Chapter 13
Thirteen
How the hell had Jonah’s life changed so much in the past three weeks? Rachel was off with the girls, and he’d been left to his own devices for the evening. She’d consumed so much of his focus, he had no idea what to do with himself. Somehow, in the past weeks of intensive one-on-one companionship, he’d forgotten how to be on his own.
Considering his impending return to being single, that was… not a good thing.
Not that he’d broached the topic with Rachel yet. Again. Because he was some kind of chicken shit procrastinator who didn’t want to ruin their last days together. However many they had. He didn’t know what would be worse—if she was upset that their friends-with-benefits arrangement was over. Or if she wasn’t. She was the one who’d asked for this to be a temporary thing. It had been him who’d pushed for more, in typical Jonah Ferguson fashion. Over-delivering. He knew he couldn’t give her a forever, but he wanted this time together to have meant as much to her as it had to him.
She’d said at dinner last night that she was here at least for another week. That made it sound like her plans were open-ended. Why hadn’t she discussed them with him? Why the hell hadn’t he asked her?
It all boiled down to a truth he didn’t want to admit to himself: He’d been in love with her from the start, and he’d gone and fucked everything up by changing things between them when he’d known they couldn’t have a future. He’d been lying to himself that feelings wouldn’t get involved. Or thinking he’d be able to shove them back in that box he’d kept in his mental attic as long as he’d known her. Turned out self-delusion was a personal talent of his. He was afraid that the end of this arrangement would be the end of them as anything at all. Going back to a life without her in it felt every bit as bleak as a life without the SEALs.
But he’d survived that loss. He’d survive this, too. He just had to convince her she was better off without him.
Scowling at the idea of it, he yanked open the fridge in search of a beer.
The phone in his pocket began to ring.
Cash.
“Tell me you have something.”
“Hello to you, too.”
Jonah took a breath. “Sorry. I’m in a shit mood. Shouldn’t take it out on you.”
“No worries. And yeah, I found something. We were correct that Percipience Unlimited is a shell corporation. I had to dig through several layers, but ultimately I traced it back to a Howard Danforth. Does that name mean anything to you?”
Jonah kicked back against the counter and tried to think about what he knew of the guy. “He’s the rich guy in town. Made his money in real estate, if I remember correctly. I don’t know him personally, but everybody in town knows who he is. I went to high school with his son, who was a real prick. Why would a guy like that have been doing business with my dad?”
“Well, you did speculate it was probably something on the illegal end of the spectrum. Blackmail? Some kind of money laundering? There’s a pretty long list of possibilities. You want me to keep digging into the guy?”
Much as he wanted to say yes, Cash had done a hell of a lot of pro bono hacking on their behalf the past six months. Jonah didn’t want to abuse the connection.
“You’ve got your own business to run. Let me take this to the sheriff, see if he knows something I don’t. If we come up with a more specific thing for you to find out, I’ll let you know. Thanks, Cash.”
“No problem.”
Abandoning the quest for a beer, Jonah put in a call to Xander.
“Is this a social or professional call? Because I just sat down with a beer on my back deck.”
“Technically professional. I have some information to pass on.”
“Do I need to go into the station?”
“Probably not.”
“Then why don’t you come on over and have a beer with me? Kennedy took Caroline over to the inn, and I’m on my own.”
“Be there in twenty.”
The sun was sinking behind the mountain by the time he dropped into an Adirondack chair beside his buddy, appreciating the fact that he’d left the seat open, placing Jonah’s good ear where he could hear. Xander pulled a long neck bottle from a tub of ice between the chairs and handed it over. Twisting off the top, Jonah took a long pull, savoring the yeasty flavor on his tongue as he took in the view. God, he’d missed this place when he’d been in the Navy. More than he’d let himself think about.
“I’m guessing you found something,” Xander prompted.
“Maybe. It looks like Lonnie was receiving payments from Howard Danforth.”
Xander went brows up. “Payments?”
