Sky High (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 2)

by Susan O'Brien

  “I’m sorry, man,” Dean said. “I know this is really awkward for you.”

  “How long have you known Bruce?” I asked gently.

  “We met in college.”

  “At Maryland State?” I asked.

  “No. Smyth.”

  “Where’s that?” Dean asked.

  “It’s a small college in Smyth Lake, Florida. We met during rush week, and we just clicked.” He snapped his fingers. “Even though we’re kind of opposites.”

  “Opposites how?” I asked.

  “Bruce is Mr. Slick—the life of the party. I’m the nerd who sets up the lights and the sound system, if you know what I mean.”

  I did, since Kenna and I were similarly different, although Todd looked “geek chic” to me. No awkward features or thick glasses.

  “What’s up with the football helmet?” Dean asked, keeping the conversation light.

  “Oh, it was a prop for my toast. Bruce and I have a little startup going, and this is a prototype of our first product. I was planning to wish him and Mia a wonderful future, but also joke about how Bruce might see more of me than her. This thing’s been generating a lot of interest locally, so we’ve been busy.”

  Wires hung from under the helmet on both sides. Maybe it was some sort of videogame accessory or coach-player communication system.

  “What does it do?” I asked.

  He pointed to the wires on the left. “These are connected to sensors that provide information on the well-being of every player on a pro team.”

  “Uh huh,” I said. “What about the other side?”

  “Aside from a few left brain, right brain differences, basically the same thing. Kind of like a backup system,” he said a touch impatiently. “Honestly, I think I should be driving around looking for Bruce. It’s hard to sit still.”

  “I understand,” Dean said. “We feel the same way. This makes a difference, too, though. Tell us about the bachelor party. Was it last night?”

  I reconsidered being part of the conversation. What college grad wants to confess bachelor party faux pas to a mom? (Sometimes I forget not everyone sees me as a mom. No matter how I dress up and spackle my face, I still feel like a frazzled parent whose clothes and hair could use some ironing.)

  Todd winced and gave a little whistle.

  “I’m not gonna lie,” he said. “It was a doozy.” He eyed me skeptically.

  “Like it should be,” I fibbed, immediately picturing drunk lowlifes cheating on their significant others with barely dressed strippers. Jason’s infidelity haunted me at unexpected moments, and apparently this was one of them, since hot, angry fumes were roiling in my chest, and my cheeks felt like radiators.

  “I’ll let you guys talk for a minute,” I said. “I see someone I should snag.”

  I thought everyone would be better off. There was no way Todd was going to confide in me, and we needed the truth. Had anything happened at that party that could explain why Bruce wasn’t here, dancing the night away?

  Dean did a double take but nodded.

  “Sure,” he said to me. “Go ahead.” He looked back at Todd and smiled good-naturedly. “So what did you guys do?”

  I was dying to eavesdrop, but I made a beeline for the nearest bridesmaid, who was looking at her cell phone.

  “Hi,” I said to the pink fluff ball, whose name I hadn’t caught. “I’m Nicki, Mia’s cousin. We met in the church basement.”

  “I remember,” she said. “I’m Sadie. Actually, I just texted Mia, but she hasn’t responded. Things couldn’t get much worse, could they?”

  Only if Bruce were dead, I couldn’t help thinking. That was the investigator in me talking.

  “Let’s hope they get better soon,” I said. “Did you guys have a bachelorette party last night?”

  “Yeah. We all got mani-pedis and massages during the day. Then we went out dancing after the rehearsal dinner. Nothing too crazy. You know Mia.”

  I smiled. “What time did you guys get back?”

  “The limo dropped us off here around one. We all spent the night in the same room, like a sleepover, and we crashed pretty soon after getting back. No one wanted to be exhausted today.”

  “That makes sense. Were there any hints that something like this could happen?”

  “Not at all. That’s what’s so weird about it. Bruce seemed totally fine about getting married. No cold feet.”

  “And Mia?”

