13. In Which Juniper Makes a House Call #2
My heart, which is already tripping along uncomfortably, picks up its pace. “You knew her?”
“Of course I knew her,” he says, leaning back in his chair.
“She and Lionel and the rest of their little gang—they hung around our place all the time. Our house over in the Heights, the house Lionel lives in now—it was the nicest of the bunch, and my parents mostly left us kids alone unless they needed somewhere to vent frustrations. Your mom and the rest of those guys were at our house almost every weekend.”
“Wait, so you were friends with them too?” I say, curious.
“Nah,” Rocco says, waving one hand. “Lionel and I didn’t get along even then. He would never have let me tag along with them. Nora was always sweet to me, though. I always thought she was too good for Lionel.”
“So their group. It was my mom, Lionel, Thomas Freese?—”
“Tommy,” Rocco says, nodding.
I nod too. “And Cam Verido.”
“Yep, that was them.” He shakes his head. “And God rest your mother’s soul, Juniper, but the bunch of them—they were troublemakers. They ran wild whenever they could get away with it.”
I swallow, my throat trying to close around my next question. “And was my mother involved with any of them? Romantically, I mean?”
That shrewd look of Rocco’s returns. “You really want to know? I’m not stupid, Miss Bean; this conversation looks to me like you’re hunting for your father.”
“Yes,” I say. “I want to know. I’m not hunting for him, necessarily, but…I’m not not hunting, either.” It’s not a very helpful answer, but it’s the best I’ve got.
“Your call,” Rocco says with a shrug. “It’s like I said; Lionel never let me hang around with them, so I don’t know details.
But I think Nora and Tommy had something going on, and I know Lionel liked her.
Whether she felt the same way—that, I don’t know.
But there was about a year in there where Nora and Tommy went to dances together, stuff like that. ”
“What about when they graduated high school?” I say. I can’t even keep up with my pulse at this point; my heart is racing, and adrenaline is burning holes through my veins. “There was a party at the end of that summer, after they graduated.”
Rocco shifts uncomfortably. “Look. It’s not that I don’t want to help, but—those four got together every weekend. There was never any big party; it was just them hanging out. Do you know when specifically you’re talking about? Maybe then I could tell you if I know details or not. Or if?—”
“No,” I say, sighing. “I don’t know any specifics.” I stand up, suddenly antsy with the need to keep digging elsewhere.
“I can tell you this, at least,” Rocco says, and he stands up too. “I don’t know who your father is, Miss Bean. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were any number of relationships going on in that group—like I said, your mother was beautiful, and those four were always together. And how old are you?”
“Thirty,” I supply. “And my mom’s ex says that she got pregnant at the end of the summer after her senior year, at a party with her friends.”
“And that timing fits?” Rocco says. But then he answers his own question. “I guess it does—Lionel and his friends are two years older than me, and I’m forty-six. Your mother would be forty-eight, and you’re thirty?—”
“Making her roughly eighteen when I was born,” I say, nodding.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, rubbing his hand over his messy hair. “Like I said, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear any of them might be your father. But I have no concrete knowledge.”
I nod. Strangely enough, even though he doesn’t know who my father is, it does help to know that I’m on the right track. “Do you know what any of them are up to now?”
“Aside from Lionel?” he says with a bitter laugh as the three of us meander toward the front door. “No, I don’t. We weren’t friendly; I never bothered keeping in touch or checking in on them.”
“And your brother’s just…” I say, letting my words trail off and watching Rocco.
“Just being the same self-absorbed, arrogant man he’s always been,” he says, his scowl firmly back in place.
“Surrounds himself with sycophants and beautiful women and laps it all up. Sleeps with models and brand ambassadors and beauty queens and then shows up on my television with his arm around his wife. Thinks he can get away with anything, and now he has his sights set on a new playground. Idaho,” he adds when I give him a questioning look. “The state of Idaho.”
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, my mind whirring. It couldn’t be clearer that Rocco really doesn’t like his brother, and because of that, I think most of what we’re hearing is at least partially biased.
That being said…the more I learn about Lionel Astor, the less I like him, too. It’s not just the snippets of knowledge I’m coming across, either, although Aiden has feelings about Lionel’s plan to reduce funding to the food bank.
No, my growing dislike comes from somewhere much more…intuitive, I guess. More visceral. I looked him up after I found the photo of my mom and her friends; I watched some of his commercials. And on paper he seems to be doing good things. But when he smiles, his eyes look hollow.
A lot like Sandy’s in those pageant photos, now that I think of it—and hang on.
I blink as the rest of Rocco’s words catch up to me, another little red flag flying.
If he’s telling the truth, his brother is involved with models and brand ambassadors and beautiful women. Does he have connections to the pageant world, then, too?
I don’t know. But it will be easy to check.
My hand shoots out, grabbing the door handle. “I’m sorry we wasted your time,” I say, smiling at Rocco to soften the abruptness of my words.