Jonah explained the bank account and what he and Rachel had pieced together. “Cash traced the company name back to Danforth. I can’t think of a single legitimate reason why they’d have had any regular interactions.”
“Danforth definitely wasn’t the type to set foot in a place like The Right Attitude. You think the payments were some form of blackmail?”
“Maybe. But if it was blackmail, why were they inconsistent? Each one was a different amount, and the timing wasn’t regular. Did Lonnie just get a wild hair and periodically threaten to release whatever he had on Howard? That doesn’t seem to quite fit what was going on.”
“Could be he was doing something for Howard,” Xander speculated.
“Like what?”
“Being some kind of go between, maybe. The Danforths are the kind of people who got rich off the backs of others. On the surface, they’re squeaky clean. The people who show up to church on Sunday to look good in the eyes of the congregation, but don’t actually practice what’s preached, if you know what I mean. And then, of course, Bradley got arrested for statutory rape and sent to prison a few years back.”
Jonah stared at him. “Shit. How’d I miss that?”
“You were overseas. And when you got back, you had a lot of recovery to do.”
“I mean, I knew in high school Brad was an entitled asshole, but I didn’t imagine that.”
“Yeah, he didn’t improve with age. Anyway, that kind of entitlement comes from somewhere. On the surface Howard has managed to come off as squeaky clean, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Porter certainly has no love lost for him.”
“What’s Porter got to do with Danforth?”
Xander tipped back his beer. “Oh. Yeah, I guess you missed that, too. Danforth is Porter’s biological father.”
Stunned, Jonah took another long pull on the bottle. “Well, I guess that’s a clear case for nurture over nature.” He couldn’t imagine someone further from the spoiled asshole Bradley had been.
“True story. Anyway, the fact that Howard was paying your dad isn’t actually evidence of any wrongdoing. It’s not an actionable item or the kind of thing that would get us a warrant to really dig into Howard. Can you get records going further back?”
“I’ll have to request them, but I’ll see that we get a copy going back to the start of the account, if I can. Not sure how long that’ll take or what it’ll prove.”
“It might be a timeline for… whatever is going on. That’s another piece to the puzzle. And knowing there was a connection between them somehow gives us some other directions to probe.”
Jonah tipped back the last of his beer. “Probe how?”
“Don’t know yet. Gotta be real careful how we approach this. Howard’s a guy with money and power, which means he’s potentially got a lot to lose. If he’s somehow behind all this, if your dad had something on Howard he didn’t want getting out, and he thinks you’ve got it, that could paint even more of a target on your back.”
Better on him than anyone else he cared about. But Jonah kept the thought to himself.
“Fair enough. I’m gonna go talk to Mom. See if there’s some history between Howard and Lonnie that I don’t know about.”
“I’ll check our records and talk to my dad. It might be he has some insight from all his years as sheriff.”
“You think we’re actually going to solve this thing?”
“I think we’re closer than we were before. Let me know what your mom says.”
“Will do.” Jonah rose and bumped his fist. “Thanks for the beer, brother.”
The drive into town to the little three-bedroom ranch he’d grown up in only took about five minutes. He parked in front of the house, automatically going to the kitchen door in the garage and letting himself in as he’d done all his life.
“Mom?”
“In here!”
He followed her voice to the living room, where she was curled up on the sofa with a glass of wine and a book. “Hey. Why wasn’t the door locked?”
“I haven’t gotten ready for bed yet.”
Jonah frowned. “You’re here by yourself. With everything going on, you should be locking your doors.”
“Have you eaten?”
“What?”
She closed her book and set it on the end table. “Have you eaten? You’re grumpy. That usually means you need to eat something. I’ve got meatloaf in the fridge. Want some?”
“I will never turn down your meatloaf. But that doesn’t change the point.”
“I’ll fix you a plate, and I promise to lock the door after you leave.”
Jonah had a feeling she was only humoring him, so he’d make sure to lock it himself. Trailing her into the kitchen, he leaned his elbows on the counter while she began pulling things out of the fridge. “I came to pick your brain.”
“What about?”
