She swerved. After righting the car, she waited a minute to say, “And when did you decide that?”
“I’ve known it for a long time. It didn’t seem worth mentioning before the accident as I didn’t know how Sebastian felt. After the accident, I thought it was too late.”
“And when he woke up?” Kat asked so softly I almost didn’t hear her above the road noise.
“I guess I was waiting to see when he’d remember me. If he was going into a coma again, I thought it wouldn’t matter.”
“It always matters, Les.”
I threw my head back and blew out my breath. “Hello? I said I had regrets.”
“Sorry.” She looked at me speculatively. “You could ask Connor …”
“Already thought about that. It’d get him fired.”
“Yeah. Sorry, Les. If you want me to help, I’ll do anything.”
If I wasn’t mourning, I would have smiled. “I know. Thanks.”
As she pulled into the police station, she said, “I mean it. Anything. We could break into the townhouse when Connor isn’t there. Getting someone else fired would be okay, right?”
This time I did smile. “If we’re going to talk about breaking and entering, maybe we shouldn’t do it at a police station. Time to get your game face on. Let’s learn what we can about Adam Reich.”
As I left the car, I suddenly felt better. It still bothered me that Sebastian was alone at his house and that I’d never see him again. But I felt lighter for telling Kat that I loved Sebastian.
At the front desk we were directed back to an open bullpen where John Fujikawa sat. He pulled up a second chair for me. Even looking professional in a business suit, I could easily imagine Kat being arrested. If she didn’t change her seedy activities, she and Officer Fujikawa could one day be having a very different conversation.
He kindly asked after Sebastian. In turn, Kat thanked him for keeping Sebastian and then Dog apprised of the search for Adam Reich.
“Leslie and I just found out about it recently, but my husband agrees with us that Leslie and I can better protect ourselves knowing as much we can about our stalker.”
His eyebrows rose. “We have no proof that Reich is stalking you.”
Kat smiled agreeably. “You’re absolutely correct. But after his sister fired a gun at us, isn’t there a possibility he’s after us, too? He vanished after his sister was arrested for killing a member of Leslie’s family. You can imagine our anxiety.”
Kat nudged me with her foot, so I swallowed a couple of times and twisted my purse straps nervously. I also didn’t correct her. An Abishag is never really part of her husband’s family, and Annette killed a Crowder, not a Greene.
The next part was dull. I figured that Kat only dragged me along thinking she’d get more from the police if I was present … according to her mistaken notion that I brought out the protective instinct in males. Since Kat only wanted me there to look wan and frightened, I drew shuddering breaths and fiddled with my necklace at four minute intervals.
When the policeman produced it, I did study the picture of Adam Reich. Which only reminded me that a driver’s license photo never looked like the person. At least I hoped mine didn’t. Anyway, I didn’t recognize Reich.
I didn’t pay attention to the lengthy list of Adam Reich’s confirmed and unconfirmed sightings. Except for fiddling with my purse straps and exhaling shuddering breaths now and then, I started thinking about other matters. Like, talking to Kat about setting one of her Irregulars on Patricia Hazelton. She had to be Enemy Number One with her access to the campaign records and the cap-toed military-chic boots she wore. She just reeked of criminality.
Illogically, I wished we could blame Sebastian’s brother Duarte. I know that family members were usually the first suspect and it had been his motorcycle that almost killed Sebastian. But for the same reasons I didn’t believe Adam Reich had tried to kill Sebastian, I didn’t believe it was Duarte, either. Family can’t be blamed for everything.
Then something Officer Fujikawa said registered, and I dropped my purse.
“That’s impossible!”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“It’s only been two years,” Kat protested. “How can Annette Reich be up for parole now?”
The policeman shrugged. “No one believes she’ll be released. You should have been contacted about the hearing. The victims are invited, and the DA usually asks one to speak. The detective on the case will be there.”
Kat and I exchanged a glance. “We moved to Sebastian’s place almost two months ago,” I said. “Maybe they only had our old house address.”
“There are other ways to contact us,” she groused.
