LINKED (The Bening Files Book 1)

by Rachel Trautmiller

  “Okay.” He hesitated a second, those brown eyes always a little pensive. “Don’t you like us anymore?”

  Rupert groaned.

  McKenna ruffled his hair. Shawn was the only thing she missed about her relationship with Rupert. The little boy was probably the reason she’d stayed as long as she had. “Of course I like you, goof-ball.”

  One of his hands went to his nose, a finger coming dangerously close to submersion in one nostril. “You never come over like you used to.”

  Okay. How did she handle this? “I know, buddy, and I’m sorry, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”

  The finger made contact and plunged inside. “You just don’t like daddy.”

  “I like your dad just fine.” McKenna pulled Shawn’s hand away from his nose. “That’s gross.”

  “Marleen, from school, says boys are supposed to be gross.” He wiped his finger on his pajama bottoms. “Otherwise, girls would like them and get married and have babies way too young.”

  A strangled laugh came from Jordan.

  Hmm, yes, boys were gross. Men—one man in general, not so much.

  “Marleen’s parents are OB/GYN’s.” Rupert crossed his arms, his gaze locked on his son. “I thought we talked about repeating everything you hear.”

  The boy turned toward his dad, pleading in his eyes. “But if she doesn’t think you’re gross or anything, she could marry you.”

  Not good. McKenna cleared her throat. “Someday when you’re older, we can talk about this.”

  The kid’s shoulders slumped. “That’s what dad says.”

  “How about if I take you to McDonald’s? Right now.”

  The boy’s eyes got big, his smile coming in a close second. He turned toward his dad. “Can we do that?”

  McKenna expected Rupert to refuse.

  “That’s fine.” Relief flashed across his face.

  “Yay!” Shawn jumped into her lap and threw his arms around her neck, nearly toppling her over in the process. “Then I can tell you all about the man I saw.”

  “What man?” Jordan asked.

  “What do you mean?” Rupert said at the exact same moment.

  Shawn looked around, his eyes resting on Jordan for a minute as if he were asking for help. “The man who crashed into our house.” His voice was quiet. “I know you said not to yell, Dad, but I did. I yelled at him.”

  “When did this happen?” Jordan’s voice came out calm, but an undercurrent of worry floated to her ears.

  Rupert put his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. “Around three this morning. While the firefighters dowsed the flames, I talked with the police.”

  Shawn stood. “I didn’t mean to yell at him. I’ll never do it again. I promise.”

  Jordan hunkered down next to McKenna. “Hey, Shawn, I’m Jordan. McKenna and I work together.” He held his hand out as if Shawn were an adult.

  The little boy glanced at Jordan’s gesture, his face drawn in a skeptical frown. “You’re a policeman, too?”

  “Yep.”

  Shawn’s eyes lit up and he stuck his tiny hand in Jordan's. “Cool. Can I see your badge?”

  “Sure. Think you can answer some questions for me first?”

  Shawn glanced at Rupert. “Am I in trouble?”

  Jordan laughed, the motion making his eyes wrinkle in the corners. “No, not with me, you're not.”

  “Everything’s fine.” His dad paced a few feet away and then back.

  Sometimes McKenna hated this job. In a perfect world, they would never have to question anyone about a crime, much less a kid.

  From Jordan’s pained looked, she could tell he was thinking the same thing. “Shawn, did you tell anyone about the man you saw?”

  He shook his head.

  “What were you doing before you yelled at this man?”

  “I was looking for my daddy. I needed some water and he wasn’t in his bed. I heard a loud noise downstairs.” The boy looked down at his hands. “I ran down there ’cause I thought something happened to him. Like what happened to Grandpa and Grandma.”

  Jordan pulled Shawn into his lap. Shawn sat there as if he’d known Jordan all his life and trusted him.

  Since they were kids, people gravitated toward him, herself included.

  “Dad says they went to heaven.” He bit his lip, his big, brown eyes searching Jordan’s face. “My friend, Jimmy, at school told me his mom said they got what they deserved because they were bad people.”