“Were you aware of any connection between Howard Danforth and Lonnie?”
His mother paused in the process of slicing the meatloaf. “Well, that’s out of left field. Why?”
“Because it looks like Lonnie was getting money from him for at least the last year of his life, and probably beforehand.” He repeated the story, explaining what they’d uncovered as she loaded his plate with mashed potatoes and green beans and popped the whole thing in the microwave.
“I don’t have anything earth-shattering to tell you. We all knew each other back in high school. Your dad never liked him, but they really had nothing to do with each other. He didn’t have any kind of active hate on for him, he just never really cared for him. Howard was every bit as much of a prick as his son grew up to be. Arrogant. Entitled. We all tended to steer clear.”
“Did you ever know of them having interactions after high school?”
“Not that I’m aware of. I mean, we ran into each other as you do in town this size. But nothing sticks out in my memory as significant.” She slid the plate in front of him.
Jonah forked up a bite of meatloaf and dipped it in his mashed potatoes. “Have you heard any whispers of anything about Howard at the shop?”
“Not apart from rumors about who he’s sleeping with. I don’t know how his poor wife keeps her head held high with all his philandering. I guess, for her, money is enough to make up for it. I wish I could be of more help.”
He shrugged. “It was a long shot. And worth it for mooched meatloaf.”
She grinned and ruffled his hair. “And why is it you’re available tonight to mooch meatloaf? I’d have thought you’d be with Rachel.”
A warning began to sound in his brain. “She’s at girls’ night with Cayla and Mia.”
“I’m sure she’ll enjoy that. She’s a sweet girl. I really like her.”
Jonah fixed her with a stare. “Don’t go there, Mom.”
“If you’re about to feed me some line about the two of you only being friends, please remember I did not fall off the turnip truck yesterday.”
“I am aware. But she’ll be going back to New York soon. This is all just temporary.” And damn it, that word kept sticking in his throat.
“Does it have to be?”
“Yes.” And if he kept repeating it, maybe he’d start to believe it again so he could do the right thing and walk away.
It felt odd to show up at The Misfit Inn with bags of groceries on Monday morning. But Rachel had determined that as much as she could talk numbers and projections, nothing would speak as well for her as her food, so she’d come prepared.
Pru’s sister Kennedy answered the door, her green eyes going wide. “Oh, wow. You’ve got a load. Can I help with any of that?”
“I’ve got it. If you could just direct me to the kitchen?” She technically knew where it was from her prior visits as a guest, but it felt rude to just go on back.
“Sure. Everybody’s already in there. You want coffee?”
“I wouldn’t say no.”
The other three Reynolds sisters sat around the long farmhouse table. They looked up as she came in.
“Rachel! Good morning. What’s all this?” Pru asked.
“Well, if you guys are okay with it, I thought while we talked through whatever interview questions you had for me, I’d make you some of the food that I’m proposing for the menu, if you were to put me in charge of this.”
“Breakfast I don’t have to cook myself?” Athena Reynolds Maxwell, the award-winning chef of the family, lifted her mug in a toast. “Sign me up.”
Rachel flashed her a smile. “So you don’t mind if I take over your kitchen for the next little while?”
“Knock yourself out.”
“Thank you, Chef.”
Athena pointed. “She’s got kitchen manners. I like her.”
Rachel set her bags down on the counter and pulled out some folders, passing them out to each woman. “I put together a selection of menus. Obviously, these would change to take advantage of whatever produce is in season. I’m assuming you would like to highlight products from Maxwell Organics for the guests.”
“Always a bonus,” Athena conceded. “Logan does love to show off his food.”
Switching the oven on to preheat, she began pulling out bowls and utensils, appreciating the clear and obvious organization of the kitchen, probably because of Athena herself. “I know from my prior stays that you guys regularly offer cookies and snacks in the afternoons. There is also a sampling of menu options for that as well. I’d need to see some more specific numbers in terms of guests, but I have general breakdowns of each dish and the average cost per head. I would expect a setup like this to have some consistent offerings, plus a limited menu of rotating options that guests could choose from to order on the spot. A breakfast or brunch buffet could also be an option, but that would depend more on the size of your guest list as to whether that would be a profitable option.”
