17. Eli
T he clang of the weight plates echoed across the gym as Eli pushed up the barbell, arms straining, his breath measured. Peter stood over him, hands poised beneath the bar, ready to catch it if needed.
“C’mon, two more,” Peter urged, his voice even, calm.
Eli gritted his teeth and pushed through one more rep before racking the barbell. He exhaled, shaking out his arms, before he sat up and wiped his forehead with his towel.
Peter grinned, offering him a fist bump. “Not bad for an old guy.”
“Hey, I held my own,” Eli shot back, rolling his shoulders. “Plus, we’re not old. We’re seasoned .”
Peter chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, but you know I had you on the squats the other day.”
“Debatable,” Eli muttered, grabbing his water bottle and taking a sip. “Anyway, you’re a cop and have to train for a living. I’m an architect and the only thing that needs to be in shape is my pencil.”
“Honestly, you’re in great shape, Eli. Not…” He tipped his head to a small group of younger men just finishing up on the Smith machine. “Like those Gen Whatevers.”
Eli followed his gaze, checking out the boys who looked like Jonah’s peers. “Yeah, not a gray hair in the bunch and so much T, I can smell the stuff.”
Peter laughed as the guys came closer to the bench press station. One of them, the bulkiest with a full sleeve tattoo, gave a nod.
“You guys done?” he asked.
“It’s all yours,” Peter told them, stepping back.
The two of them watched as the guy and his friends proceeded to absolutely destroy their previous numbers. By the time the kid re-racked the weight, Peter let out a low whistle.
“All right, I’ve officially hit my limit of humiliation for the day,” he said.
Eli laughed. “Yeah, let’s call it.”
They grabbed their towels and water bottles, stopped in the locker room to wash up and get their keys and phones.
A few minutes later, they stepped outside into the warm Florida sun. The air was thick with spring humidity and the scent of freshly cut grass from the park across the street. They plopped down on a bench just outside the gym, taking some time to catch their breath.
“So, speaking of being an architect…” Peter gave him a look. “You letting Meredith run your company now?”
Eli laughed softly. “Basically. I’m doing everything remote these days, with Zoom calls. Truth?”
Peter shot him a look. “Hey, it’s me.”
Eli took a deep drink of water and looked out toward the sunshine, thinking of the hours he’d been spending with his son finishing the apartment. “I just don’t want to leave Jonah while he’s waiting to find out if he got into the Culinary Arts program. And, honestly, man, it’s been years since we talked this much. The thing that’s keeping me here is my son.”
“Hey, that’s great, Eli.”
“It is,” he agreed. “He’s shared a lot about Carly, who is still keeping him at arm’s length while he gets his act together. We’ve talked about Melissa’s death a little, something he’s never really been comfortable addressing with me. And we’ve talked about…life, fatherhood, sports. All the stuff I’ve missed so much since he’s been away and growing up.”
“I get that. And it’s way more important than work.”
“Work’s important, too, but between Meredith and setting up a drafting desk in the back office? I’m able to cover all the bases.”
“Well done.” Peter leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “And if I may ask…how are things with Kate?”
“Oh, yeah, you can ask.” Eli stretched out his legs as he considered his response. “Fact is, I miss her more than I thought I would.”
“Ah.” He gave a smile that made Eli think his friend knew that.
“It’s weird, Pete. We haven’t known each other as adults for that long, but it feels… right. Like something I don’t want to lose.”
Peter nodded. “She’s coming back soon, right? For a long weekend at the end of the month?”
“Yeah,” Eli said, unable to wipe the smile from his face. “She and her kids—and Jo Ellen—are coming for that fashion show Tessa and Lacey are organizing for the bridal shop. It should be a good time.”
Peter chuckled. “Yeah, I know all about that. I had lunch with Vivien the other day and somehow, I got roped into being one of the models.” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t say a word, Lawson.”
But Eli was already cracking up. “You? On a runway? This I have to see.”
“Hey, I’ll have you know I can pull off a tux,” Peter shot back.
“I don’t doubt it,” Eli said, then he eyed his friend. “So…if I may ask,” he joked, echoing Peter from earlier. “Vivien, huh?”
Peter looked out toward the street, lifting his chin and scratching some beard growth. “Yep. Vivien.”
“Don’t forget she’s still my little sister.” He gave him an elbow jab. “Hurt her and someone will die.”
Peter laughed. “I’m not going to hurt her,” he said. “But there’s definitely some chemistry there. I think. I don’t know. It’s early days. And I know she hasn’t even signed divorce papers yet, so I’m keeping it very chill.”