Too stunned to continue, we asked Officer Fujikawa to make copies of Adam Reich’s picture. While we waited, I twisted my necklace, no longer pretending to be anxious. Kat texted a note to Dog.
“Should we tell Tina?” Kat asked, her thumbs flying on her iPhone. “Annette Reich killed her cousin after all.”
Feeling bitter, I shook my head. “The District Attorney probably contacted her to speak at the hearing. Why would they call the Abishag?”
Kat pocketed her phone and studied me, her brow furrowed. “I should have let you stay home today, right?”
I rubbed my temple. “Yeah, maybe. I just wish …”
Officer Fujikawa returned then, a good thing since I didn’t know how I planned finishing that sentence.
Back at the house, I kicked off my huaraches, said hello to Dog reading the newspaper in the living room, and headed for the kitchen.
Since it was almost lunch time, I made a stack of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and sliced up apples for lunch. Moments like these, I missed Mrs. Timmons the most. I blended iced coffee for Kat and me with milk, cinnamon, and chocolate syrup, and took the whole shebang into the living room. Overdressed for wallowing at home (which seemed more a pajamas thing), I stretched out on the loveseat in my Vera Wang tunic and tights. Dog reached for a PB&J from the couch. Kat eyed me from Dog’s old recliner.
“You want to talk about Annette’s hearing?” she asked.
“No.” I licked at the chocolate smeared on my glass rim. Ignoring us, Dog rattled the newspaper.
“How about discussing your Dad’s campaign finances?”
“That’d be a big Definitely Not.” I studied my feet. I needed a pedicure. Now that I wasn’t caring for Sebastian, I’d have more time for pedicures. That thought made me feel even more depressed.
“If we were talking about campaign finances,” I said, “which we are not, I’d remind you to send one of your crew to investigate Patricia, as she’s obviously guilty.”
“If we were talking about campaign finances,” Kat said, sweetly. “I’d tell you that Fitz checked her out.”
If Kat kept talking, I would have no time at all to be depressed. Bottling my emotions could have repercussions later on or so I’ve heard. If I didn’t deal with my grief now, I’d probably grow hard and bitter and speak unkindly to children.
If I didn’t let my feelings for Sebastian go, then maybe I’d be too afraid to love again. What was I thinking? I would never love anyone again like I loved Sebastian. It hurt too much.
When I looked up, Dog had piled the newspapers on the floor and finished another sandwich while watching me intently. Oddly enough, Kat remained silent.
I shrugged. “I give up. Tell me what Fitz found out.”
“Patricia Hazelton is a cipher.”
“Huh?”
“Patricia Hazelton didn’t exist before two months ago.”
I sniffed irritably. “That’s what you said yesterday about the other guy, Flash Rollins.”
“Storm Rollins,” Dog corrected me.
“Whatever. Maybe campaign workers don’t give their real names. Maybe it’s a political thing or they’re afraid of being associated with the losing candidate.” I sank further into the cushions. “If I was campaigning for my dad, I wouldn’t give my real name either.”
/> “Or ...” Kat straightened so fast, her frappuccino sloshed dangerously. “Maybe they’re actually working for Lincoln Brock and trying to sabotage your dad’s campaign?”
“Who?”
She huffed with loud exasperation. “The guy your dad’s running against.”
“Oh.” I thought for a minute. “That would be an excellent reason not to give your real name. You think Patricia and Storm are spying on dad’s campaign together? Fiddling with Vote Greene’s finances, too?”
Kat pulled out her cell phone. “I’ll ask Fitz to show their pictures at Brock’s campaign headquarters. Stanley’s already running their photos online hoping for some hits.”
My eyes stung with tears. I didn’t realize that our old roommate was helping Kat in the investigation. Stanley worked long hours in his cyber security business, and it was sweet of him to do this.
“Les?” Finished texting Fitz, she and Dog were back to staring at me.
To hide my tears, I ducked my head and guzzled my frappuccino. “Yeah?”
“May we talk about Adam Reich now?” she asked.
“Can’t it wait? He’s not coming after us, and we’ve got bigger problems.”
She frowned. “How can you know he’s not coming after us?”
