by Jen Talty
“My mother told me that Ashley and...what is the old lady’s name?” Jared looked toward the ceiling. “Georgina? Yeah. That’s it. Anyway, they went to middle school or something together and at one time were friends.”
“Can’t picture that woman being friends with anyone who can’t afford their own private plane.”
Jared laughed. “She didn’t come from money, she married it and she’s had that chip on her shoulder ever since. My mother told me she’d be at parties with her, and she’d be going on and on about her childhood and living abroad, and all sorts of fabrications. No one called her on it, except my mother, who then became the brunt of a few rumors herself. My favorite being my father had another family in Canada.”
“You’re serious?” Tristan shook his head. “I feel like I just walked in on a bunch of high school girls gossiping.”
“I know.” Jared ran a hand down his face, drawing his thumb and forefinger over the shape of chin. “My family has avoided the Ramsworth’s and their kind for years, only dealing with them when we had to.”
“I really only have a beef with one of them: Wendell.” Tristan shook his head. “His wife and Brooke used to be best friends.”
“I’d heard that,” Jared said. “I need you to watch your back with that one, got it?”
Tristan nodded. “So, why do you think the Ramsworth’s had it in for Rusty’s wife?”
“That’s the million-dollar question. My mom enjoyed Ashley and often asked about the conflict, but Ashley would smile and say that Georgina was the kind of person who needed to put others down to lift herself up and that she just felt sorry for the old woman.”
“What about Brooke’s parents? Did they know any of this?”
Jared nodded. “Russell’s ten years older than me, but I knew who he was. Nice guy. Kept to himself. Graduated from high school and moved away, but he came home to visit a lot. He wanted his parents to move closer to him and his family, but they wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea. They didn’t seem to care what people of thought of them, and no matter what, they always seemed to be happy. But it’s always bothered me how the Ramsworths treated them.”
“I would guess they treat everyone that way.”
Jared nodded. “This is true, but it always seemed like the old lady had a grudge against Ashley so deep, it consumed her.”
A knock on the door sounded.
Tristan craned his neck.
“Interesting reading,” Stacey said, patting her pregnant belly.
“Come in and have a seat.” Jared waved her in, holding his hand out for one of the copies.
She handed Tristan a set before settling down in the chair next to his. “The pen used is a standard brand name blue pen sold at every store.”
“That’s not helpful.” Tristan flipped through the pages, but Stacey grabbed them, setting them on the desk.
“Let me tell you what I know, then you can read them.”
“She’s way too much like you,” Tristan said, pointing to Jared. “Go ahead.”
“They were able to capture four finger prints. Thanks to Brooke’s arrest, we know one set is hers.”
Tristan closed his eyes, trying to push that mug shot out of his head.
“Two of the prints, we can’t identify, but the last one is where it gets interesting.”
“How so?” Tristan asked.
“They matched the prints we took from Wendell the night you arrested him.” Stacey gave Tristan a sideways glance.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Jared said.
“Me neither.” Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose. “But considering Rusty worked for Wendell, it’s possible his prints could be on anything Rusty might have carried with him.”
“I’m shocked to hear you give him the benefit of the doubt,” Jared said.
“I’m not,” Tristan said. “But, I know he’s been inside the Fowler residence a time or two.”
“You know this for a fact?” Stacey asked.
“I stopped by Rusty’s to invite him for a beer once when Wendell was there. When I asked Rusty why, he said Wendell dropped off his paycheck, which I didn’t believe, but didn’t push.”
“Considering what they uncovered from the note, this gets really dicey,” Stacey said.
“What does that mean?” Tristan swallowed the heartburn bubbling to his throat.
“The paper has traces of glue at the top, so most likely a tear off pad. There was a name and address in a light pink ink, but they couldn’t recreate the letters. Still working on that, though I suspect it belonged to Ashley Fowler based on the contents of the note.”
Tristan rubbed his temples, visualizing the kitchen table at Brooke’s house. “I think I saw a pad of paper with pink lettering. I’ll check with Brooke on that.”
“The techs were able to decipher most of the words based on looking at the slight indentation in the paper. Kind of like writing with a pen with no ink and then running a crayon over it.”
“I’m aware of how it works,” Tristan said.
Stacey pulled out a piece of paper from her stack. “The note is on page three of the report. Want me to read it out loud?”
“Go for it,” Jared said.
“Brace yourself,” Stacey said.
Tristan gripped the armrests.
“My Dearest Rusty,
I shouldn’t have kept this from you. It is the only lie I have ever told you and I have regretted it. This necklace, Wendell gave me a few weeks after Russell was born along with offering me money. He said the pendant belonged to the oldest son’s wife. Technically, that meant it belongs to Georgina, but he wanted OUR Russell to have it, give it to his bride, then their daughter or daughter in law. Guess that’s how its passed down through the generations. I shouldn’t have taken it, but I did. Probably to hurt Georgina. She’s been distraught over the damn thing for years and I’ve secretly had it hidden in that box you gave me, along with a few other things I shouldn’t have allowed Wendell to give me. Now that I’m dying, I needed you to know. Do with them what you need to. Thank you for loving me. I’ll see you on the flip side.