From the opposite side of the table, Maggie lifted her hand. “Hang on, I need a minute.”
Rachel flushed a little. “Sorry. Am I going too fast?”
“No, I’m just glorying in the fact that you speak spreadsheet. Please continue.”
Kennedy set a mug of coffee at Rachel’s elbow as she scooped flour for a batch of biscuits and another of scones. As she worked, she continued to talk, going over the benefits of the different menu options.
“There’s also the issue of events. You have a fantastic space here, but I know you don’t do a lot of them. Why is that?”
“That’s on me,” Athena admitted. “Because I hate catering. I’ll do it for people I really, really like, but my plate is full with The Misfit Kitchen and my boys. Events weren’t something I wanted to take on.”
“That’s fair. Is that the only major limitation you have?”
“I mean, there’s staffing,” Kennedy pointed out. “But we could hire some temps for that.”
“Well, if this were to work out, and I were to get the job, I certainly have the capacity to cater for events. Weddings for sure, and other parties. At the end of the day, I’m a master baker. If you’ll page through to the back of the packet, you’ll see a listing of the sorts of dishes I regularly prepared when I was running my own bakery.”
“Why aren’t you running your own bakery now?” Maggie asked.
It was odd being around people who didn’t know her history. Her hands shook a little as she poured an egg mixture into prepared mini-quiche cups, sloshing over the sides. She took a moment to wipe the spill off before answering.
“My husband was a firefighter. He died because of a traumatic brain injury sustained in a fire a few years ago. After I lost him, I needed to do something different. It’s how I ended up teaching as part of Audrey’s program and working with Jonah and the guys.”
The four of them exchanged a look, and it was obvious Pru had mentioned her involvement with Jonah.
“And now you’re looking to relocate here?” Kennedy asked.
“I need a change. Eden’s Ridge would be my first choice because I have friends here.”
“And because of Jonah,” Athena prompted.
“We can’t ask that,” Maggie warned.
“Oh, bullshit to that. This isn’t a corporation. If she’s moving here to be with him, we need to know she’s not going to bail if it doesn’t work out. This is a tiny town. Would that be something you could tolerate? Because we don’t want to hire somebody, open up the doors to all these potential changes, and then have it all falling apart because a relationship tanked.”
Maggie closed her eyes and sighed. “I apologize for my sister. You don’t have to answer that.”
Rachel huffed a laugh as she slid a plateful of steaming biscuits and fresh apple cinnamon scones onto the table. “Maybe not, but it’s a valid question. Is Jonah a consideration in my decision? Yes. Do I know what will happen with us long term? No. I know better than many that life gives no guarantees. But if I were to be offered the job and accepted, I wouldn’t leave anybody high and dry. I’d be more than willing to sign a contract locking me in for some period of time if that would make you more comfortable. And if things didn’t work out at the end of that time period, then we could all part ways, no harm, no foul. If I were, for whatever reason, the one to move on, I’d see that a replacement was found and installed so that there wouldn’t be an interruption in service. I assure you, I’m up for this challenge. And I’m willing to put my skills where my mouth is and try it for the rest of the week, if you’re willing.”
Athena bit into a biscuit and made a humming noise. “Oh, I’m more than willing. I swear to God, if I hadn’t already married Logan, I’d ask you to marry me right now. These are fantastic.”
“These scones are good enough proof for me,” Kennedy declared.
“Well, I was the one who brought it up, so I’m in,” Pru added.
Maggie nibbled her way through half a biscuit. “What would you think about a six-month trial period? Guaranteed employment for that term, during which we’d provisionally try some of these other options, test out the events, see how it goes, with the option to renew on a more permanent basis at the end or part ways, if that’s what everyone decides?”
It was more than Rachel had hoped for.
She extended her hand. “I’d say we have a deal.”
Athena reached for another biscuit. “Can you start tomorrow?”