by Pamela Tracy
She’d only skidded halfway down the stairs before she saw him.
Oscar was talking to the tow-truck drivers.
No, no, no.
She tapped one of the drivers on the shoulder, getting his attention, and said, “I can’t afford this right now.” Then she glared at Oscar. “Did you call them?”
He’d been a pest yesterday, offering to stir a batch of cookie dough, offering to run her to the store, offering to pick up Ryan from preschool. She’d been able to convince him to leave only after yawning excessively and pleading the need for a nap. When she’d left the house to go pick up Ryan, he waited for her in his aunt’s SUV.
She’d accepted the ride only because she was eight months pregnant and had lied about taking a nap.
Now here he was again, eight o’clock in the morning, and doing something she hadn’t asked him to do.
“Look, Oscar, I get that you’re trying to help. But I can take care of myself, and I haven’t asked you for anything. Nor do I want it.”
“Dude,” the shorter tow-truck guy said, “did you call us out here for nothing?”
Shelley recognized the man. He’d worked as sacker at her dad’s store when he was about sixteen. It hadn’t been the job for him. Mostly because he often called the women customers dude.
“You need a vehicle.” Oscar walked over to her, and it irritated her that she took a step back. Why did he seem so much bigger than everyone else, so much more capable? It wasn’t that she minded people getting close. More that she minded him getting close. He threatened her in a way she couldn’t handle. Namely emotionally. Because it wouldn’t take but a nudge to have her grateful to be in his arms.
“Give me a few weeks and I’ll take care of it,” she said.
“They’re going to tow it to their body shop. It’s probably something small like a timing belt or transmission fluid.”
“I get it,” she growled.
“It shouldn’t cost more than a hundred dollars, which I’ll front you until you’re back on your feet.”
She looked down. “I can’t even see my feet. No.”
“I promised my aunt I would do this. She’s worried about you and nagging me.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. Come to my place and she’ll tell you.”
Shelley turned to the tow-truck drivers. “I’m sorry you came out here for nothing, and unfortunately, you can’t charge me. I didn’t call you.”
The taller man turned to Oscar. “That will be a hundred dollars. We have a base fee. Doesn’t matter if we’re used or not.”
“A hundred dollars!” Shelley sputtered. “But that’s what you were going to charge for the whole thing.”
“Yup,” the man said a little too cheerfully. She didn’t know him, but he looked an awful lot like the shorter guy. Father and son, maybe.
Oscar took out his wallet.
“Shelley,” he reasoned. “Let me do this. The money’s coming out of my pocket anyway. It might as well go for good. For Ryan.”
She hesitated. Since telling Oscar the truth, her fear had escalated a thousandfold, and she didn’t like how trapped she felt. Both good and evil wanted to dance with her, and she was too tired to run. In truth, she didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved that Oscar acted as her bodyguard. On one hand, she wanted Larry to know she would fight to the death to save herself and Ryan. On the other hand, angering Larry more was a dangerous game. Also, fighting to the death wasn’t easy when you were eight months pregnant.
“Okay,” she said to Oscar. “But it’s just a loan, and now we’re done. I’m fine. You’ve accomplished your good deed for the year. If I think of anything else concerning Candace’s murder, I’ll contact you. I need some breathing room.”
“Dude,” the shorter tow-truck guy said, “I know your dad. He managed the supermarket. And you’re the woman from the news. I read about you. Didn’t know you were pregnant.”
“Ahem.” The man who was probably his father gave him a stop it look. Then he turned to Shelley. “If you’ll just give me the keys, ma’am, we’ll be on our way. Probably have it done for you tomorrow.”
Both Oscar and Shelley watched the men hook up her car and take off. Then Oscar said, “I’ll go get my aunt’s SUV. You won’t have time to walk him to preschool.”
“I don’t mind being late.”
“It’s the last week of school, isn’t it?”
Shelley was well aware of the fact. Come next Monday, Ryan no longer would attend school every morning.
Part of her was thrilled. More time to be with him. Part of her worried. She was finally making money, but now most of her cooking would happen during nap time and bedtime.
Then there was the matter of her having the baby and needing a safe place for Ryan to stay while she was in the hospital. She’d never expected to be so alone during what should have been the best time of her life.
“He’s three. He’ll get over it,” she said.
Was that disappointment flittering across Oscar’s expression? No, not a chance. He was a Dwayne Johnson wannabe without a tender side. Cops didn’t have tender sides.
“I’ll make a contract about the money I owe you.” She turned and trudged back up the stairs, feeling older than she was.
“Let me help,” he said softly.
Halfway up, she whirled but wisely took a breath before responding. “You’ve helped enough. I kept quiet and felt...okay. Now I’ve told the truth, and every time I turn around, I worry about me, about Ryan. If you’re helping because you’re sorry you pressed me until I finally told the truth, then I don’t want your help.”
“Did you get another text from your ex-husband?”