He takes it in stride, looking only mildly surprised. “A visit from friends is never a waste,” he says with a shrug. “But you”—he points at Aiden—“contribute to the conversation once in a while, why don’t you. ”
Aiden just smirks.
“Oh!” I say as we step outside. “I do have one last question, actually. Is Rocco your real name, or is it a nickname?” This question has been bugging me since day one.
Rocco grins, his eyes sparkling. “A ridiculous name, I know. It’s short for Richard. But it could have been worse.”
I raise one skeptical brow at him, and he winks.
“My parents could have called me Dick.”
I laugh. That’s a fair point.
“I think I like him,” I say with a nod once Rocco has seen us out and closed the door behind us.
“Did you not like him before?” Aiden says.
I shrug. “It’s not that, necessarily. I wasn’t sure if I trusted him.”
“Because…?”
“Because he’s a fox. It’s my policy to be wary of charming men with eyes that blue.” Though I would be lying if I said I wasn’t still a little wary. I only barely know the man from Adam.
Aiden’s nose wrinkles. “You realize you might be related to him?—”
“I’m aware,” I say, cutting him off. “But thank you for the reminder.” Then I pull out my phone, pulling up Google and entering Lionel Astor beauty pageant.
“Bingo,” I whisper when the search results pop up.
“What?” Aiden says, leaning closer to peer at the screen. “Watch out, you’re going to trip.” He steers me through the yard and down the dirt driveway with one hand on my shoulder while I keep my nose buried in my phone, scrolling and reading as fast as possible.
“Look at this,” I say quietly, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Rocco is inside with the door closed. I’m not sure why, since he likely knows anyway, but whatever. “Lionel Astor has been a guest pageant judge for years.”
Aiden frowns, that little v-shaped crease appearing in his brow as he opens the passenger door for me. I get in, passing him the phone so he can see for himself.
He closes my door and then rounds the car, climbing in the driver’s side with his eyes still glued to the phone.
I watch him scroll through photo after photo of Lionel—some of him sitting on a panel, some of him with his arms around pageant winners.
I wait patiently as he starts typing and scrolling, typing and scrolling.
A moment later, he looks up at me, his face drained of color. “Your search history is obscene, ” he says.
“Hey,” I say, frowning at him. “Why are you looking at that?” Then I add, “And what do you mean?” There shouldn’t be anything…you know… raunchy on there.
He drops his gaze back to the phone, sounding incredulous as he begins listing things off. “Let’s see. Best knives for sawing through bone, how to dissolve a body, where to buy lye?—”
“Oh, that,” I say, waving one hand. “I’m a writer.”? *
He sighs and shakes his head. “Unbelievable,” he says. Then he looks at me, passing the phone back. “Sandy did pageants.”
“She did,” I say with a nod.
“Why was he involved with them?”
“As part of a cultural outreach charity he’s apparently on the board for,” I say. “The Idaho Cultural Enhancement and Scholarship Committee.”
“I—all right, look,” Aiden says with a sigh. He glances at my phone again while starting the car. “Doesn’ t this all seem too obvious?”
“Kind of? But mostly it just feels like a lot of things lining up too well to be coincidence.”
“If you were writing this mystery, how would you do it?” Aiden says.
“Hmm.” That’s an interesting question. It doesn’t take long for me to find my answer.
“If I were writing this, the culprit would have been the one person it seems it can’t be.
The one with the rock-solid alibi. That person would be the key.
However…” I bite my lip, thinking. “My culprit would also be the one with extensive hidden ties to the victim.” I look over at Aiden.
“I don’t know about alibis or anything of the other guys, but it’s clear that Lionel Astor occupied at least some of the same circles as Sandy.
It’s also glaringly obvious that a man running for governor would not want news of an illegitimate child to get out. ”
Aiden just studies me for a moment. “You’re talking about all this like that man isn’t possibly your father.”
“I’m trying to stay detached,” I say, swallowing.
“And look at the facts as they present themselves. Now let’s go home.
” I turn my head, looking out the window.
“I need to research Thomas Freese.” I shove aside the nagging little voice that reminds me about the other person in that photograph, the one we still haven’t found anything about: Cam Verido.
Thomas first, I decide, letting my head rest against the cool glass. I can only do one thing at a time.
And first on the agenda? The man my mother was dating.
* ? I remember distinctly muddling through this chapter and wanting to give up—on the story, the characters, the whole book. I wanted to close my computer and do something else. I’m so glad I didn’t!
* ? As my longtime readers will know, this was my first mystery novel, and I had NO idea what an investigation actually looked like.
I needed a realistic reason for Juniper and Aiden to investigate on their own, rather than leaving it to the police—which was when I realized they had to be in possession of knowledge that others weren’t.
They saw the body, while no one else did.
That fact combined with Juniper’s history and character gave me a believable-enough foundation for their own investigation.
* ? I’m sure I will have more male leads who smell “woodsy” or something similar. There are only so many manly scents that a female lead of mine would recognize. My leading ladies are not usually the types to know sandalwood from cedar from musk from whatever else men smell like!
* ? We’re notorious for having strange search histories. It’s a fact.