  “She couldn’t wait. This was her fairytale.”

  I shivered, knowing how gruesome fairytales could be. I had reservations about exposing my kids to some of them. For better or worse, they—and apparently Mia—found them irresistible.

  After a few more separate conversations, Dean and I reunited at the bar and resisted the urge to escape reality with alcohol. I had nothing fascinating to share, unless you count those awesome, pastel, melt-in-your-mouth mints they only serve at restaurants, which I’d found in a large bowl by the exit. I’d scooped up enough to last a while.

  “So how crazy did that bachelor party get?” I asked.

  “Not too bad. I’ll tell you all about it on the way home.”

  The way home. The kids were probably asleep, and Mom might be resting too. Unfortunately, it was past my normal bedtime, and I was fading quickly.

  It was awful to imagine Mia sleepless and alone—feeling desperate, afraid, confused, and responsible for Lydia’s care. Or perhaps guilty. No good investigator could ignore the possibility—or even the likelihood—that Mia knew something about Bruce’s disappearance.

  The dark comfort of Dean’s car was a good place to hear Todd’s story, since keeping our eyes on the road made uncomfortable subjects easier to discuss.

  Dean had reassured Todd that he had no personal interest in what happened at the party—and plenty of experience with the bro code. The last thing he wanted was to share bachelor party details with a priest who was his date’s aunt. He simply wanted to understand Bruce’s state of mind. I held my breath for the details, which Todd had summarized nicely.

  The groomsmen had allegedly started at the hotel bar and made their way up to Bruce’s penthouse suite, where a stripper (whom Todd called “kind of a prude”) performed with a portable pole. After she left, they drank, smoked a little pot (as if “a lot” would cross the line into unacceptable), and ordered cheeseburgers, wings, and fries while watching porn. There were no drunken fights, except for a friendly debate over which movies to rent. They’d settled on XXX-Men starring Huge Jackoff and Star Whores with Jabba the Slut.

  I was glad Dean included that tidbit. If poop and porn weren’t first-date icebreakers, what were? We had to get comfortable talking about anything—and fast.

  When Dean had asked how intoxicated Bruce had been, if at all, Todd said everyone was under the influence but in control. He also said Bruce didn’t have any substance abuse problems. The party broke up around one fifteen, when Bruce said he needed to get some sleep so he wouldn’t “faint or ralph” at the altar. He’d stayed in the penthouse while the groomsmen returned to their individual rooms.

  The next day, everyone assumed he was prepping for the wedding, and in case he was napping, no one disturbed him. The groomsmen were due at the church at four thirty to decorate the just-married “getaway” car, and Bruce was supposed to be picked up at five.

  “They must have been worried about not talking to him all day. Weren’t people texting and calling him?” I said.

  “They were, but Todd said Bruce is a workaholic, and it’s not unlike him to go dark periodically. No one wanted to panic—or panic anyone else—until it was clear he wasn’t showing up.”

  “Why did they party the night before the wedding? Were guys coming in from out of town or something?”

  “Yeah. It was the easiest way to get ev
eryone together.”

  “Did Todd say what he thought happened?”

  “He seemed baffled. What about the bridesmaids?”

  I told him about Sadie and the other women with whom I’d chatted. Everyone said there were no hints of trouble.

  “Do you think Todd gave you the whole story?” I asked.

  “Pretty much. It sounded like a typical frat boy night. If anything, I’m a little surprised they didn’t make Bruce do anything worse.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Run around the hotel in a bedazzled bikini.”

  I laughed. “That’s a little specific. Are you speaking from experience?”

  He paused and focused on turning right at a red light. “I’ve attended a few bachelor parties in my time,” he said. “Actually, I’ve heard of grooms being kidnapped before the party as a prank.”

  “And returned in time for the wedding?”

  “Always.”

  “If Bruce had second thoughts, you’d think he’d just back out—or go through with it and then get it annulled. And the transplant thing confuses me more than anything, for many reasons.”

