Chapter 13
Jesse
Everyone knows you never find love when you go looking for it.
You have to wait for it to find you.
I spent all morning trying to come up with an excuse to reach out to Alex. I could have just called her, but with the way we left things after work, I didn’t want to overstep. Then Duke texted about the yard decorations.
My heart races, and there’s this pull—low and tight—right beneath my ribs.
We’re going on a stakeout. I’ve never done anything like this.
But, if I’m honest, it’s not the thrill of actually solving the biggest crime in Bordeaux history that’s making me antsy.
It’s Alex—spending a night alone with her in my car. If all goes well, I’ll ask her out.
If the look she gave me in the alleyway is any indication, she might say yes. I can only hope.
I pick up Italian to go, then I drive to Alex’s home. She’s standing on the porch, waiting when I arrive—probably as filled with anticipation as I am.
“Hey,” she says as she slides into the passenger seat. “Wow. It smells delicious in here. Don’t tell me you got chili dogs. I have my limits. Two in one week might be pushing it.”
“I got pasta.” I glance over at her. She’s beaming. “And salad.”
“Yum.”
“And … tiramisu.”
“Ohhhhh.” She practically moans. “There’s this place in Brooklyn—Osteria Nonnino—It’s family owned. Their tiramisu is to die for. I’ll have to take you sometime.”
She almost gasps. Then she starts to backpedal. “Sorry. I get too excited over food. Especially Italian food. And tiramisu is my favorite. It reminds me of home.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” I tell her. “I hope I get to see Brooklyn one day—with you.”
It’s a bold statement, I know. But I’m feeling brave tonight. She makes me step outside my comfort zone. Wanting her is the sweetest ache. Seeing her again is like drinking a cool glass of water on the hottest day.
“Be prepared,” I tell her. “The tiramisu I got tonight is probably not anywhere near the caliber you’re used to eating.”
“Well, a bad tiramisu is better than none,” she says cheerily. Then she asks, “So, are you ready?”
I pull away from the curb. “Yes. Worse comes to worst, we’ll sit in the car eating Italian together while nothing eventful happens.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
The sun is dropping low when I pull up to the side of the road in front of the property a few up from the Simms’ home.
We took my car instead of a cruiser so we don’t stand out.
I kill the lights, and then I reach around behind Alex’s seat and pull the large paper to-go bag up into the front seat with us.
I catch a whiff of Alex’s shampoo—and her familiar cinnamon and honey smell wraps around me, warming me from the inside out. She shifts in her seat and her knee brushes against my arm—just a light touch—but it sends a spark through me like someone flipped on a live wire.
Visibility is low on these country roads at night. With the lights out, we can barely see our food.
“I want to turn on the inside lights,” Alex says with a soft laugh. “I keep stabbing at my pasta and missing. I swear I have the coordination of a drunken raccoon right now.” She taps her fork against the tinfoil container until she makes contact with some noodles.
“I’d say turn them on, but we need to stay as invisible as possible.”
“I know. I’ll manage,” she says around a bite.
Our eyes adjust to the darkness over time. I can make out Alex’s silhouette and her smile.
We crack open the tiramisu and I turn my phone flashlight on dim so we can manage to share from the to-go container with two forks.
Alex hums around each delicious bite. I don’t look directly at her lips.
I couldn’t see them well enough through the darkness even if I wanted to.
But awareness flickers anyway—I imagine her mouth, lips slightly parted as she savors each forkful.
I stare out into the dark night and focus on breathing normally.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” I say.
“Embarrassing myself is more like it.”
We continue to take alternating forkfuls, sometimes clicking our forks against one another. Sharing this feels intimate—promising.
“Headlights in the distance,” I say quietly when twin lights grab my attention at the end of the road.
I turn my phone light off and watch intently as the beams brighten and grow closer.
We’re both frozen in place as if someone might hear or see us if we even flinch. The lights pass by—a pickup truck. And then everything goes still and dark again.
We polish off the tiramisu and still there’s no sign of movement or activity anywhere around us.
“Do you have any suspects?” Alex asks. “Since we talked to Mrs. Simms—did you think of anyone in particular? Any new thoughts?”
“I’ve run a lot of scenarios through my head. I don’t think the teens would even know about Mrs. Simms, let alone go out of their way to steal items and come all the way out here to set them in her yard.”
