Duncan had been the kind of clients who become friends and confidants. Ned had befriended my ex when Brad had come to Dallas to win me back, and I hadn’t thought much about the easy friendship that had sprung up between the two men. Now, knowing the lies Brad had told me, I wondered if it weren’t possible that the two men had other similarities I’d never wanted to see.

  None of that mattered right now. I put my arms around Connie and held her while her shoulders shook with sobs. “It’s going to be okay,” I said.

  “No, it’s not,” she muttered into the shoulder of my blue tweed dress. She pulled away from my hug and wiped her face. “I put a hole in the wall.”

  “That’s not a crisis. We’ve got a five-gallon drum of drywall mud and a team of experts to fix it.”

  Connie smiled. “Can I use the sledgehammer now?”

  “Let’s not get carried away.” I leaned against the front of my desk. “Do you want to get out of here?”

  She shook her head. “No. I want to help you win.”

  “At this stage, that’s not likely.”

  She stood erect and stared me straight in the face. “Renovation hath no motivation like a woman scorned.”

  “That’s embroidered on a pillow collection at the Jonathan Adler store, right?” I said with a smile.

  She forced her own smile to match mine. “I don’t want to think about this right now. I know I have to soon, but if something can take my mind off the fact that my marriage is over, then sign me up.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But if you change your mind, I’ll completely understand.”

  She pointed to the portable printer. “You don’t have a lot of time, Mads. You better get to Republic Tower. The credit card statement is right there.”

  “How about you relax for a moment while I round up the team?” She nodded and sat down on the drywall bucket.

  I found Effie and Joanie in the new (and empty) community room. “Where’s Captain Allen?” I asked.

  “I gave him the list of supplies we needed to do the exterior. He left to go let Wojo out and then get the power washer. That was okay, right? Did you get what you need to add him to the team?”

  “I still need his signature.” I dropped my voice. “We have another problem. Connie just got some bad news about Ned, and I don’t know if she wants to talk about it. I don’t want her to be left alone, okay? Joanie, you take over the sewing machine. Effie, work with Connie to load in the furniture. When Captain Allen returns, get the interior finished and start working on the exterior design. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  I collected the necessary paperwork and left. I hated knowing my professional needs had led to Connie discovering the worst about her husband, but I also believed it was far more powerful to know the truth than to live in the shadows of lies and willful ignorance. Connie’s near future was going to be dark and cloudy and horrible, but she’d emerge like I had, like Jane had, into a stronger version of herself. More equipped to handle the curveballs the universe threw her way.

  It troubled me how quickly I’d lumped Connie in with Jane, and again I found myself wondering about Jane’s recent past, the past she didn’t talk about because she was so focused on her new independence. Why hadn’t I thought about that before? There is always darkness before a storm. Jane would have been no different. The fact that I’d met her after her storm didn’t change reality. And now that she’d been murdered, maybe no one would know her darkness.

  It was shortly after lunch time, and traffic was light. I quickly covered the three miles between the apartment building and Tex’s townhouse and found curbside parking. I didn’t have time for a long confrontation, but I needed Tex’s signature to file the paperwork. My hope was that he’d understand.

  The doorbell went unanswered, as did the pounding. I let myself in with his keys and climbed the stairs. “Tex?” I called. “It’s Madison. I need your signature.”

  No reply.

  I reached the landing. The box Tex had with him at Thelma Johnson’s house sat on the counter next to a box marked Dog Poop bags. I must have just missed him taking Wojo out.

  How long could it possibly take for a Shi Chi puppy to poop? I stared at the box next to the Dog Poop bags. Wojo better hurry up, because I was running short on restraint.

  One peek. I deserved a peek, right? Tex had broken the rules by getting me a present. I could break the rules and see what it was. He claimed he’d gotten me something to wear. The idea was equal parts amusing and scary. Tex knew I was my own woman, and the thought of him trying to make me over in Nasty—or anybody else’s—likeness was unwelcome. I was going to have to pretend to like whatever was in that box, and it was going to be a whole lot easier if I had time to prep for that moment.

  I lifted the corner of the box and saw cream wool with red pinstripes. Immediately I knew the fabric was old.

  The door between the garage and the kitchen opened and Wojo and Tex came in. I was so startled, I jumped, knocking the box onto the floor. The lid fell off. The garment, a vintage baseball jersey, fell out and landed on the black leather bar stool, dangling inches above Wojo’s water bowl.

  “Night,” Tex said. His eyes moved from me to the empty box on the counter to the uniform and back to me. Wojo took off into the townhouse and up the stairs. “What are you doing here?”

  “I need your signature.”

  With shaking hands, I opened the folder and pulled out the sheet of paper. I handed it to Tex. He signed it and handed it back.

  “Thank you,” I said. I felt stiff and awkward. I knew I’d seen the contents of the box. Tex knew I’d seen the contents of the box. Yet neither one of us mentioned the contents of the box. “I’m in kind of a hurry.”

  He nodded.