YOUR Ashley.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Tristan stared at Stacey with wide eyes.
“Jesus Christ,” Jared muttered. “That’s a shocking twist. Do you think Brooke knows?”
Tristan pushed back the chair and began to pace, going over the words from the note and their meaning. “She doesn’t know and I suspect neither does Wendell and his wife Michelle.”
“Why do you think that?” Jared asked.
“When her grandmother died, Wendell hit on her. By the way he looks at her, he’s still got the hots for her. His wife believes all Brooke wants is Wendell and his millions.”
“They’re cousins,” Stacey stated the obvious.
“No shit,” Tristan said under his breath, going over in his head how he was going to break this news to Brooke. “What other shocking insights are in that report?”
“That’s it,” Stacey said. “They were able to trace the key. It’s an original and goes to a girl’s keepsake box. It also has a matching diary with smaller key.”
“I take it the brand name and details on where it was sold is in that report.” Tristan stopped pacing, taking in a deep breath.
“The company that made them was local, went out of business thirty years ago. I’ve seen many of the boxes at garage sales, antique shops,” Stacey said. “There are pictures of all the box styles in the report.”
Tristan shivered. His mind sensing something about Brooke. Anger? Yeah, she wasn’t going to be thrilled when she heard that her beloved grandmother had an affair with Wendell’s grandfather.
A sharp jab hit his chest. He looked down, nothing had touched him. The pain all in his head.
Couldn’t be, could it?
“Can I clock out a few minutes early?” Tristan asked. His body tensed. He told himself the sensations that something h
ad Brooke upset was because he knew how she’d react to the news, not that he was that deeply connected to her. “My shift ends in twenty anyway.”
“Go,” Jared said waving his hand. “But stay the fuck away from Wendell and his family.”
“I think I can manage that considering the news.” Tristan flew out of his boss’s office, confusion and fear tugging at his heart. He understood the concept of an empath. Even believed in the ability to sense other people’s emotions since he’d experienced it himself with Tamara. He’d always been overwhelmed by crowds and the affect they had on his mind and his own emotions. But those were general sensations, not pinpointing any one person, but a collective rush of feelings?
That was different.
Brooke puckered her lips, putting on fresh lip-gloss. She hadn’t felt this light in years. It sucked that she and Tristan wouldn’t last, but rebound relationships never did. And he’d see that soon enough. Besides, she wouldn’t lead him on. She’d set him straight when he got home tonight, especially about last night being more about her needing someone to be there for her. To hold and comfort her in her time of need.
Crap. That sounded like she used him for her own selfish needs and then was tossing him aside, which wasn’t what she wanted.
I want him in my life, as a friend.
So, what had the quickie in the kitchen been about?
And why was she primping for him?
The doorbell rang. She glanced at her phone. Tristan said he’d be back around six. It was a little after five. Maybe he got off early. She valued he didn’t take liberties, like walking in her home, just because they were sleeping…slept together. With a wide smile strapped across her face, she opened the door
She quickly frowned, staring at a man dressed in golf attire.
“Ms. Brooke Ashley Fowler?” he asked.
“May I help you?” She looked him up and down, thinking he looked harmless enough. Probably selling something.
But he knew her full name.
“Are you Brooke Ashley Fowler?” the man repeated.
“Yes.”
He handed her a legal sized envelope. Without thinking, took it, but the warning bells went off loud and clear.
“You’ve been served.”
“Shit. Again?”
The man turned and walked toward his small economy car parked in the street.
“Served for what?” She sat down on the front steps reliving the day she’d shown up at her old apartment to collect her things and the doorbell rang. She was on her way out, so she opened the door and a man handed her papers, serving her with the lawsuit from her ex-assistant, Debbie.
With shaky hands, she opened the envelope and pulled out a thick document. She read the first page, letting her know the Ramsworth family was suing her for a million dollars.
“What the fuck!” She flipped through the pages, but the words blurred together. She wanted to rip the document into tiny little pieces and toss them into a fire. The heat of pure fury started at her toes and burned like a raging wildfire up her body. She knew in a matter of minutes she’d be in an all-out rage.
That wouldn’t be good.
She sucked in a few deep breaths, collecting her thoughts, forcing the increasing tingle across her skin to settle into the back of her mind.
She shivered. Tristan.
Blinking a few times, she managed to pull up Jillian White-Sutten’s phone number and tapped the speaker button. Jillian had talked the DA in the criminal case to agree to drop all charges after Brooke served a hundred hours of community service and went through anger management classes, which couldn’t start soon enough.,
Even with deep breaths, the rage just wouldn’t go away and thanks to Tristan sharing his own life experiences, she could actually see how she’d been spiraling out of control.
“Jillian White-Sutten,” a woman’s voice echoed.
“Hey Jillian, this is Brooke Fowler. Do you have a minute?” Brooke squeezed her fist, digging her nails into the palms of her hands.