  Rupert moved toward them, but McKenna waved him back.

  “Were they bad?” Worry laced Shawn’s words.

  “Forget about what Jimmy said, okay?” Jordan started rubbing his back. “Sometimes kids say mean things to get attention or because they don’t understand what’s going on.”

  “’Kay.”

  “Was you’re dad downstairs when you got there?”

  “I couldn’t see him.” Tears clung to the boy’s lashes. He toyed with the edge of his pajama top and sniffed a couple of times. “There was a car covering his favorite chair in the living room.”

  “Were you scared?”

  “I thought he was sitting there and the car drove over him. I wanted to check, but a big man smashed some glass and got out of the car. That’s when I yelled at him, but he didn’t hear me.”

  The best thing for everyone.

  McKenna tried not to harbor too much hope when Jordan asked, “Can you tell me what the man looked like?”

  Shawn thought a moment. “He had a black hat that covered his whole face, except for his eyes and mouth.”

  “Was he as tall as your dad?”

  Shawn wiped his nose on his sleeve, then picked at a scab on his arm. “Maybe.”

  “Is there anything else you can remember?”

  Shawn thought a moment, then shook his head. “Can we still go to McDonald’s?”

  “Yeah, sport.” Rupert rubbed the back of his neck.

  McKenna glanced at Jordan. “I’ll be back in about thirty minutes.”

  “Take my truck,” he said.

  McKenna quickly changed into a clean pair of jeans, threw on a bra and a long sleeve shirt, her gun holstered at her hip. She gathered up their remaining discarded clothing from the night before and threw it in a pile on Jordan’s bed. Two warm hands clamped down on her shoulders and spun her around.

  “Hey.” Jordan kissed her, slow and easy, as if they had all the time in the world. “That’s better.”

  She chuckled, then sobered, unsure how to proceed. How much had he overheard? Her stomach was tying itself in knots imagining his thoughts. Because he was important to her, in a way that no one else had ever managed to touch. Since they were kids, in one way or another, it had been only Jordan.

  The realization was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. Thoughts of Matthew's letter surfaced. Why hadn't he told her about it?

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” Maybe for the first time in ten years, despite everything.

  “Not regretting last night?”

  “No.” One evening in his house coupled with much needed truths and she’d been unable to resist him. “You?”

  “Not a chance. I’m plotting when I can get you alone next.”

  A giddy feeling spread throughout her body. “I like the sound of that.”

  He grinned, a dimple on one side of his face surfacing. “Any other angry boyfriends I should know about, Slick?” Like in Vegas, the protective blaze in his eyes didn’t match the teasing words. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something else, but then didn’t. “Here’s the keys. Shawn’s waiting impatiently by the front door.”

  “Thanks.” A sliver of tension crept into the room. She wanted to crawl back into bed with him and start their day over. “Try not to maim anyone while I’m gone.”

  ###

  Longing covered Rupert’s face as he tracked Shawn and McKenna’s movement out of the house.

  A blinding need to have Rupert banned from any
thing that involved McKenna rushed through Jordan’s veins.

  Burning curiosity made him tamp down his irritation.

  “Thanks for what you did with Shawn.” Rupert shoved his hands in his pockets. “He knows they died, but not much else. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Just because they had a potential pissing contest on their hands didn’t mean he would intentionally hurt an innocent child. Moron. What had McKenna seen in this guy? “Coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  Jordan walked into the kitchen and loaded the coffee maker. When it was ready, he grabbed two mugs from the cupboard and filled them to the brim.

  Rupert accepted the steaming cup. “How's the nose?”

  “About the same as your eye.”

  He nodded, then sipped the warm, caffeinated liquid. “How’d you do it?”

  “What?”

  “I couldn’t get her to spend the night with me.”

  No. Way. Not going there.

  “It looks like you’ve got her moved in here.”