That stopped her. She hadn’t, but she kept expecting one. She’d told, and so far it appeared her ex wasn’t aware of that fact. When he figured it out, there’d be a price to pay. And in her grumpy, too pregnant mood, she was blaming Oscar.
Unfair, yes. Possible to change, no.
“I have to help,” Oscar said.
Have to?
“No, you don’t.” It was the boost she needed to hurry up the rest of the way to her front door.
“Mommy.” Ryan waited at the top. He’d dressed himself in a white T-shirt adorned with the Batman cape from his favorite pajamas. He wore red sweatpants and one sock.
“Time for preschool,” she said brightly. “I’ll hurry and get ready.”
“You look ready,” Ryan observed.
“You look great,” Oscar agreed from the sidewalk.
Looks were deceiving.
* * *
WEDNESDAY MORNING, it all started again, and in Oscar’s mind, he’d made very little headway getting close to Shelley.
Two days in a row, she’d held him at arm’s length. He didn’t want to push any harder because if he did, she’d totally block him from any contact.
Yesterday he’d watched from a distance as she and Ryan went to the store.
His first inclination had been to offer her a ride, but he’d known, 100 percent, that she’d turn him down. Then, watching as she pulled an old red wagon with Ryan sitting inside it clutching a Thomas the Train backpack, he’d figured out that he didn’t want to give her a ride.
No, he wanted to be walking beside her, helping to pull the wagon and laughing.
Living.
For so long he’d forgotten what living life really was. For him, it was holding a warm-blooded woman while she smiled at you and your children chanted, “Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad.”
Too bad he’d decided long ago that he wasn’t cut out for marriage. So why was he thinking about it now? He should never have taken this assignment. Now he couldn’t walk away.
What he could do later on this afternoon was return her vehicle. It
was under his name at the garage, and at least he could be with her while he explained exactly what the automotive service crew had done with her faulty water pump. She’d be a captive audience. Shelley’s car should be fine.
During the briefing this morning, Riley hadn’t had much to add about the case but told Oscar to keep watching Shelley between calls. So far this morning, the only call had been about a dog pooping on a neighbor’s lawn.
Townley hadn’t had much to add this morning, either. Larry Wagner had slid back under the rock he’d come from. Oscar knew the reprieve wouldn’t be long. Both Riley and Townley thought Larry Wagner was still near Sarasota Falls and that for some reason there was unfinished business between him and Shelley.
Riley thought it might be money. Townley thought it might be the baby. Oscar didn’t think much of either theory. It was something that involved Candace, too. Then there was the woman Larry had met up with in Runyan: his next victim.
Oscar exited the police station. He grabbed a bottled water before getting on his motorcycle.
By his estimate, Shelley would be dropping Ryan off at preschool about now. He wished he could do the sensible thing and offer her a ride home, but no way would she say yes. He didn’t blame her.
He parked a block down behind a huge tree and in front of an old Jewish cemetery that he wished he had time to explore. The preschool was at one of Sarasota Falls’ biggest churches, and the parking lot was already full of people coming to pick up their little ones.
Ahead of him, Oscar watched as Shelley entered Sarasota Falls Valley Preschool. A few people stopped and exchanged words with her. That was new. She’d been alone the first weeks he’d watched her.
Ryan was skipping. Today instead of a Thomas the Train hat, he wore a Davy Crockett type, although he still carried his Thomas backpack.
Shelley wore the same red shirt from their first encounter, but this time she had on a flowing black skirt and black sandals. She didn’t look comfortable. She held her back and was walking slower than she had yesterday. He hoped she was just tired.
She made it to the sidewalk and started down the street when she was sidelined.
Oscar sat up, his first thought to start his motorcycle and zoom toward her, but at second glance he recognized the man talking to her.
Candace’s father, Jack Little. He was hard to miss as there was nothing little about him.
Oscar hopped off his motorcycle, wishing he wasn’t wearing his full uniform. Even when approaching friends, a cop in full uniform signaled a sense of formality that Oscar didn’t want right now.
They were so deep in conversation that neither Jack nor Shelley looked his way as he approached.
“I’m really sorry,” Shelley was saying. “I’ve told the police everything I can. There’s nothing to add.”
Good—she was keeping to the advice they’d given her in case the press or others cornered her.
“Jack,” Oscar said, stepping up.
“Oscar.” Jack nodded.
Shelley merely shook her head.
“Something I can help with?” Oscar was starting to feel like that was his calling card when it came to Shelley.
“No,” she said, “everything is fine. Mr. Little and I were just talking. I have some things to finish and a good walk ahead of me.”
“I can offer you a ride,” Jack said.
“No, I like walking.”
Jack gave Oscar a dirty look, first time ever, nodded and walked to his vehicle.
Oscar was torn. He wanted to tell Jack to be patient and trust the local authorities, assure him that justice would be served. That was important. But maybe Oscar should go after Shelley, who was already briskly walking away.
He chose Shelley, a vague unease telling him that should the choice arise again, he’d choose her over and over no matter the consequences.