  My mind raced with possibilities. What if Bruce had gone for a drunken walk and drowned in the nearby Potomac River? What if he’d wrecked his car in a deserted location? The police were on the lookout for it, and they’d track his credit cards and bank accounts in case he or anyone else was spending his money. I covered my face and peeked out at Dean.

  “I’m really sorry about this,” I said. “It’s definitely not the ‘welcome home’ you deserve.”

  “It’s not your fault,” he said as we turned into my neighborhood. “And I’m not going anywhere. We have plenty of time for dates.”

  If only. My parenting and work schedules were busy, and letting Liz and Mia down wasn’t an option. I never had time for a peaceful dinner and grownup movie now, so how would I ever fit it in?

  “I’m having lunch with Mia and my aunt tomorrow,” I said with a sigh. “Thankfully, Kenna can babysit.” Even though Liz had encouraged me to invite Dean, I wasn’t subjecting him to that.

  “Call me tomorrow night, then, and we’ll talk things over.”

  I stuck a hotel mint in my mouth and tried to lighten up. I’m with Dean, I told myself, something I’ve dreamt about for a year. Out of respect for both of us, I should try to enjoy it a little.

  I smiled at him and said a genuine, “Thanks.”

  After a few minutes of reviewing his plans for settling in at home and working at the PI Academy where we’d met, we pulled up to my house where most of the windows were dark. Kenna’s living room light glowed next door, though, which meant she might be keeping an eye out for me.

  My minivan and Mom’s car filled the driveway. No sign of Liz’s rental.

  “You don’t have to walk me up,” I said as he put the car in park by the curb. I felt like butterflies were shedding cocoons in my chest. We hadn’t been on much of a date, but saying goodnight still felt scary in the best possible way.

  “I don’t mind.”

  Dean was chivalrous, and I was independent, so I hopped out before he could come around and open my door. I straightened my dress and tucked my clutch under my arm. We held hands, walked up the brick path to my porch, and finally reached the door. The porch light was off, but I could see well enough to find my keys and notice how he was looking at me.

  “Nicki,” he whispered, placing a hand on my waist and pulling me close. His other hand cupped my right cheek (on my face, of course), and there was nothing I could do but look into his eyes and anticipate the obvious. “It’s good to be home.”

  Holy mackerel. If this was home, I never wanted to go on vacation.

  “I agree,” I said.

  And I kissed him.

  Yup. I, Nicki Valentine—24/7 mom, full-time worrier, part-time PI, and somewhat bitter widow—kissed irresistibly hot, impossibly single, Brad-Pitt-lookalike Dean Summers.

  Reunited. And it was better than ever.

  Five

  Kenna rarely worked on Sundays. Not because she went to church, but because the health club where she taught classes had abbreviated weekend hours. Plus, her husband Andy was a sports reporter, and he worked Sundays—and most nights—in the fall. In short, autumn + Andy = Kenna practically single parenting. On the upside, Sundays were our opportunities to hang out, vent, and laugh our way through parenting challenges.

  Kenna hugged me, Jack, and Sophie when we crowded her foyer at eleven thirty. We were just as eager to greet her sweet toddler Sky, who looked remarkably like Kenna, despite being adopted. Both had blond hair and blue eyes, but Sky’s darker complexion reflected her part-Hispanic heritage, while Kenna looked like she was raised under a sunhat and needed a vitamin D supplement. Ever since middle school, I’d envied her tall, slim figure and high metabolism, but I’d come to terms with it. She loved exercise and chocolate cake, and she could handle them. Eyeing either one made me nervous.

  “Do you have to go?” she pleaded. I knew she wanted details about Dean, and I’d gone straight to bed when I got home, although reliving that kiss made it tough to sleep.

  “I have five minutes,” I said, looking at my cell phone. We both knew that wasn’t nearly enough.

  Sky was waiting for us in their basement playroom, a child’s paradise overloaded with toys and make believe props, from a play kitchen with plastic food to a playhouse stocked with dress-up clothes. It was an amazing, disturbing, diaper-scented scene the kids adored. It also distracted them so we could talk.

