Trevor groaned. “I don’t want to get in the middle of this. It’s not like you don’t have hundreds of other people you could call.”
“No one I trust.” Chris sighed. “Whit, I promise. They’ve got no proof of anything. My name will be cleared.”
Trevor kicked the tire of his truck. “They’ve got no proof, but are you guilty? Did you do this?”
“Trevor, you know me,” Chris said.
Exactly.
With his free hand, Trevor took his baseball hat off and raked his fingers through his hair. “You knew this was coming, didn’t you? You knew and you didn’t warn your wife?”
“It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Then why me? Why get me involved?”
“I knew you’d watch out for Evelyn.” Chris paused. “Like old times.” Trevor imagined him standing in the hallway of a nondescript jail, tie loose, sleeves of his pressed white button-down rolled to his elbows. “Have you seen her?”
Trevor rubbed his free hand over his stubbled chin. “The whole town saw her, man. It was on the news.”
“How’d she look?”
Trevor shook his head. “How do you think, Chris?”
“Keep an eye on her for me, would you?”
“What makes you think I’ve got time?”
“I’m not asking you to become her best friend or anything. Just check on her. From a distance.”
“How much more of this do you think she can handle?”
Chris sighed. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Just give her a call. Make sure she’s okay.”
“They think she’s involved in whatever mess you’ve made.”
Silence on the other end.
“Chris?”
“I’ll fix it, Trevor. You know me. I always fix it.” He hung up then, leaving Trevor with conflicting feelings and a new sense of dread pooling in his gut. Why he didn’t tell Chris he’d extracted Evelyn from their mansion on Brighton Street, he didn’t know. Why Chris expected him to watch out for his wife, he also didn’t know. Or appreciate. Chris obviously had no idea what this was going to do to Trevor’s years of resolve. It had been forever since he and Chris had interacted at all—wasn’t there someone else in his life to sweep up after him?
He stuffed the phone back in his pocket and picked up the box of food he’d brought for Evelyn. When he turned, he saw her standing on the porch staring at him. He let himself study her for a moment. She wore an outfit that likely cost more than his entire wardrobe, hair pulled up into a loose knot pinned to the back of her head. She looked like what she was—a senator’s wife—and nothing about her resembled the Evie he remembered.
Maybe he really had fallen in love with someone who had never existed in the first place.
“Who was that?” She stared at him with glassy eyes.
He couldn’t lie. Not to Evelyn.
“Unbelievable. He called you and not me.” She shook her head and went inside, leaving the door open behind her.
“You don’t have your phone, remember?” Trevor saw no point in telling her Chris had not, in fact, even tried to call her. Or warn her. Or do right by her.
No sense pouring salt on that wound.
He followed her inside and stood awkwardly in the doorway of the living room, staring at her back as she gazed out the window that overlooked the pasture.
“My life will never be the same,” she said, her voice quiet.
He wanted to point out that maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, but he swallowed the words. Instead he shifted the box from one arm to the other in silence.
She turned, fresh tears in her eyes. “Thanks, Whit.”
He held her gaze for too long, then looked away. “I’ll put this in the kitchen.”
She didn’t follow him. Thankfully.
Get a grip. She is not yours.
He knew that. Of course he knew that, and he would honor it no matter how difficult it was. But no number of words could convince his heart to stop caring what happened to Evelyn. He’d been trying for nearly fifteen years.
“I’m going to call Casey,” Evelyn said from the other room. “Have him tell the FBI where I am and how to reach me.”
Trevor pulled the food from the box and began putting it away in the familiar cupboards. Bread in the cabinet above the stove. Crackers and popcorn in the pantry. Coffee in the cupboard next to the sink and above the coffeemaker.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
He turned and found her standing in the kitchen, that hopeful, helpless look on her face. Was it possible he’d forgotten how beautiful she was? No, he hadn’t forgotten; he’d just stopped thinking about it. Which was what he needed to do right now. He’d walked away from her for a reason.
Remember that.
But he couldn’t leave her alone. Who else did she have?
He nodded. “Casey will know what to do. Here, you can call him on my phone.” He handed her his cell and went back to putting the groceries away.
“You don’t have to do that, Whit,” she said. “I can do it.”
“It’s fine. You’ve got enough on your mind. Go on, call Casey. I’ll finish here.”
She nodded and disappeared to the porch, leaving him alone with his thoughts, which, he discovered, drifted right onto the porch with her.
CHAPTER
5
EVELYN’S CONVERSATION WITH CASEY had gone as expected. He’d heard and seen what had happened and he couldn’t believe it. He wanted Trevor to bring Evelyn to him immediately, and he’d call the FBI to act as her liaison.
“Can I go home yet?” she’d asked him, wishing she could at least get a change of clothes. Her luncheon attire only served as a tangible reminder of the phoniness of her own life.
“I should have an answer by the time you get here.”
Now she sat in the passenger seat of Whit’s truck, listening as he hummed the melody of some country song she didn’t know and feeling comforted by the fact that in a world that seemed to change in the blink of an eye, some things about Trevor Whitney stayed the same.