“If he attacked Sebastian, he must have waited two years for a reason. The reason was probably because of his sister’s hearing. And it would make more sense for him to attack the Crowders, not us.”
“Annette came after you two years ago,” Dog said.
“Because I was Thomas Crowder’s Abishag wife.” I took a shaky breath. “I’m not his wife now. Apparently, the DA isn’t interested in me testifying at the hearing so I’m no threat.” I took a calming sip of coffee. “I’ve been thinking about the revenge thing, too. If Adam was interesting in finishing what Annette started, he would have acted before now.”
“Good points, but we haven’t seen rational behavior from the Reichs before.” Kat set her half-empty glass on the coffee table. “Okay, if not the Reichs, let’s talk about Donald Simpson and the mobster Tolliver,” she said.
I’d nearly forgotten about the envelope that Stegner gave me after holding it for Sebastian for a year. I felt a stirring of interest.
Dog leaned forward, too. “You discovered something?”
“Nothing on Simpson. He was either very good about getting lost or he is in Witness Protection. If he’s alive. Dobbins found out that Billy Tolliver is still alive.” She paused for effect. “Released from prison in August.”
Dog frowned. “He was out when Sebastian was run off the road?”
“Yep, though I doubt he did it himself. He’s in his 70s.”
“How come everyone’s getting paroled?” I complained. “These are dangerous people.”
“He served his time,” Kat said. “They charged him with racketeering. If Simpson’s dead, it probably helped Tolliver’s release. Simpson was the prosecution’s main witness against Tolliver.”
“But Tolliver killed Simpson’s wife,” I protested.
“Never proved,” Dog said.
“I wish I knew why Sebastian had this file.” Kat took out her switchblade. She only fiddled with it when she was troubled or planning trouble. Both Dog and I watched her guardedly.
“Not much of a chance of us finding out now,” I said.
She skated a glance at me. “It wouldn’t be difficult to break into Sebastian’s townhouse, you know.”
Dog and I both loudly objected.
Pocketing her switchblade, she lifted a pacifying hand. “Relax. I’m too busy at Vote Greene to spring Seb.”
Dog looked mollified, but the speculative gleam in her eyes left me suspicious.
I didn’t want to start anything with Kat. I needed some alone time. I used the excuse of unpacking to shut myself in my room and use my remaining few hours to grieve. I’d already unpacked everything except school stuff … and the 95 eggshell presents. The latter were in boxes stacked chest high on Heather’s side of the room. No time like the present to empty them.
It took over an hour. I lined up the fragile eggshells fixed in their mountains from number one near the back door, circling the living room and dining room, down the hallway, up the stairs, and lining the landing. Kat watched me for about fifteen minutes, and then took her laptop to an empty bedroom and slammed the door. Dog retired to the hammock in the backyard.
After I finished, I pulled the 96th eggshell present with the engagement ring from my backpack and put it under my bed. Surveying the mountains around the house, I felt better. Maybe surrounding myself with memories of our time together gave me something for the future. If I couldn’t have Sebastian, I still had our past and that was something.
Just before five, I heard Dog in the bathroom upstairs, getting ready for a shift at the hospital, and Kat clattering in the kitchen for dinner. I stepped quietly through the house so as not to alert Kat and headed for the hammock in the back yard. Still warm from Dog and the afternoon sun, I settled comfortably. A breeze wafted through the yard, smelling of mown grass and wild garlic. The hammock rocked gently.
I remembered a late spring day, months ago, when Sebastian and I lay together in the hammock, me resting against his arm, rolling towards him whenever he turned a page in the journal he’d been reading. It distracted me from the stability analysis I’d been performing on a series of matrices. Holding the quadrille pad against my thighs, I murmured “eigenvalues, eigenvectors, diagonalizable, and decomposition into eigenspaces” under my breath. Not because I needed reminding of what I was doing, but because I liked the sound of the words. They flowed like blood through the proofs.
