Chapter 31 Violet #2
I’d never had so many people actually give a shit about me. It was almost unsettling. I’d spent so much of my life only ever worrying about myself. Toby was added on later, the only person I’d ever cared about. But now… Now I had an entire room full of people I didn’t want to see hurt.
And the only way I could make sure that happened was to find out who was working with Paul Jeddersen that night.
And let the Murder Squad deal with him from there.
Iwent to Clean Sweep HQ that afternoon, not even sure if Francine would be there. Without Nyah, and with me in the city, she had to be short-staffed. It was entirely possible she would be out on a job herself.
Unless she’d already hired a replacement for Nyah.
The thought left me so freaking cold I rubbed my arms briskly, trying to ward off the chill, and made my way up the steps. Whip and Levi hovered on the street, but X had refused to let me go in alone.
Apparently, they were back to babysitting me twenty-four seven. I had to be in sight of at least one of them at all times.
This time, I hadn’t argued about it though. I no longer found it stifling.
I felt safe. Protected.
And it felt necessary.
I put my hand on X’s before we walked in. “Let me talk to her, okay?”
X pouted. “You don’t want me to interrogate her?”
I shook my head. “Your interrogations usually involve weapons.”
“And bad jokes. Don’t forget the bad jokes.”
“I’m not sure which is scarier.”
He made a face and leaned around me to hold open the door. “Go on. I’ll behave.”
Francine glanced up from behind her desk when we entered.
X was good for exactly three seconds before he slammed his palm down on Francine’s desk. “Tell us who he’s working with!”
Francine jumped a mile, papers spilling over the edge of the desk onto the floor. She glanced between me and X in confusion, eventually settling on me. “Violet? What is this?”
I closed my eyes and grimaced, linking my arm through X’s and pinching his forearm hard.
He yelped like an injured puppy, but I elbowed him, and he shut up. “Please excuse my friend. He has a head injury and apparently thinks he’s in some sort of Dirty Harry movie.”
X mumbled something about it being more James Bond, and I glared at him silently until he sheepishly pretended to button his lips.
If only it was that easy to keep X quiet.
Francine edged her chair away from him and closer to me. And the door.
I laid the charm on thick. “What we actually wanted to know was if you could have a look at your records for us. Please.”
Francine settled in her seat, some of the fear filtering out of her expression now X wasn’t being psychotic. She adjusted her glasses on her nose and turned to her computer. “What do you want to know?”
“Do you keep a record of who books a job? Like, when they call for the first time, do you record the caller’s name?”
Francine shrugged. “I might ask them their name, or they might offer it when I first take a call. I need someone’s name to put the booking under.”
I nodded. “Paul Jeddersen on Olympic Drive—”
Francine scowled. “You mean the job you lost me after just one clean.”
I wanted to roll my eyes that she was still holding on to that grudge. “Yes. That one. Can you tell us who booked that job?”
She squinted at us. “Why?”
X slammed his palm down again. “Just give us the intel, woman!”
Both of us stared at him.
His expression grew sheepish. “I did it again, didn’t I?”
“Do you literally need to go stand in the corner and have a time out?” I asked.
“I think I might. I’m overexcited.” He slunk off to the hard plastic chairs beneath the window and sank into one.
I smiled at Francine apologetically, and she just shook her head as she pushed her glasses back up on her nose and peered at the computer.
“He must be really good in bed for you to put up with that level of crazy,” she muttered.
She probably wasn’t wrong. Or maybe I was just as crazy as he was. Because he looked kind of cute just sitting over there in disgrace.
I couldn’t help but smile at him.
He was like a wounded dog who’d just been tossed a juicy bone. He lit up as if my smile of forgiveness was all he’d ever dreamed of.
“It’s a bit more than that,” I said softly. “But if you could have a peep at your records, it would help us out a lot.”
Francine scrolled a little, typed a few words, and peered at the screen again. “So why exactly am I doing this?”
I opened my mouth to lie. But the words that came out were the truth. “A man at that house hurt me. And I think he was working with someone else. I need to know who.”
Francine’s gaze snapped up to meet mine. “He…he hurt you while you were on the job?”
I nodded.
Francine’s hands shook. “Violet, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Why didn’t you report it?”
I reached across the desk and squeezed her fingers. “I know. It’s okay. I’m all right.”
“He was a new client. If I’d known…”
I shook my head. “You couldn’t have known. It’s not your fault.”
She nodded grimly, then peered up at me and said, “You aren’t going to sue me or something, are you?”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. There she was.
The Francine I knew, always a bit self-centered.
“No, I’m not suing. I just want to know who made that booking.
If there’s nothing under Paul Jeddersen, try Claire.
Or Clara. I remember that being a contact name on the job form and thinking it was his wife, but it was weird because he kept using them interchangeably.
Like he had no idea what his own wife’s name was. ”
In hindsight, I wished I’d paid more attention to that little slipup.
Francine focused again, clearly reassured now that I wasn’t trying to take her to court. She scrolled on her mouse until she found what she was looking for. “Okay, here it is. Booking was made a week before, and Claire was listed as a contact person for that address. But there’s no other details…”
“Oh,” I said, deflated. “Well, thanks for trying.”
She went on like I hadn’t spoken. “It was an email booking. Let me just find that and see if I can find a phone number I might have missed adding to the system.”
“Thank you.”
“Happy to help.” She smiled up at me. “As long as you don’t sue.”
This time I couldn’t stop the eye roll.
She clearly took that as her sign to get back to work. Her fingers pecked at the keyboard, and her frown grew deeper.
“What’s wrong?” X asked
“I can’t find an email from a Paul or Claire Jeddersen. Odd, because I never delete emails.” Her frown smoothed out. “Oh, wait. Their names do come up when I search it, just not as the sender. Let me just…”
She clicked something on her screen then sat back, her gaze lifting to mine. “You’re right. Neither Paul or Claire Jeddersen made the booking. Someone made it on their behalf.”
“Is that normal?” X asked.
Francine nodded at him. “Happens all the time when people are elderly or sick. A relative or caregiver will often make a booking on behalf of someone else.”
“Paul Jeddersen wasn’t either of those things,” X said quietly. “And we all know Claire Jeddersen isn’t a real person.”
But they were both missing the point. There was only one thing I wanted to know. “Who sent that email, Francine?”
She peered at the screen again and then up at me. “A Travis Brumley.”
My blood ran cold at the sound of my foster brother’s name on her lips. Something Paul had said that night rang through my head. He’d taunted Toby, calling him my “gay boyfriend.”
Paul Jeddersen wouldn’t have known anything about Toby. But Travis would have.
I’d assumed Paul had been stalking me. But maybe he’d just been fed the information.
“That name mean something to you?” Francine asked.
I so desperately wished it didn’t.