Chapter 3 #2
He broke into a concise accounting of the past few minutes, detailing the state of her studio, while trying to lead Dove away.
With awareness slowly coming back, Dove dug her heals in.
She needed to hear Mitchell’s conversation, and she wasn’t leaving until she could find a way to block off the door of the studio.
No way she could have any of her clients seeing the space in its current condition. The traumatic sight could leave a permanent scar that would block the good energy they came to her seeking.
She had to call them all. Immediately. Prevent them from experiencing the horror still assailing her in waves.
Thoughts tumbled one after another, until she heard, “Bob St. James is a new client…”
He’d officially taken them on? She’d told him his bill would have to come in monthly installments. She’d gladly sign on to paying them for the rest of her life if that’s what it took.
Relief and horror mingled inside her.
With a hand still wrapped around her elbow, Mitchell took another step toward the stairs. She held her ground. And he said, “Have them get eyes on Brad Fletcher.”
The name tore through her. And she moved with him to the staircase. She could stand guard and prevent any of her students from seeing the degradation in their peaceful place from the bottom of the stairs just as easily as she could the top. Should have already thought of that.
Brad Fletcher?
“I looked into him this morning,” Mitchell spoke softly, but with authority into his phone.
“He owns boat rental places up and down the sound, with Shelby being a noticeable hole in his monopoly, and, due to our location in relation to the glaciers, a definite drain on his tourist population. He issued a very clear threat to Bob’s daughter, Dove, this morning.
Cushioned, but clearly there. I heard it myself. ”
They were halfway down the stairs. And in the next second, Mitchell had hung up. “Eli’s on it,” he told her. “The police will be here in a minute or two, and then we need to get you out of here until they know more.”
She needed to back up a step. “My dad’s business is cutting into this Brad Fletcher guy’s profits?” she asked, refusing to go down another stair until she had her answer.
Mitchell’s gaze met hers. “Most definitely.”
She’d searched the man on the internet. Knew he had similar businesses to her father, but every town had similar businesses to those in other towns.
How Mitchell had secured actual financial information, she had no idea, but he was good.
Far better than she’d expected if the past minutes were anything to go by.
But that wasn’t all. Looking him in the eye, she asked, “You’re taking us on?”
He held her gaze. Didn’t speak. And her tension escalated. “You just told your brother that my father was a new client.”
He nodded. “He is at the moment. Because I’ve taken your authority to seek my assistance at face value. But what’s going to happen when Whaler gets back from today’s cruise and hears about what you’ve done?”
Right. His question was valid. But there was no way she was going to lose his help. “You leave my father to me,” she said.
She’d call in every single card she had, if that’s what it took, to get Bob St. James to concede on this one.
She might not wield enough power over his heart to compel him to stay away from the bottle.
But even if she had to remind her father that her mother’s last wish had been that the two of them carry on their family unit so that she could smile down on them together from her place in heaven, she’d do so to get him to see that his drinking had left them no other choice but to seek help.
Because she couldn’t continue to hold the two of them together without it.
Mitchell heard the very real determination but also the load of bravado in Dove’s assertion that she’d handle her father. As right as she was about Whaler’s dire straits, she had to know that part of the reason for the current situation was the man’s refusal to admit he needed help.
With anything.
Including his drinking.
Which meant that the only one who could help the old fishing captain at the moment was Bob St. James himself. And Whaler just didn’t seem to have what it took to face the truth.
Or to have enough internal strength left to do the work required to fix things.
Two officers were entering the building as Mitchell and Dove hit the bottom of the stairs.
They took down Dove’s brief statement. Asked a couple of questions.
And reminded her that with Shelby’s low crime rate and no need for CCTV or alarms, they didn’t have a lot to go on.
They’d secure the scene. Dust for fingerprints.
But without a witness, there was no telling who’d vandalized the property.
When the officers went upstairs, Mitchell stayed close to Dove as she called clients to cancel the day’s sessions, determined to give her the assistance he could before getting on with his weekend plans.
It appeared that the biggest challenge facing St. James Boats—and currently the most critical one—was Brad Fletcher. Who was not in Mitchell’s lawyerly wheelhouse. Investigative efforts had to run their course first and foremost. Something which Mitchell had just set in motion.
So…he’d helped. Fulfilled whatever prophecy Dove thought she’d envisioned pertaining to him.
He just had to make sure that she was safe until the police had eyes on Brad Fletcher, and then he’d be off on a boat.
Or hiking some remote neck of the woods that would be treacherous enough to discourage anyone else from seeking him out.
Just until Monday. Then he’d be back in the office and willingly at the beck and call of anyone and everyone who could benefit from the talents and skills he had to offer.
They’d reached their cars—he’d deliberately parked next to hers—in silence. Her proclamation to leave her father to her, still lingered between them.
“I’m going to follow you home,” he told her unequivocally. Until she heard back from those processing her studio, she had no way of knowing what kind of danger, if any, she might be in.
Still, he hadn’t needed to tell her his plans. The streets were public property. Anyone could use them. He just hadn’t wanted her to freak out if she saw him right behind her as she turned into the drive of the small house she rented by the marina. Or saw him parked out front until she got inside.
Stopping as she reached for the handle on the door, she turned to him. “I’m not going home. I’m going to the marina to see my father, and I’d rather you didn’t follow me. It’ll go better if I have a chance to talk to him without him seeing you hanging around.”
“He’ll have heard by now that I was there this morning.” They were in Shelby, not Anchorage. There were few secrets in their small town. And word traveled fast.
“Yes, but no one knew why,” Dove said, seemingly unfazed by his point. Her confidence impressed him. As did her, “No need to make him feel as though we’re ganging up on him before the conversation even begins.”
She really believed she had a chance to get Whaler’s approval of her plan.
The realization gave Mitchell pause for the second it took him to remember that Dove also thought that sitting on the floor with her eyes closed and taking deep breaths made the bad things that happened in life go away.
Or that cleansing auras could change someone’s life. When, clearly, it was actions taken every day from choices made—either deliberately or not—that determined one’s course.
He was facing just such a choice. And knew that his course would take a downward spiral if he watched her drive off and then heard that something happened to her on the way to the marina.
“I’ll follow you long enough to see you make it back safely and then keep driving,” he told her.
“But only if you allow me to call and make arrangements for someone to check your house and then see that you get home safely tonight.” The words came without forethought.
Not a usual occurrence for him. Or one of which he was fond.
Dove’s eyes narrowed on him. The way she studied him, as though she could see things others couldn’t, made him feel like he did when a fly was buzzing around him. He needed to swat the intrusion away. Keep his space to himself.
And was about to tell her so when her gaze cleared, and she nodded. “I would appreciate you making that call,” she told him. Surprising him yet again. “And if you could have someone let me know when I can get back into the studio to start cleanup, I’d be thankful for that, too.”
Cocking his head, he watched her, looking for something more ethereal attached to the words, but discerned nothing more than a practical request. And so he nodded and said, “I’m happy to do so.” He wasn’t just being polite. He felt good about helping the woman.
Brushing the thought aside, Mitchell took a few quick steps to his own vehicle and had the engine started before he pulled the door closed. Not trusting Dove to actually give him a chance to position himself behind her.
She did, though. Waiting to pull out into traffic until she’d had a nod from him, and then stopped at a yellow light when she saw that he wouldn’t be able to make it through the intersection without stopping.
The woman might be flighty, what he’d call woo-woo, even, but she appeared to put value in keeping her word. As did he.
A nice note with which to seal the ending of their short acquaintance.