  I started by explaining my unusually dressy outfit, since the “haggard-mom look” is my typical PI cover. Out of respect for Mia and Liz, I’d chosen black wool pants and a maroon cowl-neck sweater. I’d even stuck in pearl earrings.

  “Hey,” I said, interrupting myself. “What were you going to tell me last night? What did you see about Dean online?” I used air quotes for “you.”

  “Okay. So Andy and I were testing out my PI skills,” she said.

  “And…?”

  “And we were looking up real estate records. It turns out Dean owns a house with some woman named…”

  I plugged my ears. “La, la, la. Don’t tell me. I only want to learn about Dean from Dean.” I really wanted to learn about Dean from Kenna right that second, but it felt wrong.

  She shook her head, grinned, and mouthed, “Fine.”

  I lowered my hands and saw the kids’ curious looks.

  “Who’s Dean?” Jack asked.

  “A friend of mine,” I said. “You met him a really long time ago.”

  “When I was a baby?” Sophie asked.

  “No, when Sky was a baby,” I said, glancing from Sky to Kenna. Sky’s birth mother had disappeared while pregnant, and Dean had helped us find her. I’d worked for a detective agency afterward, and now, with Kenna’s blessing, I’d named my agency in honor of Sky—and my late father’s career as a pilot.

  “Anyhoo,” I said to everyone, “this mommy has an appointment. I have to go.” For comedic effect, I waited for Jack and Sophie’s nonexistent reactions. Kenna’s house was their favorite place to visit, not only because of the playroom and Sky, but also because of its pantry stocked with food bought for its flavor (not its ingredients), a concept with which I was not familiar.

  I thanked Kenna, hugged the kids, and let myself out, locking the door behind me.

  Aunt Liz and I met at Mia’s favorite sub shop to pick up three sandwiches. Bruce’s mom Lydia was going to join us, but due to her digestive issues, she would provide her own meal. Mia wanted to meet at Bruce’s condo to see if we noticed anything suspicious the police might have missed. Since I was more familiar with the area, Liz rode with me.

  Bruce’s condo was in a luxury high-rise that required checking in at the front desk.
A sleek elevator with spotless mirrors swooshed us to the eighth floor, where each doorway in the carpeted hall was lit with a sconce. It wouldn’t have surprised me if a butler answered when we rang the bell at 807.

  Bruce’s mom greeted us, unmistakable because she was painfully thin and so pale she was almost transparent. It was hard to guess her age because illness had stolen so much of her physical presence. She wore a light blue head scarf and a loose, gray sweat suit. Amethyst studs dotted her ears, and she wore a matching, flower-shaped ring on her right hand.

  “I’m Lydia,” she said. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  “I’m Liz Minter, and this is my niece, Nicki Valentine,” Liz said, using two hands to cup Lydia’s bony grip. “We’re terribly sorry about what’s happened. I hope we can help.”

  “I know you will. Mia’s told me about both of you.” She looked back into the condo. “She’s in the living room. Please come in.”

  We followed her to a brown, leather sectional with Mia on one end, her stocking feet resting on an ottoman as she gazed at a flickering gas fireplace. Seeing us approach, she rose for hugs, clinging to Liz for an extra moment. I set the subs on a glass table and noted Bruce’s assortment of magazines and paperwork—travel brochures, Men’s Fitness, Popular Science.

  “We were hoping to keep traveling this year,” Mia explained. “After our honeymoon to Hawaii next week. Oh my God. I don’t know if I should cancel that.”

  “Frank will take care of it,” Lydia said. “Don’t worry.” She looked at me. “He’s my ex—Bruce’s dad.”

  I nodded, glad Lydia and Mia had support, although I knew Mia’s parents were staying in town, too. “Have the police found any sign of Bruce or his car?” I hoped I wasn’t jumping into details too quickly.