Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
AIDEN
W hen I spot the mangy animal on the edge of the woods, I go full beast mode, pulling out my sidearm and prepared to end the wolf if it moves a muscle.
Thankfully, Tinsley goes still, and almost imperceptibly, she backs up.
Just then, tires crunch over the dirt in the driveway as a truck parks. I don’t tear my focus from the animal or my woman as I make my approach. I am laser-focused, and I don’t waver from my mark.
Granted, she struck an arrow right into my heart, and if anything happens to her, I could never forgive myself.
My senses are on alert as footsteps approach from behind. I pivot slightly so I don’t have a target on my back, nor do I take mine off the wolf. There are about five yards between it and Tinsley and Tinsley and me. My objective is to decrease the distance, get her to safety, and not have to fire a shot. However, I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect her.
As I shift my position, a familiar female voice asks, “Aiden, what the flapdoodle are you doing?”
My voice is practically a growl when I say, “Mae, it’s not safe. Take the baby, go back to the truck.”
“Are you about to shoot that husky?”
“Mae, it’s not a dog. It’s a wolf and it’s going to attack Tinsley.”
She rolls her eyes. “It is not going to attack Tinsley.” Without another word, she marches through the field toward the animal.
I lower my weapon because no way am I going to risk a miscalculation with two women and a baby that I love in my line of fire. But I will throw myself between them and the wild animal.
I’m about to aim words of reprimand at my sister for endangering herself, the baby, and my girlfriend—her hatred for Tinsley has gone too far—when for the first time in recorded history, they seem to be having a civil conversation. Tinsley joins Mae at the forest’s edge.
She crouches down and extends her hand. The beast sniffs and approaches slowly. Every one of my instincts begs me to caution them, but I hold back because now that they’re so close, I don’t want to startle them and cause a bigger problem involving sharp teeth and who knows what kind of disease.
I’m a few paces away when Tinsley says, “Aiden, he’s a husky, not a wolf.”
“We’ve seen him a few times on our property. Taylor was worried at first, but Svetllama approved.” Mae smiles.
“You’re going on the judgment of a llama with questionable taste in men,” I mutter.
“Don’t let Bess hear you say that. She fully supports the budding relationship between my llama and Archie,” Mae says.
I scrub my hand down my face. Maybe I shouldn’t retire. Sometimes, it’s easier to understand criminal minds than this barnyard world.
Okay, fine. I concede. Up close, the animal has the classic black and white husky markings framing its slender face along with a dusting of red. Those same three colors make up its matted fur. Its eyes are dark but curious. And the corners of its lips lift slightly as if it’s smiling. From a distance, the dog looked like a wild mongrel with the intent to kill.
Tinsley gives him a pet and he leans into her hand.
“Anyway, we’ve fed him a few times, but he never stuck around. Taylor called the area animal shelters and veterinarians to see if anyone reported a missing dog, but—” She shakes her head then uses doggy-speak when she says, “I’m not sure this good boy has a home.”
“Are we sure he’s good?” I ask.
Tinsley and Mae tilt their head in the exact same direction and give me a long-faced look .
“Oh boy. Maybe I liked it better when you two were at loggerheads.”
They both burst into laughter.
Mae says, “Who uses the word loggerheads?”
I straighten to my full height. “Your older brother.”
“Alright, alright. Don’t get testy. Hold your nephew while Tinsley and I take care of this good boy baby doggy man,” Mae says, emphasizing the last part.
The two women bond over the husky, getting him water and digging out some chicken from the fridge in Toby’s kitchenette.
With the real baby still in my arms, I sit down in a lawn chair and gaze at this little bundle of squooshy boy. His eyes move under his closed lids. He coos a little. I wonder what he’s dreaming about.
My dream stands a few feet away, stroking the dog’s fur. She wears a warm, wide smile. My heart melts. It’s complete liquid. Between the baby and Tinsley, I’m no longer made of skin and bone. I’m a puddle. A puddle of love.
As if to punctuate my thoughts or razz his uncle, the little dude toots. Laughing internally, I get up, smoosh Tinsley, and ask my sister, “Where is your diaper bag?”