“Right,” Alex agrees. “And since we know all the crimes are connected, it probably isn’t Kate Shaller, even though she seemed to like the publicity the thefts brought to her events.”
“I don’t see Kate driving out here putting the decorations around the yard all willy-nilly,” I agree. “The arrangement would have been far more organized and visually appealing if she were the one.”
“So, who then?” Alex asks.
“I honestly don’t know. I think it’s going to come down to someone we don’t know—someone who knows the Simms and is aware of their situation. Maybe it’s one of her neighbors.”
“Could be,” Alex concurs.
We sit in silence for a while, each of us mulling over our own thoughts. The heater hums while I work up the courage to say what I need to say.
When I finally speak, my voice comes out low and rougher than I mean it to. “About the other night in the alley …”
Lights flash in the distance.
“Did you see that?” Alex whispers.
“Yes.” We’re still again, my moment lost, but it doesn’t matter for now because the car is slowing down in front of the Simms house.
And it’s not a car. It’s an old pickup—one I’d recognize anywhere.
Alex and I hunker down lower in our seats, watching as the driver exits the truck and goes around to the bed, grabbing a bag out of the back.
“No way,” Alex whispers. “Actually. No way.”
I sigh. Then I whisper, “I should’ve known. Let’s just watch to see what he does.”
We lay low, peering over the dash. I should be hyper-focused on the case.
Here we are, facing down the culprit. But Alex is leaning with her elbow on the center console, and I’m tilted in her direction.
We’re so close that her shoulder presses against mine.
I hear her every breath. Her hair tickles my cheek.
It’s hard to make out the man’s movements in the dark, but thankfully, he turns on his phone flashlight, walking more quickly than I’ve ever seen him move up to the porch, setting the bag down, knocking, and then turning to dash across the porch where he hides himself at the side of the house, turning the flashlight off and cloaking himself in darkness.
Like clockwork, Mrs. Simms opens the door, the light from inside her home illuminating the porch. She looks to the left and right and then down. When she sees the bag, a soft smile spreads across her face. She takes it and ducks back inside, only glancing our way once.
We had called her to tell her we’d be out here. Other than that, we haven’t had contact with her since we pulled up.
As soon as the door shuts, the man walks out from the side of the house, heading toward his truck.
“It’s our move,” I say, popping my door open and breaking into a run.
Alex is right behind me shouting, “Stop where you are, Cooter!” Her voice is steady, but her breath is coming out in pants. Maybe from the cold, or maybe it’s the rush of finally apprehending him.
He stops dead in his tracks, raising his hands overhead and freezing in place. My flashlight shines directly in his eyes and he squints. I lower the beam, approaching him slowly.
“Last I heard, it’s not a crime to bring your neighbor some supper,” he mutters.
“Cooter,” Alex says. “Is this the first time you’ve brought something over to Mrs. Simms?”
He looks at Alex, then me, and then back at her. “No ma’am. I’ve been out here before. She’s all alone since her husband passed.”
“So you decided to do some late-night decorating?” I ask him.
He meets my eyes and says, “Just spreading Christmas cheer. Are you gonna arrest me, Jesse?”
“You did steal from people, Cooter,” I say.
“I didn’t steal anything people needed—not more than she does. Have you ever spent the holidays alone?” His tone is scolding, as if we’re the ones in the wrong. “It’s depressing. Widow Simms didn’t have one decoration on her house. She barely gets enough for groceries.”
“We’re not arguing the fact that she needed support, Cooter,” Alex says. “The way you gave it was illegal.”
“I’m aware of the law, Miss.”
“Officer Keller,” I correct him.
Cooter nods. “And maybe I shouldn’t have taken them things.
I’m not a rich man either. I bought her the groceries and some meals fair and square.
I did take some cookies from the bakery once.
And all these things …” He waves toward the yard.
“I was gonna return after the holidays. It’s more like borrowin’ than stealin’ if you think of it. ”
“Borrowing involves asking,” I tell Cooter, even though I’m quite sure he knows it.
He pulls the simple-minded hillbilly act when he’s evading responsibility. I’ve known him too long to fall for it.
I look at Alex, waiting for a sign of agreement. She gives me a slight nod.
“I tell you what, Cooter. I’m not going to arrest you.”
I glance at Alex again just to make sure we’re on the same page. Her silence and relaxed posture tell me we are.