Chapter Three #2
Willow’s security changed hands over the lunch hour, but the new guards don’t look at us as we walk through the lobby and out the doors.
She doesn’t waste a second to tear into me on the sidewalk. I pity Zane her temper. I bet he sees it a lot.
“What did you do that for? I wanted to know what she was doing.”
“You know what she was doing, Stella. She let you go because she and Rourke were having an affair and she didn’t want anyone to find out.”
Her lips part but nothing comes out but a puff of breath that turns white in the cold. Tears fill her eyes. “My freedom, the reason I’m standing here right now , the whole reason the past year was possible, is because she was having an affair? Her husband and son are in prison because she was having an affair?”
I would think she’d be yelling, but her voice is thin, full of holes like a fishing net.
I grasp her upper arm and lead her into a wine bar next door. “Two reds,” I tell the waitress who steps in our direction. Because of the time of day, we have the place to ourselves, and I push Stella into a booth that has high backs. Call me paranoid, but I don’t want anyone to see us through the glass. Don’t need rumors to start.
In a daze, Stella shrugs out of her jacket and yanks off her beret. She wore them barely five minutes.
The waitress serves us large wineglasses, a couple inches of red in each one, and an enormous cheese platter.
“We didn’t order—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Stella says, staring at the table. “We own this place. Well, Zane does. Thanks, Bryn.”
“You’re welcome, Stella. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thanks.”
I swirl the wine in my glass. “How do you get used to it?”
She sighs and holds the giant wineglass between her palms. “It’s easier than you think. Rich people and their games. They think they aren’t hurting anybody, but they never look behind at the damage they leave in their wake.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You’ll find out. Are you going to tell your mother?”
“According to Pop, she already knows. Trades it for, the ah, financial perks.”
Stella rests her lips against the rim. “Like Mayor Huxley’s wife.”
“Like that, yeah.”
She pops a chunk of cheese into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. “I guess it doesn’t mean anything. The conversation was a waste of time.”
“Not necessarily.” I hunch over and lower my voice. “Her apartment’s bugged and she couldn’t talk freely. She led us on a wild goose chase of non-answers, but she gave us something else besides she was fucking my stepfather.”
“I must be obtuse, then. I didn’t get anything out of her except a passion for a young Pierce Brosnan.”
“She said she didn’t know anything about Quiet Meadows.”
“How does that help us?”
“She implied someone did.”
“Who? Zarah’s doctor is in prison.”
“He couldn’t have been working alone.”
Stella shrugs. “A nurse or two maybe looked at her chart and questioned the medication she was prescribed, but Zarah’s mental state was shaky, even you and I can admit that.”
“Maybe that’s not all it was.” I tell her about the three dead girls and Pop’s suspicions.
“Do you think Zarah’s in trouble?” she asks, alarmed.
“You guys live pretty simply out there. Just be careful of delivery men and service people who don’t have an appointment. The morning Savannah Mesa committed suicide, a technician supposedly working for the power company did work in their house.”
“Okay. I decided to take spring semester off and canceled my classes. Until we figure things out, I think we should close ranks and keep her safe.”
My throat burns. It means a lot to me people love Zarah as much as I do. “Thanks.” My voice is raspy and rough. Self-consciously, I look away and sip my wine.
Despite the lunch Willow served us, we eat our way through the platter of cheese and grapes in companionable silence. I like Stella. I think she has spunk and won’t put up with Zane’s shit. I think if something’s going on, she’ll be a big help getting to the bottom of it.
When our glasses are empty and the cheese is gone, she says, “Do you want to come out to the house? You can bring Baby.”
I groan. “I really, really want to, but I can’t. Pop and I have other cases to work on, and as much as I want to spend all my time with Zarah or look into what’s going on, I can’t afford it. You’ll have to pick up some of my slack.”
It’s too bad, too, because among working, seeing Zarah as much as I can, and cleaning out Max’s apartment, my free time to look through the lockbox Max left me and read more of his journal is slim to none. Even now, as Stella and I sit and sip wine, Pop’s working a case I wanted to pick up. It sucks to have to choose. It also sucks I’m going to have to put off driving up to the state pen to talk to Black, and, at some point, I’d like to have a little chat with Rourke, man to man, and hope I can keep my fist out of his face. Plus, you know, I’d like to get some sleep.
“What if I paid you?” Stella asks, leaning forward, but looking over my shoulder, afraid to meet my eyes, afraid of what I’ll say.
