The Broken Spine

by Dorothy St. James

  “Here’s another idea.” Jace stood up. “Why don’t you tell me that big secret you’re keeping from me?” He tapped the scarred wooden tabletop. “Think about it. I’ll be back as soon as I’m done with Fisher.”

  After Jace had left, Officer Franks stepped into the room. He leaned against the door with his arms over his wide chest and glared. I tried to make conversation, but he refused to participate.

  “You need to stay away from him,” he grumbled after several tense minutes of silence.

  “From whom?” I asked.

  “From Detective Bailey. He’s a skilled investigator with a big heart to boot. Too big. We’re lucky to have him back in Cypress. It’d be a crying shame if he was forced to resign over something stupid he does with someone like you.”

  “Someone like me?”

  “A femme fatale. Yeah, don’t look surprised. I read mysteries, just like you do. You act like a damsel in distress, which feeds right into our boy’s hero tendencies, but you and I both know you don’t need saving.”

  “I never said I—”

  He stabbed his finger at me. “He doesn’t need your kind of trouble.”

  “I’ve never been considered anyone’s trouble before. I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted.”

  “Why should you be insulted?” Jace asked as he returned to the conference room, banging the door on Officer Franks’s back as he opened it. “What’s going on here, Franks?”

  “Just chatting with the suspect while we waited for your return,” Franks said.

  “She’s not a suspect.” Jace looked over at me and then raised his brows as if to say, “See, I tried to warn you.”

  “Ri-ight,” Franks drawled as he left. “Not a suspect.”

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” Jace said. “He wasn’t harassing you, was he?”

  “He was acting like a protective big brother. Seemed to think I was out to ruin your career.”

  Jace’s cheeks colored at that. “Sorry about that.”

  “He made it sound like his reasons for worrying about your future here go back to why you had to leave New York. You got involved with someone you shouldn’t have.”

  Jace swung the door wide open. “Let me drive you home.”

  I didn’t move. “Aren’t you going to explain what’s going on?”

  “No. I’m going to take you home.”

  Chapter Thirty

  We need to talk.

  The text from Charlie came in just as I climbed into Jace’s Jeep. Then a few seconds later, my phone chimed again.

  I have something of yours.

  I squinted at the screen. Was that some kind of threat?

  “Is everything okay?” Jace asked.

  “I don’t know. Um . . .” Another text made my phone chime.

  Can we meet at my shop?

  I texted back. No.

  For one, I didn’t trust Charlie, not after seeing him with Grandle at Duggar’s house. And I hadn’t read all those mystery novels without learning a few things about self-preservation.

  Still, that didn’t stop me from wondering what Charlie could have of mine that he could use as leverage against me. Obviously, he could tell people about the secret bookroom, but that’s not what his text had said. I swallowed hard as I realized what (or rather who) he might mean.

  Tori.

  I texted my friend right away. Where are you?

  She texted back, Perks. Shorthanded today. Why?

  I breathed a sigh of relief before replying, Wanted to make sure you were safe. Text me before you leave?

  She sent two emojis: a woman shrugging her shoulders and a thumbs-up sign.

  With that settled, I slid my phone back into my pocket. Not that the texts with Tori had stopped me from worrying.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Jace asked.

  “No.” Not with him. Not yet. I still needed to protect the secret bookroom. I was already concerned that I’d said too much to him about Charlie. If he wanted to, Charlie could easily expose me and the secret bookroom.

  But then again, I could ruin things for him by telling the police that he was at the library when Duggar was killed.

  “If you change your mind . . .” Jace said as he turned into the parking lot of Cypress’s urgent care facility.

  This unexpected turn jolted me out of my thoughts. “I thought you were taking me home.”

  “I will after you get a doctor to check out why you’re limping—”

  “I’m not limping!” I argued.

  “Okay, you hobbled—slower than my great-grandmother, by the way—every step to my Jeep. And I want you to get that swollen wrist of yours looked at too.”

  Two hours later Jace’s Jeep pulled to a stop in front of my small bungalow. The doctor at the urgent care facility had wrapped both my wrist and ankle. The x-rays she’d taken had found no breaks, only sprains, and not bad sprains at that. She ordered me to spend what was left of the day with my right ankle iced and elevated.

  “Are you expecting someone?” Jace asked while I gathered up the paperwork and ice packs and prescriptions the urgent care center had handed me on the way out.

  “No, why?” I looked up and saw what he saw.

  My front door was wide open. The screen door was hanging off to one side as if someone had ripped it from its hinges.

  “Dewey!” I cried.

  I tossed aside everything and jumped out of the Jeep. I whimpered when I landed on my sprained ankle, but I didn’t let a little thing like sharp, shooting pains slow me down.

  “Tru! Wait!” Jace shouted.

  Wait? How could he ask me to wait? I had to find Dewey.

  I ran as if I were trying to take home the gold in the Olympics. My arms pumped. My lungs burned.

  Thank goodness my house wasn’t set too far from the street. I really wasn’t in the best of shape. My bike rides around town were at the pace of leisurely strolls, not athletic training sessions.