  “Mostly.” He didn’t owe Rupert any more than that, even though the facts sat on the tip of his tongue, clawing for release. Something stopped him short of hopping around like a dodo bird, shouting, “Mine!” McKenna hadn't told Rupert off with the truth either. Unsure what to make of that and not wanting to further their mutual dislike of one another, Jordan remained silent. Let Rupert think what he wanted. The main goal here didn’t include McKenna, but getting to the bottom of Mr. and Mrs. Gaidies’ deaths.

  “She still got her place on Stockwood?”

  “Nope.” The lie came easily. “Look, this isn’t the locker room. Have a seat at the table. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

  Rupert seemed to take the hint that their conversation concerning McKenna was over, pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “Want to tell me why you're banging on my door before six in the morning?”

  “I've been doing some investigating, and things aren't adding up.”

  “Really? Care to explain?” Jordan grabbed his mini-recorder and joined him at the table.

  The other man glared at the small black instrument and didn't say anything. It was going to be a long day.

  “Look, let’s start simple.” He clicked the recorder on. “What where you doing at eight-thirty, the night your mom died?”

  Rupert hit the stop button and his eyes never left Jordan’s. “I want to be involved in the investigation.”

  “That’s not possible.” Was this guy delusional? He scanned Rupert’s hands and arms for signs of any type of burns and found none visible just as McKenna had claimed.

  “I have information you want, Agent Bening. In exchange, I want to know who, how, what, when, where.”

  Jordan hit the record button. “The details you give me will keep you out of prison. I think that’s a fair trade.” He leaned closer. “You’re right, a lot of things aren’t adding up, but it’s all starting to point to you. Think about your son, Rupert.”

  He seemed to consider that for a moment. “Where was I at eight-thirty? On my way across town. In my car. Alone.”

  “We’ve already covered this.”

  “On my way, I was pulled over by a State Trooper for speeding.” He pulled a pink piece of paper out of his wallet and shoved it at Jordan. “Sixty in a forty-five.”

  He picked it up and read the contents. Officer Tacoma wrote up the ticket at eight-twenty-six on Culver Lane. One mile from Rupert’s parent’s house, headed south, not north. Headed away. “Was that so hard?”

  Rupert scoffed.

  “Any reason for the hurry?”

  He looked far off for a moment. “She knew I was mad at her. Had been for weeks.”

  “Your mom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because of the affairs?”

  Rupert folded his arms across his chest. “Think what you want, but I didn’t kill her. I was angry, yes, but the kind of angry that makes you avoid calls, not strangle someone.”

  “You were headed away from your mom’s house?”

  “Yes. She called me in the middle of a meeting earlier in the day. Asked me to run an errand for her. Said it was important. And it couldn’t wait.”

  Had Emily Gaidies known her fate early on in the day? “What time was this at?”

  “Three. Three-thirty.” Rupert stared at his now clamped hands on the table. “I said I’d help her out as soon as I could just to get her off the line. It didn’t sound like any kind of emergency.

  “She asked me to pick up some flowers for a friend. That she was tied up and couldn’t spare the time. I asked why she couldn’t have one of her housekeepers run this errand. Or pay a delivery service. She said she only trusted me.”

  “How many household staff members did your mother have?”

  “At least two or three. I think they rotated shifts, their schedules coinciding once a week or so.”

  “Any of them ever stay into the evening hours?”

  “Rarely.”

  He nodded. That seemed to jive with what Mr. Gaidies had already told them.

  “My day was hectic at best. I already had the nanny going with Shawn to his last soccer game of the season after I promised to take him. I still had two more meetings and a pile of paperwork to finish. By the time I looked up at the clock, it was eight.”

  “So you rushed out to where, Rupert?”

  “I stopped at the house. We had an awkward conversation about Shawn and then she rushed me out the door when she realized I hadn’t picked up the flowers.” He looked up then. “You know that flower shop down on Third Street? Been there for years. Sells all sorts of unique pieces and arrangements. Flowers De Char Lynn. The shop is—was a favorite of hers.”