Mae’s eyes widen. Tinsley’s go even bigger.
“Uncle Aiden is going to change your diaper? Wonders never cease,” Mae says, directing me to the necessary materials and then mercifully giving me a crash course in the art of the diaper change.
It’s a dirty job, but I’m a proud man to do it. I’m a bit on the older side to start a family, but I can imagine a future with Tinsley—kids and a dog running through this field, visiting their grandparents, and lazy Sunday afternoons grilling, swimming, and smooshing.
With his diaper clean, Tinsley takes a turn with the baby and Mae helps me fix dinner. As usual, we grill.
As my sister puts together a salad, she says, “I have a confession.”
I go still, braced for something personal I do not want to hear involving her and my best friend, Taylor.
“You don’t need to—”
She waves me quiet. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t welcoming to Tinsley.”
“It’s understandable. She wasn’t exactly a prime candidate for a friend when you first met.”
“No, but I misjudged her. Or perhaps she’s changed. I don’t know, but I do know that over the last three weeks, she’s helped Rhondy out a ton, fixed up Bubba’s, and befriended Beatrice Baskin while learning about bees. No offense to Bubba, but that woman is like gristle. But his BBQ sauce has never tasted so good.”
“People change.”
“Beatrice is ancient.”
“I meant Tinsley.”
“Yeah. But I wasn’t nice to her. That probably wasn’t fair. I also—”
I wave my hand this time. “It’s fine. I appreciate you looking out for me.”
She gazes through the window at Tinsley rocking the baby in her arms and the dog lying down at her feet.
A long sigh seeps out of me.
“I can see it too. Just maybe not in this trailer. You drive a Maybach, surely you can do better than this?”
I laugh. “Don’t get nosy and wander over to the house. I want to do a big reveal.”
“I cannot fathom what you’ve got going up there only that I saw a truck with a rock climbing wall drive down Main Street the other day.”
My lip crooks with a smile as we walk outside. I pat my firm stomach. “Have to stay in shape.” I give the baby’s foot a gentle tug. “And I’ll teach this little man to climb too.”
We say goodbye to Mae and sit down for dinner. The dog has seconds.
After we clean up, Tinsley says, “Do you think he was what I heard scratching outside?”
“Could’ve been and if not, he’ll scare off whatever was out here.”
“So you think I can keep him?”
“The real question is can I trust him alone with you?”
Tinsley grins. “Can I trust you alone with me?”
I loop my hand around her waist and pull her close. “I have to say when I saw this guy eyeing you...I got a little protective.”
“I’ll say. More like jealous.”
“Ha ha,” I say dryly.
The dog shifts closer to Tinsley as if not wanting to let her out of his sight. It’ll help me sleep better knowing he’s down here with her. With the pending case, I can’t be too careful. I wasn’t joking about pitching a tent outside Toby.
“Forget man’s best friend. He’s a woman’s best friend.” She roughs up his neck and then boops his nose.
“Does that mean he and I are friends? If so, I’m glad he let go of his first impression.” Mae did.
“I think he’s exactly what I’ve been looking for. What should I name him? Something strong. Powerful.”
“How about Aiden Junior?”
She chuckles. “Hmm. I’m thinking Brave. What do you think, boy? Do you like the name Brave?” She gives him a rub and then nuzzles him. “Oh, you need a bath.”
We both laugh. While I clean up, Tinsley goes into the trailer to get some soap and then starts to bathe the dog with the hose outside.
Once again, I watch her through the window. She’s tall and graceful. Her freckles popped from being in the sun. The woman is a bombshell, but one who’s come home. Returned to roots she didn’t know she had.
I always said I was going to be the last man standing and this woman has clearly knocked me down. Is she my kind of woman? Yes, the one I didn’t even know I wanted, needed. This thought unleashes a strong desire in me and an idea attaches itself to the grand reveal of the new house.
I glance over my shoulder as if looking back. I left behind a woman after I closed every case. Not one of them knew who I really was. I’ll have to tell Tinsley, but will that change anything? I should be brave.