  “Dewey!” I coughed and sputtered, quite embarrassingly out of breath by the time I reached the open front door.

  “Let me go in first,” Jace said, not sounding even the least bit out of breath. The jerk. He nudged my wheezing, heaving body aside. “Cypress Police!” he announced.

  With gun in hand, he cautiously stepped into the living room.

  “Dewey?” I croaked. I rested my hands on my knees. They made a perfect prop for keeping me upright. Gee, I really needed to pedal harder during my bike rides. My muscles might be strong, but my cardio clearly needed work. “Dewey greets me at the door. He greets everyone at the door.”

  “Stay outside,” Jace ordered.

  My heart had taken residence in my throat. Whoever had broken into my house had made sure I’d notice. There was no other reason for damaging an unlocked screen door. Or for kicking in an equally unlocked front door.

  I rarely locked up my house. This was Cypress, for goodness’ sake.

  Despite Jace’s instructions, I stepped inside. “Dewey?”

  The living room was a wreck. All the books had been tossed from the bookshelves. The sofa slashed. My dad’s old recliner tipped over.

  No sign of my little stray kitty.

  The kitchen hadn’t fared much better. The cabinet doors sat open. The contents of my fridge and freezer were spilled onto the floor. The tote bag I’d used to carry home the library books had been upended. The books scattered.

  “No one’s here,” Jace said as he came in the room behind me.

  “What about Dewey?” I asked.

  “I didn’t see him. I’m sorry. I need to call the department and report the break-in.”

  I hobbled out the back door and called Dewey’s name several times, pausing to listen for him, and hearing nothing.

/>   While everything in my house seemed out of place, nothing appeared to be missing. Other than my cat.

  I have something of yours, Charlie had texted.

  I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath. It didn’t help.

  “He has my cat,” I whispered on a sob.

  Two strong arms reached around me and pulled me tight to a warm, comforting chest. “Please, don’t cry, Tru. We’ll find Dewey.”

  “What if . . . what if . . . ?” Dewey was an innocent in all this. A kitty with unusual markings who, like Charlie, had arrived uninvited to my book-saving mission. I should have taken better care with him. I shouldn’t have left him home alone, not when I knew things surrounding Duggar’s death hadn’t been settled. Luke was a convenient scapegoat for the murder. His arrest had also kept him safe from Grandle. Grandle, whom Charlie seemed to be helping.

  My skin felt cold. I wiggled out of Jace’s embrace. I had no business enjoying the feel of his arms around my body, not with Dewey missing.

  “I have to go to his shop.” I found my purse on the kitchen floor. I slipped its strap onto my shoulder and started toward the door. “He’d warned me that this had happened. He wanted me to meet him, and I told him no.”

  Jace grabbed my arm. “Wait. What are you talking about? Who warned you?”

  “Charlie. Let go of me. I have to go to him. What if he’s done something to Dewey to punish me for refusing to go earlier?”

  I tugged. His grip tightened. “I can’t do that.”

  “He has Dewey!” I shouted.

  “How do you know?” The louder I shouted, the calmer Jace became.

  “He texted me!” I don’t know why I couldn’t stop shouting. It was so unlike me. Everyone knew librarians never shouted.

  “Can I see?” He held out his hand. I dug my phone out of my pocket and thrust it at him. Somehow he managed to keep his grip on my arm while also flipping through the text messages on my phone.

  “He doesn’t mention Dewey,” he said, looking up at me.

  “What else could he mean?”

  He handed the phone back to me. “A book?”

  I gave him a look that I hoped expressed how stupid I thought he sounded.

  “He is a used book dealer,” Jace said quietly.

  “Fine. It’s a book. He has a book of mine. Let go of me. I need to get to his shop to pick up a book.” When he still didn’t release my arm, I added, “You don’t need me here. Someone broke in. Tossed things around. The only thing missing is Dewey.” I drew a ragged breath. Even so, what I said next made my voice crack. “He’s just a cat.”

  His fingers slipped from my arm. He gave a nod. “I’ll drive.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Like all the shops on Main Street on a Sunday, save for the Sunshine Diner and Perks, the Deckle Edge had a “Closed” sign hanging on the door.

  Jace stood by my side. He gave my hand a squeeze before I knocked.

  It took a few minutes before we noticed any movement in the shop. I’d texted Charlie to let him know I was coming. I’d told him that I was anxious to retrieve what he had of mine. I’d expected him to be waiting at the door. I’d expected to find Dewey scratching at the door.

  I hadn’t expected silence.

  “Do you think something happened to him?” I asked. What if he was being forced to help that phone book–ripping villain? What if my refusal to meet him at his shop had endangered his life?

  “Look.” Jace nodded toward the large display window. A light in the back of the shop had turned on. A heavy velvet curtain rippled before it parted.

  Charlie walked slowly, stepping around tables piled with cardboard boxes. He’d changed out of the casual clothes he’d been wearing when I saw him at Duggar’s house. He must have taken a shower too. His hair was damp. He’d changed into his trademark immaculately tailored suit pants and white button-up shirt. He had rolled the shirt up to his elbows. His feet, however, were bare.