“Sure. What’s up?”
Might as well lay it all out there. “The Ramsworth’s are suing me for a million dollars.”
“What the hell for?” Jillian asked. “You have the paperwork?”
“I do.”
“My husband won’t be home until around ten tonight. Why don’t I come over?”
“You don’t have to do that. I can make an appointment.” Part of Brooke really didn’t want Jillian to go out of her way. Everyone in Tristan’s life had gone above and beyond to help a perfect stranger. That said, Brooke missed having a woman to talk to.
She missed her grandmother.
“Nah. I’ll bring a bottle of wine and I’ll look over the suit and we can go from there.”
Brooke’s phone vibrated, Tristan number’s popping up. “Tristan is calling, so I need to take it. You know where I live?”
“Yep. See you in about thirty minutes.”
Brooke tapped the phone. “Hey,” she said. Her pulse still wild and out of control.
“Are you okay?” Tristan asked.
She blinked. “No. But how’d you know I might not be okay?”
“Something happened?” Tristan’s voice was tight and laced with tension, which unsettled her even more.
“The Ramsworth’s held good to their promise and are suing me,” she said behind gritted teeth. The overwhelming urge to hurt someone still tickled the back of her throat. She swallowed.
“For the necklace?”
“For a million dollars.” She stood, staring down the street. The gate to the Ramsworth Manor opened for a large SUV. “I’m going to march down there and tell them what they can do with their law suit.”
“Don’t you dare,” Tristan yelled. “I’m fifteen minutes from home. Stay put. I’ve got the forensics back on the key…and the note.”
“Why do I think I’m not going to like this?” She plopped herself back on the stoop.
“Just stay put, okay?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I called Jillian. She’s on her way over.”
“Good move.” The timbre of his voice settled her rising blood pressure. “I’ll be there soon, babe.”
The humid air clung to her lungs, making it difficult to get enough oxygen. If she did do something, she knew that she’d get herself in trouble before Tristan made the turn onto Cleverdale.
Ryan had left a bunch of leftovers in the fridge, might as well pull some out for dinner. Even if no one ate them, it would fill the next few moments.
Brooke dumped the lawsuit papers on the family room coffee table. They skidded across the top, knocking over the empty candy dish, breaking it into three pieces. She shook out her hands. Her entire career, she’d been decisive and in control. This anger wasn’t her and she needed to make it go away.
She pulled together a chicken Caesar salad, knowing Tristan had liked it since that was all she’d seen him eat at the funeral yesterday. She set up a folding table on the side of the house. One of her biggest bone of contentions with her grandfather was that he never built a deck or patio. He’d often say he’d get to it, but never did, not even when she offered to help him pay for it.
The sound of tires squealing across the pavement stole her attention. She peeked around the front of the house to see Tristan swing into her driveway. The smell of burning rubber stung her nostrils.
He jumped from the car and before she had the chance to open her mouth and say hello, he had his arms wrapped around her and his tongue swirling inside her mouth with a combination of fierce protection and loving concern.
She welcomed him with the same desperation. Her body relaxed immediately in his arms. Her anger dissipated into something similar to simple annoyance. She wanted to resent how he made her feel safe with him. She needed to take care of herself. Relying on him would only cause one of them to be hurt in the long run.
As the kiss moved from wild to tender, it dawned on her that Larry had never greeted her like that. Hell, no one had eve
r seemed that excited to see her.
Her hands massaged his shoulders as she gently pried her lips from his. “Well, hello there,” she said. The heat produced by rage quickly changed to a different kind of burn. One that scared her as much as it excited her.
He cocked his head back. “I was worried you were all pissed off and ready to go drive your car through their gate and castrate Wendell.”
She tossed her head back and laughed. “The thought did cross my mind, but I opted to make some dinner. Hungry?”
He kissed her nose. “I am, but we need to talk.”
The roar of another engine rolling down the street interrupted him as he glanced over his shoulder.
“Jillian’s here,” he said. “Where are the papers you got served today?”
“Inside.”
“All right, I’ll go get them,” he said with a dark tone.
“You’re freaking me out.” She’d just gotten rid of the rage and now fear prickled the back of her neck.
“I’m going to get a beer. What do you want?”
“Jillian is bringing wine, so we just need glasses,” she said, staring up into his dark eyes. “That bad?”
“I’ll fill you in after I get that drink.”
She’d never been one to let things like that hang, wanting to know what was going on as soon as possible, but when she held him in her arms, she felt the tension in his strong frame, which caused an electric connectivity to ripple through her body. Her grandfather had always said he’d fallen in love with her grandmother at first sight. He said he couldn’t explain how it happened other than it felt like someone took an electrical current and connected it from her to him.
That’s couldn’t be what she felt with Tristan.
“Thanks for coming,” Brooke said as Jillian made her way to the picnic table, holding a bottle of white wine.
To Brooke’s surprise, Jillian pulled her in for a brief hug before setting in one of the Adirondack chairs.