  I got as far as two steps down the staircase before I turned back around. “Is that for me?” I pointed to the box.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s the box you brought to my house. I think it’s a vintage Philadelphia Phillies uniform from the sixties.”

  “And?”

  Not many people in Dallas knew I used to play baseball. Somewhere along the way I’d told Tex. He knew I was from Philadelphia. He knew I’d left everything behind. With an itchy wool uniform from the decade when we were both born, Tex had given me that common ground I’d been hoping to find.

  “And…I think it’s just about the most personal present anybody’s ever given me.” I climbed back up the stairs and lifted the jersey from the barstool and held it up. That’s when I saw number “15” with “ALLEN” on the back.

  I lowered the shirt. “Allen? Are you kidding me?”

  Tex grinned. “Richie Allen was Rookie of the Year in ’64. I couldn’t resist.”

  I was swimming in emotions. “When this VIP stuff is over, I’ll come back and finish your bedroom.”

  “No rush. Let’s call it a work in progress.”

  “Deal.”

  I put the baseball jersey back in the box and carried it to my car. Tex’s Jeep was in the garage, which I would have known if I hadn’t parked on a side street. I was eager to get back to the work on the apartment building. For the first time in six months, I felt my future was tangible and exciting and not something to dread.

  I parked under Republic Tower in a space near the coffeehouse. The impact of my sleepless night in jail was hitting me, and a boost of caffeine would help. The bell over the door announced my presence to the otherwise em
pty cafe. Paxton popped up from behind the counter and smiled. “Hey, Madison,” he said. “Long time no see.”

  “Is a week a long time in your world?”

  “In a store where my regulars come in three times a day, yes.”

  “Point taken.” I ordered a large coffee. Paxton’s expression shamed me into revising my order. “Scratch that. Tall vanilla latte.”

  “You got it.”

  I stood off to the side and browsed the baked goods while he set to work. The process of making elaborate coffees was an art I’d never learned to appreciate. For me, coffee was more about caffeine than taste—necessity over satisfaction—but I supposed there were those who viewed interior design the same way. I shifted my focus from the trays of miniature Bundt cakes and scones to the paintings that hung on the exposed brick walls. I’d seen the paintings before on each of the countless times Jane and I had met here to work on our collaboration but had never taken time to inspect them up close. What I’d first seen as paintings I now recognized as black and white photographs of nondescript architecture that had been digitally printed on canvas and then painted to capture their former glory, or what they could be if someone paid attention to them now.

  Paxton joined me by the wall and handed me my beverage. “I can tell a lot by a person based on how they react to the art. Most people don’t look twice.”

  “Until today, I was one of those people.”

  “What changed?”

  I held up the cup. “You forced me to wait for my drink.”

  He smiled and turned back toward the wall. “I’ve always loved this series. The longer you look at them, the more you see. Jane was a genius at including details in her paintings.”

  “Jane?”

  Paxton gave me a funny look. “Jane. Your friend. These were hers.” I stared at him for a few seconds, not processing. “She made them. When she worked for that big design firm, she had access to their library of floor plans. She used to say the floor plans were the purest part of the house. No matter what the building ended up looking like when it was done, the plans were a thing of beauty.”

  There was something about the tragic way Paxton spoke about Jane, about her belief in the purity of something as simple as floor plans that told me he knew Jane better than I thought.

  “Jane was more to you than a customer, wasn’t she?”

  He nodded. “Jane was everything to me. When she was married, she was safe. But now, she’s gone and it’s all because of them.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  “Who?” I asked.

  “The men in her life. She had a revolving door on her bedroom and one of them killed her.”

  “Jane wasn’t happily married,” I said. “Her divorce granted her the freedom to make those decisions. She wanted to make up for lost time.”

  “For twenty-five years, Jane played it safe with a guy who took advantage of her talents and ignored her as a woman. Their divorce was the best thing that happened to her. When she came in here after it was final, she was like a lit candle. Bright, passionate, and wide-eyed, like she was seeing the world for the first time. I actually thought—” he stopped talking and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Sterling Webster got to her first. Scene and curtain.”

  I glanced at the clock on the wall. As much as I wanted to find out how many of Jane’s secret relationships Paxton knew about, I had to get upstairs and turn in my paperwork in the next twenty minutes or be disqualified from the competition.

  “Paxton, I’m sorry to be abrupt, but I have to get to DIDI before they close. Can we talk tomorrow?”

  “Sure. I’ll be here all day.”

  I left the coffee shop and climbed in the elevator. While it climbed the twenty-three stories, I sipped my beverage. The latte had cooled considerably, and I gulped down several swallows to quickly get the effects of the caffeine. The doors pinged open and I got off, tossed the remainder of the beverage in the hall trash, and entered the DIDI offices.