Instead, I go outside and ask, “What made you name the dog Brave?”
“It’s what I’ve needed to be these last weeks. It’s what I’ll need to be now and...”
As if we’re both looking into the future, we gaze into the field.
Tinsley turns to me, sudsy and damp. She laces her arms over my shoulders. “There is something I want to tell you, Aiden.” She swallows and her eyes soften.
I lean close, worried it’s about the case.
She swallows then says, “I wub you.”
Brave and I both tilt our heads as if not quite understanding.
“I mean I wuv you,” she tries again.
“Do you mean—?”
She shakes her head and places her finger across my lips. “I need to say it. Aiden, I lurve you.”
She’s not quite there, but I pull her into me, not caring that she’s wet and covered in dog hair.
I say, “I’ve done a lot in my career, but love is new to me too.”
She nods her head against my neck as we embrace.
We start with a smoosh and finish with the kiss that sends a shooting star across the sky.
It rains for the next three days, which, despite the profession of love, matches my mood. I’m ready to be done with the Stoll case. Ready to retire and go full country, but Tinsley doesn’t have to worry. I’m keeping the Maybach.
We lose a few days on the exterior of Bubba’s but are just about done inside, which means the crew can return to my house. All that remains there is a long punch list, including installing the light switch plates, vent covers, and weatherstripping around the French doors off the back deck.
I decided not to decorate yet because there’s a certain someone I want to help me with the project. Hint: we’re not related nor does she have her own show on HLTV.
Tinsley covers Mae’s shifts at the Starlight and each day she proudly tells me what she baked. I guess Rhondy even graduated her to decorating cupcakes, which she has a knack for. I also find my way there for a daily mid-morning coffee break.
The bad weather also gives me extra time to work on the case. I traced the Hawaiian shirt receipt to a store in Savannah. I visit and sure enough, the security tape footage shows Gatlin Stoll making the purchase two days before he disappeared. Taking a copy, I watch it carefully in case he was being followed.
I review every detail of the case, writing them all on index cards, and pinning them to the wall in chronological order. Unfortunately, having fallen in love seems to have dampered my usual Sherlock Holmes-esque ability to make deductions based on my observations and clues.
First order of business: I contact Gannon Barnes, who tells me he wrote Gatlin to let him know he got out of jail. Don’t believe it.
Next, I call every animal rescue in the Atlanta area and none of them had a cat in their possession that fits Twinky aka Cindy Clawford’s description.
For the third time, I search Gatlin’s emails and calendar to try to figure out why he went to Atlanta and returned the next day with a cat.
I talk to everyone in the town hall, slide surreptitious questions into conversation at the Starlight, and finally return to Stoll’s house.
We scoured the place the other night and came up with nothing. As the rain pounds down, I sit in the driveway, trying to clear my head, and let the answers in. They’re here somewhere. I’m simply missing something.
Despite my better judgment, for the third time, I break into Stoll’s house. It’s a bit musty and mail spills onto the rug under the slot in the front door. Like when Louella Belle, Bo, Christina, Buck, and I came by recently, I don’t dare turn on a light. Shadows play and jump as the wind blows outside.
“Stoll, where are you?” I whisper as I go from room to room.
Nothing seems out of place except my being here. I rifle through drawers, look in closets, and check for loose floorboards.
I go to his office and run my fingers over surfaces, checking for the seams of hidden compartments in his desk. Nothing.
“Stoll, what are you hiding and where is it?”
I spin in his chair to face the fireplace behind the desk. The Easton Estate has hidden rooms and passageways accessed by bookshelves. Perhaps the fireplace has a lever somewhere, spins, and opens to a lair where I’ll find Stoll’s grand master plans stuck to the wall with thumbtacks.
Instead, I look into a painting of the man himself—it’s massive. Then again, so is he. About as wide as he is tall. His face has a reddish hue in the painting, set with beady eyes, and a smug grin.
I steeple my fingers and think. If I were Stoll, why would I want to take over a town? Why the greed? Why the cat? And if I were to leave anything to point to my involvement in illegal activities, where would I hide it?