Sebastian turned another page, causing me to roll towards him, and I caught a view of the article on ice patches and reindeer dung in Norway. It had been a cool day, and I shivered, staring at the wooden crossbow bolt shown in situ among stones and melting snow. In my mumblings, I gave life to mathematical proofs though they were mostly soulless things, mere measurements of when an orbit would fail or a system de-stabilize. I didn’t mind—I liked watching things flow around me, waiting for that moment of unpredictability when everything fell apart.
Archeologists also studied bits of evidence to predict civilizations’ ebb and flow. Yet they didn’t have to imagine blood, as I did when inventing formulas. In the article Sebastian read, on rocky slopes and in Norwegian hollows, they found bloodstains on arrowheads and a heavy wool kyrtel.
I missed the mule bones we studied together the previous summer. Really, I missed Sebastian talking about mule bones and the feel of him in hammocks and hospital beds. I missed the way he smelled of dust and marrow after a day in the labs. I missed the rumble of his voice.
From the street, I heard the familiar coughing sound of an old Buick turn onto a driveway, chasing away the tears welling in my eyes. Sitting up, the hammock rocked till I rolled from it. I stood in the patchy grass, wondering if I should open the door to Mrs. Timmons and more grief, or if I should hide in Professor Stegner’s shed till she went away.
The decision was taken from me when the doorbell rang and Kat yelled for me to get it. Reluctantly, I headed inside and stiffened my spine before opening the front door.
When I saw who was with her, I leaned breathless against the door jamb.
“Hello, Les.” From his wheelchair, Sebastian gave me a lopsided grin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“What are you doing here?” I gasped. I glanced at Mrs. Timmons who had both a mutinous look on her face and an air of satisfaction.
Carefully holding a water-filled fish globe on his lap, Sebastian answered me. “Ran a-way.” He mirrored Mrs. Timmons’ satisfaction.
Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, Kat appeared at the door and gaped. Recovering before I did, she yelled, “Dog!”
“May we come in?” Mrs. Timmons asked.
Mortified, I widened the door. “Of course. I’m just …” Words failed me.
With a glint of his old humor, Sebastian said,
“Lo-sing words? You surprised?”
I nodded. Looking curiously around the entryway, Mrs. Timmons patted my arm as she passed. Kat followed, pushing Sebastian’s wheelchair to the living room. I hung back at the door to wipe my eyes. Not grief this time.
I arrived in the living room at the same time as Dog, his hair still damp from the shower. His eyes widened, and he headed for Sebastian. Crouching before the wheelchair, Dog gripped his shoulders. Nodding at each other, smiles split their faces.
Her arms akimbo, Mrs. Timmons stood in the center of the room, rocking slightly, mopping her face with a handkerchief.
“Glory be,” she said. “I’m glad that’s done.”
I’d been collecting the newspaper off the couch so she could sit down, and her words stilled me. They sounded ominous.
“What did you do?” I asked cautiously. I thought Sebastian was joking about running away. That Mrs. Timmons had just snuck Sebastian out for a visit.
Mrs. Timmons patted me on the shoulder before she sat on the couch. “I’ve known Tina Crowder since she were a baby and her oldest son, Duarte, since he was born. Don’t know why God didn’t give ‘em more sense, but figured it was because he surrounded ‘em with smart folk. Trouble happens when they only talks among themselves. Then their stupidity can’t be capped.”
“Mrs. Timmons!” I tried to sound shocked, but amusement tugged my lips.
Sebastian chuckled until he ran out of breath. The fish globe tilted, and I reached for it. When our hands touched, his fingers moved against mine. Looking into his chocolate-brown eyes, I felt my cheeks warm. Only then did he release the globe. Hoping my cheeks weren’t fiery red, I put it on the coffee table.
Mrs. Timmons hadn’t missed a bit of the byplay but continued with her story. “Told both of them they were fools when they dropped Sebastian off. God’s honest truth. They hightailed it out of there, the house echoing without the lot of you. We didn’t leave till Connor went off duty and that new hospice aide took a nap.” She snorted. “Which didn’t take long.”
“Tina has power of attorney.” I didn’t want to spoil things, but that was the honest truth, too.
An Eggshell Present: An Abishag’s Fourth Mystery (Abishag Mysteries Book 4) Page 12