Rough around the edges, Whit had always been a man of few words. Even when they were high school kids, no one ever knew what he was thinking. Over the course of their friendship, he’d opened up to her only a few times, and it was those glimpses that told her she was riding down the road with a very complicated man.
Never mind that he’d become irritable and standoffish, especially, it seemed, where she was concerned.
It was like they’d gone from great friends to perfect strangers overnight. She remembered once, not long after she and Christopher were married ten years ago, running into Whit at the grocery store.
She reached the end of the cereal aisle and nearly plowed over him, coming from the opposite direction.
“Hey, Whit,” she’d said, happy to see him for the first time since he stood beside her new husband on their wedding day.
He nodded a hello.
“I haven’t seen you since the wedding. How’s it going?”
“Fine.” He shifted.
She laughed. “Fine? That’s it? We need to catch up—I’m sure Christopher would love to see you.”
He met her eyes then. “You’re sure, huh?”
“Of course. You’re one of his best friends. Why don’t you come over for dinner Friday? I’m taking a cooking class and I’m going to make a skirt steak.”
“I’m more of a burgers-on-the-grill kind of guy. Say hi to Chris for me.” He pushed his cart past her, leaving her standing in the aisle, confused.
Later, she’d asked Christopher why Whit would be so cold to her, but he waved her off. “Why do you care what he thinks of you anyway?” he’d said.
“He’s one of your best friends,” she said.
“It might be time to make new friends, friends more like us. People like Trevor Whitney can’t understand the kind of lifestyle we’re going to live, Evelyn.”
From that point, they rarely saw Trevor anymore—an
d never socially. He became a part of her past. It shamed her how easily she’d thrown their friendship away. He might have originally been Christopher’s friend, but she’d confided in him too. In some ways, early on, Whit knew more about her than anyone else in the world.
She glanced across the console at Whit, who wore a pained expression—always. The chip was still securely fastened to his shoulder, but he’d come to help her anyway. Why?
They arrived at the Old Town building that held Casey’s second-floor office, right across from Willoughby Medical. Whit parked the truck, turned off the engine, and sat, hands still on the steering wheel.
“I can wait here,” he said, eyes focused out the window, a troubled look on his face.
“Do you mind coming in?” Evelyn hated to ask, especially him, but she needed a friend and she supposed he was the closest thing she had right now.
His jaw twitched. “I think maybe you should do this one on your own.” He didn’t move his gaze.
The words dropped in like a sneak attack and left her feeling cold and alone. “Of course. I’m sorry.” She hurried out of the truck, but before she reached the entrance to the building, she heard Whit’s door open.
“Evie.”
It had been a long time since anyone had called her that. Christopher insisted on full names. Formal and professional. It seemed so unimportant now. She stopped and faced Trevor, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere but there, with her.
“I can . . . I can come with.” He slammed the truck door. “Sorry.” He moved past her, opening the door that led to the office building, but didn’t say anything else.
She didn’t protest or say thank you. One thing she did remember was that Trevor didn’t do well with thank-yous. Or apologies. Or emotions.
Perhaps that was why the comfort of his embrace had taken her so off guard. Knowing Trevor, they would never speak of it, and that was just fine with her.
They walked up the stairs and entered Casey’s office. Casey came around his large wooden desk and greeted them.
He pulled Evelyn into a side hug, like a brother or a person who felt sorry for her would. What Evelyn really needed was a good girlfriend. Instead she had Casey and Whit, neither of whom she’d spent time with since high school.
Oh, well. Beggars couldn’t choose, right?
She sat on one end of Casey’s plush tan sofa, while Trevor awkwardly took a seat on the other end, and told him the whole sordid tale. What she knew of it anyway. He listened with only the occasional glance at Trevor.
When she finished, he stood. “You’re fine to go home. They got what they needed. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
She scoffed. “Have you seen the news lately?”
“I mean, I don’t think you’re going to be implicated. I spoke with the FBI—told them you were on your way over here, and if they wanted to charge you, to let me know. They don’t have any real reason to suspect you’re involved at this point, but they want to know what you know.”
“Nothing. I know nothing. What is there to know?”
Casey looked at Trevor, who quickly glanced away.
“What aren’t you guys telling me?” Evelyn could feel the heat as it rose from her neck to her cheeks. She felt like she was on the outside of an inside joke. Only no one was laughing.
Neither Casey nor Whit responded.
“Unbelievable. You think he’s guilty, don’t you?” Evelyn stood, eyes darting between Whit and Casey, then repeated her question. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“He took it pretty hard when he lost his family’s money,” Casey said, refusing to meet her eyes.
“So you think he started stealing from the city? And now the state?”
“Sounds like they think he started stealing long before he lost his family fortune,” Whit said.
Casey shot him a look, then returned his attention to Evelyn. “We have no reason to speculate. My only concern is for you. You’re my client—not Chris.”
“That’s great, Casey. You’re his friend. If you don’t believe him, who will?” She glared at them for a long moment before walking out the door. She knew they were no doubt talking about her, just like everyone else in town, but at the moment she didn’t care. Because while she was chastising Christopher’s friends, she was thinking exactly the same thing they were.