  He unlocked the door and pushed it open. His brilliant smile made his dark eyes sparkle.

  “Tru, I’m glad—” he started to say. His voice, deep and sexy. He must have noticed the bruising and scratches on my face. I suppose he would’ve had to have been blind not to notice them. He sucked in a sudden, sharp breath. “What happened to you?”

  “Bike accident,” I said.

  “Gracious, come in. Come in,” he said before I could say anything more. “Oh, and you’ve brought a friend. Good for you,” he said, looking Jace over with a discerning eye. “Detective Bailey, right?”

  “That’s right,” Jace said, his tone all business.

  “Tori has told me about you.” Charlie wagged his finger at him. “Color me even more surprised,” he said as he turned to me, his eyes wide. Was he trying to give me a warning? Was it a mistake coming here with a cop on my arm? “Still, come in.”

  “Just give me Dewey back,” I said without moving.

  He feigned a look of confusion. “Dewey? I don’t—”

  “You texted that you have him. Give him to me.”

  The cheerfulness faded from Charlie’s eyes. “I texted that I needed to talk with you.”

  “And you wrote that you had something of mine. My cat. You stole him from my house.” Why was he making this so difficult?

  Charlie’s charming facade slipped away. He suddenly looked as dangerous as the first time I saw him. I should have taken that as a warning. But I was worried about Dewey. I would have done anything, risked anything, to get my innocent little kitty away from the likes of him. Besides, Jace was standing right next to me. What could go wrong?

  “Tru . . .” Jace put a staying hand on my arm. Did he sound worried? Well, it didn’t matter. Charlie had taken Dewey. I’d run through fire to rescue him.

  “If you simply wanted to talk to me, you could have called. You didn’t need to break into my house, destroy everything, and take my cat to get my attention. Now, give me Dewey or else I’ll have you arrested.” I poked Jace in the side. “Arrest him.”

  Charlie backed up a step. His features had hardened even more. “You cannot come here with a police officer and threaten me. I am sorry about your cat. I liked Dewey. But, Tru, you are going to have to leave.”

  “Liked Dewey?” As in past tense? I lunged at the jerk. “What did you do?”

  Jace wrapped his arms around my waist and held me back. “Tru, this isn’t the way.” He set me on my feet. My ankle throbbed like the devil. But I didn’t care.

  “If you won’t do anything, I will,” I hissed at Jace. “Dewey deserves justice.”

  “Mr. Newcastle, do you mind if I take a quick look around?” Jace nudged me to stand behind him.

  “Actually, I do mind.” Charlie crossed his arms over his chest. “Come back when the shop is open to the public. There will be a grand opening ceremony next week.”

  “If you have nothing to hide, I don’t see why you would mind,” Jace said. “It wouldn’t take but a moment.”

  “Do you have probable cause to suspect I had anything to do with this break-in you’re talking about? Do you have probable cause to be here harassing me?”

  “I’m not here in an official capacity. I’m here as Tru’s friend.”

  Charlie scoffed at that.

  Jace shrugged. “Fine. Did you or your friend, Grandle, chase Tru away from Duggar Hargrove’s house this morning?”

  Charlie looked momentarily taken aback by the question. His brows wrinkled as he looked over at me. “No. Of course not.”

  “Why did you text me?” I demanded. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  Charlie clicked his tongue angrily. “Nothing that can be said now.” He stepped closer, herding us toward the door. “If you’re done accusing me, go. I’m busy.”

  “Come on, Tru.” Jace wrapped his arm protectively around me and guided me
back out to the street.

  The door closed behind us with a slam and a click of the lock. Charlie didn’t look back at us, not even once, as he worked his way through the shop to the back again and disappeared through the velvet curtain.

  “Do you think he has Dewey?” I asked.

  Jace was watching the shop just as intently as I was. “I honestly don’t know.” He turned to me and frowned. “Let’s get you home and off that ankle.”

  * * *

  • • •

  We returned to find a police car parked in front of my house. Officer Franks and his partner were standing outside talking. While we were gone, someone had fixed the front door lock and put the screen door back on its hinges. Had Jace arranged for that?

  “We’ve processed the scene. It’s just as you described it in there, a total mess,” Franks said to Jace. He then gave me a grim look.

  “Are you certain she’s not doing this to get attention?” Franks’s partner bent close to Jace’s ear to whisper. Not quietly enough, though. I easily heard every word.

  Jace glanced in my direction before answering, “It doesn’t seem like that’s the case, Pitts.”

  “No?” Pitts glared at me. “I suppose you wouldn’t think so.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jace demanded.

  Pitts only shook his head and walked away.

  “Trouble?” I asked, hoping he didn’t notice how hotly my cheeks were burning, hoping he didn’t guess that I knew exactly what was going on.

  “Nothing for you to worry about,” he said with a frown. “Let’s get you off that ankle.”

  As he walked toward the house, a terrible thought hit me like a punch in the chest. I held my ground. “That’s why you took me to the urgent care center, isn’t it?”

  He turned back around. “What?”

  “You didn’t take me to see the doctor because you were worried about my injuries. You took me there to make sure I wasn’t faking.”