  The front desk was vacant. I hadn’t gone to all this effort to leave my files in an inbox, so after about twenty seconds of looking around the lobby, I ventured down the hall toward the sound of male voices. I discovered two men conversing in a conference room with glass walls. One was Gerry Rose, the older gentleman who had carried Jane’s body to the lobby the day she died. He was sartorially appointed in a chocolate brown and ivory wool three-piece suit with a bold windowpane pattern that recalled the flamboyant style of one of the appraisers on Antiques Roadshow. The other man was the blond and blow-dried Sterling Webster. I hadn’t responded to his flowers, and as much as I didn’t want to talk to him, I didn’t see a way around it.

  I tapped on the glass door. The two men seemed to notice me for the first time. Sterling flashed a grin. Gerry waved me in.

  “Madison Night. We haven’t been formally introduced, but I’d recognize you anywhere. Gerry Rose.” He held out his hand. “I was just explaining to Sterling here that I was expecting you.” He pointed to the folder under my arm. “I assume that’s your paperwork?”

  “Yes.” I looked from him to Sterling and back. “I would have left it with your receptionist but she’s not at the desk.”

  “I told her to leave early. Republic Tower needed an isolated window of time to conduct tests on the computers, make sure the security systems are all functioning properly after the recent hacking. I let everyone go at three.” He turned to Sterling. “I appreciate your concerns, and I’ll get back to you after I’ve had a chance to consider your proposal. If you don’t have anything else for me, I’m going to help out Ms. Night.”

  The two men left the conference room and I followed them to the front desk. I watched Sterling’s back until he disappeared around the corner by the elevator wells.

  “How’s the entry?” Gerry asked.

  “It’s slowly coming together.”

  “Last minute team member substitution two days before the deadline—you cut that awfully close.” He signed the document with a flourish and set his pen down. “It’s official. The judging panel will be on site at five a.m. on Monday morning, and it won’t look good if you’re still working.”

  “I’m confident that we’ll not only be done, but that we’ll knock your socks off.”

  He smiled. “You know, Madison, you’ve made a real splash around here. Your portfolio is relatively small—a kitchen here, a living room there—but everyone at DIDI is impressed by what you’ve accomplished on your own. If you ever decide you’d like an influx of cash to scale your business, you just let me know. Standing offer.”

  I was surprised by the words of praise. “Thank you,” I said. “But if I’ve learned anything from my short involvement with DIDI, it’s that I like my independence.”

  He lay my paperwork face down on a scanner and pressed a button. Lights came on and out chugged a duplicate copy. “You were a good influence on Jane,” he said. “Too bad she lacked your confidence and vision.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She was a technician. She could research design elements and follow instructions, but she lacked ideas. It’s one of the reasons she was more successful working for me than she ever would have been on her own.”

  “Jane had vision,” I said immediately. “She was one of the most determined women I’ve ever met. She wanted to make up for lost time. That’s why winning VIP was so important to her.”

  “Jane had no chance of winning VIP, and if the two of you hadn’t had a falling out, you would have had no chance of winning either. The designs she submitted with your name on them weren’t hers. She stole them from my company when she left and thought I wouldn’t catch on.”

  “How do you know about our falling out?”

  “Madison,” he said gently. “When I discovered the design theft, I contacted Jane immediately. You were to be my next phone call. She insisted I let her tell you herself. We all heard abou
t your fight in the lobby the day she died. I don’t like encouraging the gossipmongers, so I didn’t say a word, but I was personally thrilled when you submitted your own design later that day.”

  “That’s not what we fought about,” I said. “She didn’t say anything about being disqualified. Your receptionist said she was here to drop off her entry, and her email to me had nothing to do with VIP.”

  “Oh?” He looked interested.

  “It was about something personal.”

  Gerry looked like he expected more, but I chose not to elaborate. “That’s too bad,” he finally said. “All this time, I thought you knew the truth, but it sounds to me like she was embarrassed by the truth and wanted an easy way out.” He shook his head. “That’s the thing about character. It either speaks for itself, or it doesn’t.”

  In the ensuing silence, I laid the signed paperwork on the desk and took a picture and then texted it to Tex with a note: Get back to work. I slid the paper into the outside pocket of my white laptop case and turned toward the door and then turned back.

  “Gerry, perhaps I’m mistaken, but just now I got the impression you expected me to accept your offer to invest in my business. If you really do believe everything you said about me, why would you think I’d say yes?”

  He shrugged. “Your clientele is dedicated, loyal, and hates everything my company stands for. If you said yes, I would have succeeded in eliminating my competition while providing you a platform for your own expansion.” He locked eyes with me, and I saw the shrewd businessman who had built his own company from the ground up and had gone on to help the Design In Dallas Initiative. “Times are tough for everyone, Madison. Taking money from me would not be the worst decision you made.”

  “But you just said—”

  “I said Jane’s entry was disqualified. That’s why she was here the day she died. I notified her by phone and she came here in person to confront me. When it became clear I wouldn’t change my mind, she tried to pressure Sterling Webster to add her to his team. I can’t say they were a fit, but it was the only way she was going to participate in VIP.” Gerry seemed pensive. “I can’t say for certain that Sterling’s team isn’t better off without her.”