“You want to pay me to date Zarah?” The idea curdles my stomach. “I’m not a gigolo.”
“I’m not saying you are. Look, I understand what it’s like to worry about rent and bills. I bought my clothes at thrift stores and didn’t have anything brand new until Zarah took me shopping, and then I didn’t feel like those clothes belonged to me. They were hers because she paid. So, I get it. You have a truck payment. You worry about your credit score. You’re a normal person and you buy groceries. If you’re hungry, food doesn’t simply appear and you don’t have someone in your kitchen waiting to cook it for you, either.”
I laugh. How easily Stella sees me because she used to live my life.
“I would work through my lunch hour for the overtime to afford tomatoes. I never would have been able to put together a salad like the one Willow made us. Especially not at this time of year. How much do you charge per hour?”
“Depends on the job. Depends on who hires us. Thirty to fifty, maybe more. We don’t price gouge the rich—even if they can afford it—and we try to cut low-income clients some slack if they need us.”
“Okay. I’m not saying I want to pay you to spend time with Zarah, but if you’re going to be snooping into things on her behalf, that’s going to take some time away from the jobs you can charge for. Let me reimburse you. Does that sound fair?”
Uneasily, I shrug. No matter what kind of explanation Stella comes up with, accepting money from the Maddoxes is going to feel weird.
She sighs and rests her hand on top of mine. A dainty gold diamond ring glitters in the light shining over our table. “If you marry her, the money won’t disappear.”
“It’s different for you, though.”
“Because I’m the woman, the little wife?”
“Fuck. No, that’s not what I meant.” But I did.
“Yes, it was, but I understand what you’re saying. I don’t work, Zarah doesn’t work. If I pay you, you’re working, but not bringing in any money. When Zane goes to the office every day, he’s the only one working. I would love to help him. Contribute to a company that will one day belong to our children, maybe your children, too, but the only position my skills would land me is back in the payroll department. What good would that do? Zane could reinstate me as his executive assistant, but Peggy knows more about what he needs in her little finger than I do in my whole body. At this point, I’d only be a liability.” She pauses. “Besides, it gives him peace of mind to know I’m with Zarah. That should matter most.”
Point taken. “Only until I can figure out what’s going on.”
“I can accept that. Then what happens will be between you and Zarah.”
“Okay.” Reluctantly, I agree. I hate the thought of using Zane’s money to pay my bills, but Stella’s right. The Maddox family fortune isn’t going away. When I fell in love with Zarah, I fell in love with all that came with her.
She pulls a checkbook out of her purse, and in pretty, even script, writes me out a check for fifteen thousand dollars. “This is for three months plus expenses. I don’t expect you to stop working other cases, but I’d be grateful if you gave this top priority. I hope to God you don’t need that long, but I have to be honest. I don’t know what we’re looking for or what we’re up against. We hardly know anything except we think Zarah should be getting better and she’s not. That’s not a lot to go on.”
She carefully rips off the check and writes out another payable to Pop. “I want Linc to help you when he can. I saw the way he protected Zarah from Rourke at Max’s award dinner. Thank God Zane had gone to the men’s room or Rourke wouldn’t be alive right now.”
“You saw that?” I shouldn’t be surprised. Stella sees everything.
“Yeah.” She slides the checkbook into her purse and zips it closed.
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“For one, I try to let Zarah fight her own battles, and two, you were there. If Rourke has a problem with your girlfriend—”
“Fiancée.”
She smiles faintly. “—fiancée, then I figured you would handle it.”
“I did. I will.”
“I know. I didn’t tell Zane and I don’t plan to, but Rourke was having an affair with Willow and he couldn’t hide his dislike for Zarah. He’s also Max’s dad, and Max decided to investigate Kagan’s and Lark’s deaths. I don’t like how his name keeps popping up.”
“I don’t either, but he’s married to my mom.”
“When Special Agent Banks found my parents, I thought I would have to choose between them and Zane. I was lucky and got to keep both. Who will you choose if you can’t? Come out to the house tonight. Invite Linc if you’d like. Zarah has told me more than once she likes him a lot, and it would be nice if she could see him. She’s been without her mom and dad for almost eight years. It might help.” Gathering her jacket and purse, she slides out of the booth. “Thanks, Bryn. Have a good evening.”
“You too, Stella. Stay safe out there.”