That her husband might have secrets that were finally coming to light.
She plodded down the stairs and out to the street but quickly remembered she didn’t have her car and was horribly at Trevor’s mercy.
She wished The Book Nook were still in Old Town. She could slip inside and hide in one of the corners. Instead she turned at the end of the block and found herself face-to-face with three women she knew there was no sense avoiding: Gigi Monroe, Doris Taylor, and Ursula Pembrooke.
They let out a collective gasp and swarmed around her on all sides, making it pointless to even attempt a clean getaway.
“There you are, Evelyn. We’ve been looking all over for you,” Gigi said, pulling her into an unwanted hug.
“How are you, dear? You must be a wreck.” Doris’s wide eyes reminded Evelyn of a close-up photo of a fly. She didn’t like being examined like that.
Still, she knew they meant her no harm. In fact, if she was going to confide in anyone other than Whit or Casey, they were probably her only choice.
“Come on, dear. Let’s go get some coffee and we’ll talk this whole thing through. We’ll help you decide what to do next.”
Evelyn didn’t respond but soon found herself being walked across the street and stuffed in the backseat of Gigi’s Buick.
Ten minutes later, the four of them were situated at a corner table at The Paper Heart, Abigail Pressman’s quaint business, which she’d opened after The Book Nook closed. The shop, a uniquely converted barn, had recently celebrated its first anniversary and hosted its second annual Paper Heart Ball. Evelyn marveled at how well the new establishment suited the young woman.
Abigail met them with coffee and a sympathetic ear. With the exception of Tess Jenkins, the entire group of Valentine Volunteers had assembled. The trouble was, instead of focusing on bettering Loves Park or making their latest match, they were all focused on her. And Evelyn didn’t love the attention.
“I’m sorry, Evelyn,” Abigail said. “But we don’t know any facts yet. Maybe it’s not as bad as it looks.”
Ursula let out a scoff from across the table that mocked the comment. “Right. It’s probably worse.”
“Ursula!” Gigi whipped her head around and gave the older lady a look that should have snapped her mouth shut. But this was Ursula, and she had no reason to play nice. Ever.
She mussed her wild gray hair in a quick scratching motion, then took the end of her purple scarf and tossed it behind her shoulder. “I’m just saying these political types are usually guilty. Whatever it is, they’re guilty.”
“This is not just some politician we’re talking about here,” Doris said. “This is Christopher Brandt. Loves Park born and raised.” She punctuated her sentence with a sharp nod.
Ursula only stared, looking as if she was making up her mind whether to point out that it didn’t really matter. Criminals were criminals and every town had at least a few.
Evelyn just wanted to go back to sleep. Maybe she’d wake up and this whole nightmare would be over.
“What can we do, dear? What do you need?” Gigi reached over the table and covered Evelyn’s hands with her own.
She shrugged. “I don’t even know. I just can’t believe this is happening.”
“Believe it, sister,” Ursula said. “Thanks to that man, your life will never be the same.”
Evelyn’s jaw went slack as she stared at Ursula, who popped the last bite of a cookie in her mouth and chewed. “Frankie always said there was no such thing as an honest politician.” Crumbs fell from her lips as she recalled her late husband’s sentiments.
Evelyn frowned. “Christopher is not a crim
inal. He wouldn’t do this.”
But even she knew the words sounded trite. She’d become that wife, the one who blindly accepted whatever tall tale her husband told her.
How had she let that happen?
No, she loved Christopher. And he loved her. There was no way she was going to presume his guilt without a shred of proof.
None of the others responded. Only the sound of Ursula’s chewing broke the silence.
“I’m sure you’re right, dear,” Gigi finally said.
“Can we talk about something else?” Evelyn turned away. “The new store looks wonderful, Abigail.”
Abigail smiled through her pity. “Thanks. I’m hoping to start some art classes for the community. You should come teach.”
Evelyn smoothed her hair. How many years had it been since she’d held a paintbrush? “Well . . .”
“Just think about it. You might like the distraction.”
“I doubt it. I think I’m going to have my hands pretty full the next few months.”
“We could talk about when we’re going to have our next meeting,” Doris said. “We’re in quite the matchmaking slump. Do you know last month was our second Valentine’s Day without a wedding since the Volunteers were assembled?”
Evelyn didn’t respond. She’d only joined the Valentine Volunteers because of their charitable work in Loves Park. Responsible for stamping letters and wedding invitations with the famous Loves Park seal, the ladies were a staple in their small, romance-obsessed town, but they did much more than decorate stationery. At its core, this small group of women took care of Loves Park. They provided meals for the sick or injured. They raised money to beautify the city. And they prided themselves on their matchmaking skills—and had quite a track record of success. They’d tried to pull her in to their tight-knit circle over the years, but Evelyn always resisted, content to float around its edges.
Sadly, none of that mattered to Evelyn at the moment. “Gigi, can you take me home?”
“Of course.” Gigi stood.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” Doris wore her standard wide eyes. “I saw on the news they were cleaning out your whole house. Those men reminded me of the crew that took E. T. away from Elliott.”
Change of Heart Page 4