  Jordan knew he wouldn’t like whatever came out of his mouth next. Remain calm.

  Rupert hesitated, stretching each second into a tiny lifetime. “I got there two minutes before they closed. Picked up an expensive looking vase filled with lilies. My mom had given me an address and a name, but I hadn’t paid much attention to it at first. Somewhere on Sugar Creek Road. I passed house after house until I hit the cemetery. I figured she had to be wrong. So I circled back.”

  Jordan couldn’t stop his heart from kicking up. He had to be wrong. It didn’t make any sense.

  “I figure this is where I earn my keep. You know, where you agree to let me have what I want. And I give you what you want.”

  Jordan refused to give an inch. He’d handled much worse in his life, he could handle this. “Which grave did you put the flowers on?”

  Rupert didn’t blink, didn’t seem to breathe. He’d seen that look before. From Birmingham. The thought swirled around his brain.

  “They weren’t friends, were they, Jordan? They ran in different circles. Cassidy Bening and Emily Gaidies could’ve passed each other on the street and not known the difference. I’ve searched through all my mom’s belongings—the things you let us keep, anyway. I can’t find one clue that says the opposite.”

  “Just because there's no physical documentation that they knew each other doesn't point to anything.” Jordan had a difficult time swallowing. “So, you left flowers at a grave. Anything seem off?”

  “Besides the fact that I was there at dark, no.”

  “So, the gravesite wasn’t disturbed in any way?”

  Rupert’s eyebrows slammed together. “What? No. Forget about the cemetery.”

  Not in this lifetime.

  “It doesn't add up. My dad wouldn't kill himself. I know he didn't.”

  “We're looking into it.”

  Rupert scrubbed a hand across his face. “I would think you, of all people, would understand.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I get my mom's weird request not twenty-four hours before her subsequent—” His hands flexed in front of him. “Death. McKenna's car is stolen, then my dad commits suicide and now my living room has a gaping hole in it. I mentioned the flowers to him. What if he was looking into her death?
What if he stumbled onto something and whoever killed her found out?”

  The Flowers De Char Lynn card McKenna had pulled from Mr. Gaidies desk held more importance, now. “It's a possibility, but this isn't television. Things aren't always that clear cut.”

  “Tell me all of this isn't somehow related. I would love to hear that.”

  He'd been thinking the same thing last night. McKenna's car in Rupert's living room only solidified things.

  It was happening again.

  “Look.” Rupert took a giant breath. “I know this isn't conventional, but I don't know where else to go.”

  McKenna stepped into the kitchen, a McDonald’s bag in one hand, the other holding Shawn’s hand. Her gaze connected with Jordan’s. Worry lingered beneath her blue eyes, telling him all he needed to know. She'd heard the most important parts of their conversation.

  If what he suspected was true, he needed answers fast. Before anyone else got hurt.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “It cost four-thousand-five-hundred and nineteen dollars?”

  “Four-thousand-five-hundred-nineteen dollars and ninety cents, to be exact.” The bored voice on the other end of the phone from McKenna had to belong to a young college student. Probably had the phone wedged between her ear and shoulder as she filed her nails.

  “Mrs. Gaidies asked us to get the most unique piece we had available. We had to fly it in from Europe. She is—was a regular patron. A customer like that, you try to keep. Still, meeting her specifications didn’t make the purchase cheap.” She paused as if she’d run out of pre-written sentences. “Besides, have you seen that arrangement? It’s Felicity’s best work. One hundred lilies don’t fit in a vase easily, no matter how much you pay for it.”

  “Right. Thanks for your time.”

  McKenna disconnected the call and pulled into a service station a few miles from the Sussex II prison’s gates in Waverly, Virginia. She purchased a bottle of water and a granola bar, along with her gas even though she doubted she could consume more than a little of either.

  She didn’t know what she would say to Matthew when she got there, she just knew she had to see him. Today. He hadn't given any details about Cassidy's death or the days leading up to it, in that letter. Maybe he would in person.