Stella adjusts her coat, pushes her purse strap up her shoulder, and meets my eyes. “I will. You do the same.”
I stare at the checks as she pushes out the door, letting in a gust of frozen air.
Thirty thousand dollars sitting on the table. Just laying there in Stella’s ultra-feminine script.
There’s no point in being bitter about it. I can try to lie to myself and say it’s not technically Zane’s money but his father’s—once you open the floodgates, how easy is it to keep it going?—but it doesn’t do any good.
I want to rip them up, but instead I should be thanking Stella for thinking about my time. If I’m going to be doing some legwork, it’s nice to know I’m getting paid somehow. Zarah’s kisses won’t pay the heating bill, even if they keep me warm.
Shrugging into my jacket, I stand uncertainly in front of the bar wondering if I should pay and tip our server.
Bryn senses my discomfort. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Davenport. It’s all settled. Thank you for thinking about us, though. Have a nice evening.”
“Thanks, you too.”
I’m halfway to the office before I realize she knew my name.
I step into our tiny office, and whining, Baby pads over to me. I feel terrible I left her behind and drop to my haunches and give her neck a brisk rub. Normally, I bring her with me everywhere I go, using her service vest at indoor events where she wouldn’t otherwise be welcome. “Hey, sweetheart. Sorry about that. You wanna see Zarah?”
Her ears perk up, as well as Pop’s eyebrows. “Again? Becoming a regular habit.”
“A habit I’m in no hurry to break. Stella invited us both out. Said Zarah would like to see you.”
“I’d be all for it, but we have cases to follow up on. I understand you want to spend time with her, I really do, but...”
Dropping into a chair, I pry my wallet out of the back pocket of my jeans and slide the check Stella wrote out for him across the desk. “We talked to Willow Black this morning, and I think Zarah’s more than my...girlfriend.” I stop there. I haven’t told anyone besides Stella I asked Zarah to marry me. I had no right to do it, except I wanted to ease Zarah’s mind about the future, try to convince her I’ll never leave, no matter what happens. “She’s a case. Something isn’t right, Pop.”
He fingers the check. “What does she want us to do?”
I tip my head back and sigh. “I don’t know. She doesn’t, either. All we know is Zarah’s not getting better. She was on the right track and now she’s not. I guess we want to know if she can, or if this is going to be something permanent.”
“That’s not exactly in our wheelhouse. We’re not doctors, or even malpractice lawyers. We’re hardly shrinks, though sometimes it feels like it. How are we supposed to figure out Zarah’s mental health progress? I know you love her, but there are some things people can’t change. Just because you want her to get better doesn’t mean she can.”
“I know all that, but I owe it to her to look.”
He holds up the check. “You get one, too?”
An embarrassed stain creeps up my neck. “Yeah. I didn’t want it, but if I want to dig around, I had no choice. I’d rather think of Stella and Zarah as clients than take the money Mom is always offering me.”
“After all these years she’s still trying to buy your time?”
“She sent me a check for Christmas and I ripped it up and threw it away. I don’t want Rourke’s money. Especially after what Willow told us.”
“Yeah?”
“She and Rourke were having an affair. That’s why Stella was able to escape. Willow couldn’t admit to being in a part of the building where she didn’t belong.”
Pop scoffs. “That’s hardly surprising.”
“No, but it’s too tidy for me. Max was working to expose the Blacks. He meets Zarah and falls in love. Willow and Max’s father were having an affair. She lets Stella go, Ash and Clayton go to prison. Now Zarah can’t remember anything, and Max is dead.”
“And you pick up where Max left off.”
Rourke said the same thing, and it doesn’t matter if Pop’s the one repeating it, it still rubs me the wrong way. “I can’t help how I feel about her. One second she was a chore Max foisted on me, the next, all I want to do is hide her from the world so no one can touch her again.”
“I think she’s had enough of that, but I get your point and I see what you see. A beautiful, vulnerable young girl. Nothing makes a man feel more like a man than taking a bullet for the woman he loves.”
“I don’t plan on getting shot.” Again.
“Doubt Max did, either. You think everything is too neat. So is falling for the girl. Be careful.”
Scowling, I hunch in my seat. No one coerced me into falling in love. No one manipulated me into it. Her big brown eyes and her kisses did that all on their own. Zarah didn’t need any help. Would things be easier if I didn’t love her? Fuck, yeah. Or maybe, like Stella feared, without me in the picture willing to get my hands dirty, things could be a lot worse.