In plain sight? Even he’s not that stupid.
I meet his gaze on the wall then shake my head as I get up and try to remove the painting above the mantle. It’s on there good. I lift the left corner, but it doesn’t budge. I try the right and the painting swings on a hinge, opening to a safe.
“Bingo.” Anticipation rushes through me as I try the numbers from the cat’s collar. The thing doesn’t open. I try them again and a third time. Maybe it’s reversed. Nope.
I go to the car, open the trunk and flinch at the sight of Murder Doll before retrieving my tools. Cracking my knuckles, I go to work, breaking into the safe. It’s a long and arduous process, but with each click, my anticipation builds.
When I finally get it open, all I find is a scrapbook filled with photos of Stoll and a woman.
I take it, close the safe, and return to the office. I’m about to go upstairs when I pause and head into the bookstore instead.
Aggie greets me. “You have a puzzled look on your face.”
“I could go for a piece of pie.” Instead, I show her the scrapbook with several pictures torn out.
She pulls on a pair of rubber gloves and handles it the way a forensic technician would. My prints are already all over it. “Looks like Gatlin Stoll was married, went on a honeymoon to Hawaii, and several cruises, along with the usual shots of a couple—” She gasps. “Look at who is in the background of this shot.”
I peer over Aggie’s shoulder to see a cat lounging on the couch behind Gatlin and the woman who’re clinking glasses together.
“Also, if you notice, of the photos that remain, not one of them offers a clear depiction or portrait style image of her.”
“But now we know the cat is connected. But who and where is Mrs. Stoll?”
I do the obvious and review records of all known associates, but a Mrs. Stoll doesn’t come up. I can’t do a facial recognition match because, as Aggie pointed out, none of the pictures show her face clearly. This could be the reason some of the photos are missing.
Apart from my inability to comprehend how someone could marry Gatlin Stoll, my mind floats with thoughts of marriage and what I’d be like as a husband—if someone, namely a woman with long blonde hair, big brown eyes, and a slight gap between her two front teeth would want to say, I do to a guy like me.
The next day, when I pick Tinsley up from Sweethearts before we head over to Bubba’s, she exits the boutique instead of the bakery. She carries a very large dog in her arms.
I leap out of the car and move to take Brave from her, but she twists away from me.
“I got him. Carrying those bags of cement for the porch footings over at Bubba’s really built up my strength.”
“Why are you carrying the dog?”
“It finally stopped raining and the pavement is hot.”
“Brave is a dog.”
“Who has sensitive toe beans.”
“Toe what?”
“Footpads. I need to get him those little paw protectors.”
I press my hand to my eyes. “Don’t listen to her, buddy. You have strong, tough, manly dog feet.”
She giggles and her phone beeps. She struggles to adjust her bag on her shoulder with the dog in her arms.
“Want help?”
“Nah. Just ignore it.”
She ignores her phone a lot lately. When she first came to Butterbury, she was plastered to the thing and looking at social media. Now, she rarely goes on her device, but she’s been receiving tons of texts.
It beeps again and the screen illuminates. Nestled toward the top of her purse, it draws my eyes. The word DELETE scrolls across the screen. The other day, I noticed it said IGNORE. Before that, it said DO NOT CALL.
My investigative senses go off. Seems strange, but Tinsley doesn’t look at her phone, and I can’t make sense of the various contact names.
We get into the car. Brave rides in the back of the Maybach like a furry prince.
“I take it you had him stay at the boutique while you were at work.”
“He’s my Velcro dog and doesn’t like to leave my side but because of health code stuff, I can’t have him inside the bakery. Christina had Gremlin and Dulcie at HQ. Let’s just say they became insta-friends.” Tinsley sing songs.
Her comment reminds me of my case of insta-love with the rumbling inside. It rolls through me like thunder across a field with flashes of lightning in the distance. Sometimes I think they’re bolts of love, others, a warning.
While we head over to Bubba’s, my mind floats with the safe, the plane tickets, and Tinsley’s texts. I’m missing something and I hope it won’t soon be her.