“Shelley, wait.”
She stopped, trembling slightly but otherwise the same Shelley he was learning to respect.
“What did Jack Little want?”
“You know the answer to that. He wanted to know if I saw anything.”
“Then why are you nervous?”
She gave a half laugh. “Because he offered me a reward. He said if I provided any new information leading to the arrest of his daughter’s murderer, he’d give me a hundred thousand dollars. Can you believe it?”
Oscar did, and he also knew how much Shelley needed the money.
“Did you tell him anything?” Oscar had to ask.
“No, but I wanted to. I’ve trusted the police before. Didn’t work out too well for me.”
“This time I thought it might be different.”
She looked him up and down. “I trusted you, and I’m worried you’ll let me down.”
Was this what had her holding him at arm’s length the last day and a half? She’d trusted before, during a turbulent time, and her whole world changed. No wonder she worried.
“Won’t happen,” he promised.
“How do I know?”
That was when he made a mistake. He reached out, touching a lock of her hair and then pulling her into his arms. He’d been thinking to comfort her, but soon he knew he was comforting himself. She thought he might let her down? No way.
On the street in front of her son’s preschool, Oscar kissed her, noting how she pulled away, but then she let out a sigh and sank against him.
He wouldn’t let her down. The truth was that he was so intent on not letting her down that he just might start to think about settling down.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ROBERT TELLMASTER SAT in a rocker on his porch when Oscar pulled up in front of the house. Shelley sucked in a breath. Never, not once during the pregnancy, had she felt this bad. Oscar had offered to go back to his aunt’s and substitute the motorcycle for the SUV, and she’d reluctantly agreed to the ride home.
Oscar nodded at Robert and then turned to help Shelley from the vehicle.
“You okay?” he asked.
She put her hand over her mouth, and when he moved to help her, she waved him away.
“You’re turning green. Should I call somebody?”
She shook her head, but immediately stopped as another wave of nausea swept over her. She’d had motion sickness a couple of times just descending the steps of the apartment. Her doctor had told her to be careful.
Robert stepped down onto the front walkway and said, “Where’s your car? You getting it fixed? I’ve been meaning to ask.”
“It should be delivered today,” Oscar answered for her. She reached out and clutched at his upper arm, her fingers digging into his uniform as she dragged herself forward. She wanted inside. She wanted air-conditioning. She wanted to lie down unmoving in total darkness.
Oscar leaned toward her, and his arm went around her gently.
It wasn’t fair that the guy whose face was taking over her dreams had to see her like this.
Robert peered around Oscar, trying to get a look at Shelley. “I hope she’s all right?”
“She’s going to be,” Oscar promised, guiding his other hand under her arm. She managed to take a few steps and stay on her feet. He eyed the stairs. “I can carry you if you want.”
“No,” she hissed.
“Did you find out what’s wrong with her car?” Robert asked.
“Someone messed with it.” Oscar took one step with Shelley holding on, and then he took another. She tugged at his arm, sagged against him, until he looked at her and she begged, “Stop moving.”
He visibly swallowed, and she wanted to tell him it would be all right as soon as the town of Sarasota Falls quit tilting, and her stomach left her throat and returned to the vicinity of her belly button.
“You didn’t by any chance see anything?” Oscar was ask
ing Robert. “I’ve been meaning to stop by and talk to you.”
“My gosh, no. I’d have told you. I rented to her even though...even though...”
“Even though what?” Oscar asked patiently.
“Even though her ex-husband scares me.”
“Oscar,” Shelley said, “I’m going to be—”
“Your door unlocked?” Oscar asked Robert.
“Yes, but—”
Her feet barely touched the ground as he guided her up Robert’s front stairs and through the door. The house was icy cold and spotless. Instead of a typical living room, it held about five computers all connected and only one chair. A huge television took up one wall.
“Here you go.” Oscar helped her through a door and to the bathroom sink. “Are these towels clean?” he hollered behind him.
“Yes.” Robert had followed them.
“Just give me a minute.” Shelley managed to shut the door before bending over the sink, splashing water on her face and fighting off more nausea. She gripped the edge of the sink, liking the cool feeling, liking that her feet were in one spot and if she melted, it would be onto a floor.
She’d rather it be the garage apartment bathroom, though. But quite honestly, this might have been the cleanest bathroom she’d ever seen.
The door opened. She should have locked it. Oscar held out a glass of water and a wet washrag.
“I’ll be fine,” she told him.
“You get like this often?”
She took the water and made herself drink, slowly. Oscar dabbed at her forehead with the washrag.
“Once or twice.” The bathroom was a whole lot smaller now that he was in it. She closed the toilet lid, sat down and held the washcloth against her forehead.
“From stress?”
The room stopped swaying, and she no longer felt like she was going to throw up. She held on to the washrag a minute longer. It felt good. “You’ve read my file, right?”
“Ah, yes.”
“Then, if you do the math, you’ll figure out that I was probably several weeks pregnant the day my ex-husband disappeared.”