“Maybe it was meant to happen,” I say.
Pop folds the check and locks it in the safe we keep in the wall hidden behind a tacky oil painting of dogs playing poker. “All right. If Zarah’s a case, we treat her like a case. That means keeping an open mind. I’m not working this with you if you’re going to stonewall everything I say. There might be things you’re going to have to push aside. You know as well as I do not every case is roses and champagne, and Zarah might not be any different. Sometimes we find things we don’t want to find, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Not all endings are happy.”
“Stella said the same thing at lunch. It doesn’t matter what we find. We do what’s right like we always have.”
“Fair enough. Let’s go over what we got.”
We’re an hour into writing a list of what’s related to Zarah’s case and what’s not when Pop’s phone rings. Everything from Jerricka Solis to Quiet Meadows’ dead former patients to Stella’s escape and Willow and Rourke having an affair. Everything is connected...but not, and on paper, nothing looks like it makes sense. Not with anything in regard to the Blacks, and certainly not to Zarah’s recovery, but I like having it all written down and now that Pop’s helping, maybe we can start putting a few of the pieces together.
I badgered Pop into accepting Stella’s invitation, and I’m feeling better about things for the first time since Zarah broke down in my stairwell. Pop answers his cell, and I don’t mind—I need a break. It’s a good idea to brainstorm with someone who can look at all the details objectively. I’ll have to be careful because Pop’s right. I’m too close to this case.
“Delilah, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
I tamp down a smile. Pop always did know how to sound sincere when he was anything but.
“Well, Happy New Year to you, too.”
My gaze shoots to the calendar hanging on the wall above our Keurig. Tomorrow night is New Year’s Eve. How did I miss that? I would love to bring in the New Year with Zarah, kissing her and...talking about a future that’s so hazy and disjointed that planning causes fear instead of excitement. Sounds great.
“Yes, he’s here.”
I frown.
“You can speak to him. Just a sec.”
Pop pushes Mute.
“Why does she call you looking for me?”
“Because she knows you don’t answer your phone.”
I hold out my hand. “Fine.”
Pop unmutes his cell and hands it over.
“Mom.”
“Gage. You’re a bear to get a hold of. Just a bear. How are you? And Zarah?”
“Fine. We’re fine.”
Pop kicks me under the desk. No reason to be rude. It’s not her fault her husband is a lying, fucking cheat.
I even out my voice. “Thanks for asking. How are you?”
“Oh,” she says, taken aback by my softer tone. “We’re fine. Busy as always. I’m calling to invite you to our New Year’s Eve party tomorrow night, since you managed to avoid me for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. You can bring Zarah, of course.”
Zarah wouldn’t be up to doing something like that, and even if she was, I’ll never let Rourke around her again. “I already have plans, but thank you.”
“I’m hosting a brunch on New Year’s Day. Maybe that would work?” She has a whole lot of hope in her voice. Maybe she misses me a little. Max would have attended events like this.
“Possibly. I’ll let you know. Happy New Year, Mom. Give Rourke my best.” My best foot up his ass.
“I will, darling. Hear from you soon.”
“Yeah. Bye.” I disconnect the call.
“Party?” Pop asks.
“Yep. New Year’s. I’d rather spend it with Zarah. The date completely missed me. When we go out there tonight, I’ll ask her if she has plans.”
“Glad your mother didn’t invite me.”
“Ha. Ha. If Zarah’s not in the mood for company tomorrow night, who do you think’s going to be my plus one? I’m not going alone.”
Pop pulls a face.
We spend another hour jotting down ideas and details about Zarah’s case, if we can call it that, then give our other clients some time. Zarah texts and asks if we’re going out there for dinner, and Pop warns, “This can’t be a regular thing.”
I know that, but no matter what I’ve got going on, it’s going to be damned near impossible to keep my distance. I text back Yes, and she shoots off a million hearts and smiling emojis. The 7 PM almost gets lost in the burst of color.
Despite the tension between Zane and me, the evening’s pleasant. He’s not happy Zarah and I have been intimate. I would love to say it’s none of his business, but until Zarah’s mentally healthy, I’m going to have to give him some room in our relationship. There’s nothing I can do but prove I won’t hurt her, and my track record hasn’t been a hundred percent spot on.
At the end of the night, I ask Zarah about New Year’s Eve. Pop’s waiting in the truck, and Baby’s doing an extra run around the yard before we head back into the city.