Eli nodded as he regarded the other man. There was no one he’d trust more with Vivien, but was she ready for another relationship? Even with a guy as great as Peter? And did Eli have a say in that? Probably not, but he might try anyway.
“So, uh…” He hesitated, then asked, “You thinking it could turn into something serious, Pete?”
“Maybe. I mean, it has potential. But I don’t know how long she’s staying in Destin, which is over an hour from Pensacola. Not a thousand-mile challenge like you and Kate, but still not easy to build a relationship.”
“If it’s real and strong and lasting, that’s just an obstacle,” Eli said. “Plus, I firmly believe God opens doors when He wants you to go through them.”
Peter gave the tight smile of a non-believer, but one who fully respected Eli’s faith. “I guess Vivien’s proximity depends on what happens with the house,” he said. “You haven’t made a decision whether or not to sell it, have you?”
Eli leaned back against the bench. “Nope. We haven’t made a final decision. There are a lot of things to consider—people’s lives and jobs, the upkeep on a place like that, and, of course, the cash cow of selling it. But it’s only April. We’ve got time to figure it out. Right now, everything’s on the table.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, letting the sun warm their tired muscles. Then Peter shifted, his posture changing slightly. He turned toward Eli, his expression more serious.
“Look,” Peter said, lowering his voice slightly. “I have some information about your father’s files.”
Eli sat up straighter. “You do? You holding out on me?”
“I don’t mean to be. I’m just not sure if it’s going to answer your questions or give you a whole bunch of new ones.”
Eli stared at him, aware of how tight his chest grew. “What is it?”
“Well, I called in a favor and was able to get some old files from the initial investigation.”
“That’s legal, right?” Eli said. “I don’t want you to go one inch outside the law.”
“I didn’t and I won’t, you can be sure of it. The files were heavily redacted, and I wasn’t allowed to take any pictures or make copies. I did determine that, yes, there was an informant. He requested—and was granted—anonymity. At least from the filings I read.”
“Oh.” Eli leaned back against the stone wall with a punch of disappointment. Anonymity was such a non-answer. “Is that SOP in a thirty-year-old case that was long closed?”
“It’s not exactly standard operating procedure,” Peter said. “But it’s definitely a decision made at the discretion of that department’s chief. It might mean Feds were involved in later stages of the investigation. Those guys lock everything forever and throw away the key.”
Eli nodded. “All it tells us is that there was an anonymous source, and for whatever reason, the police honored that request. Is that normal?”
“Oh, yeah. If they think the informant could be in danger or if they want to go back to him and negotiate for more information or even if they’re protecting their source from being called in as a witness. Lots of reasons,” Peter said. “But it doesn’t answer the question of whether or not it was Artie.”
Eli frowned, processing. “So Maggie might have been wrong.”
“Maybe,” Peter said carefully. “I mean, it’s still possible. But this isn’t the smoking gun that proves Artie was the one who turned him in.”
“Is that the end of it, then? All you can get your hands on?”
“Not necessarily,” he said. “I’ve got a contact within the Atlanta PD now, and that file gave me some names I could call or places I might look.”
“Don’t go to any trouble, Pete.”
He shot a “get real” look. “You know I want to help you, and it’s no trouble. I just don’t know if you’ll like what I find.”
“Well, without finding anything, all we have to go on is Maggie’s word and we know what she says.”
“Jo Ellen’s coming down,” Peter reminded him. “Could you talk to her?”
“Maybe. Kate said she hates the subject—thinks it’s ancient history that we should forget.”
“In other words, you don’t want to ruin your weekend by dredging up the past?”
Eli nodded. “But I also do not want to plow into a serious relationship with this potentially hanging over our heads. I mean, the implications are major. Our mothers hate each other—or at least one does. While I happily don’t need my mother’s approval anymore, I have no interest in breaking up our family, or Maggie’s old heart. It’s a layer of complication.”
“Especially if Artie did turn him in just because he wanted to take the high road or thought it was the ethically correct thing to do,” Peter said.
“Exactly. And if it turns out that Artie did maliciously betray my father, regardless of how ‘right’ he was and how guilty my dad was? Well, can we get past that?”
“Then this is at least a little hopeful,” Peter said. “It doesn’t confirm that it was Artie. Maybe Maggie’s wrong.”
Eli exhaled slowly, clinging to that hope. “Maybe this was a misunderstanding, and the families can resolve things. Then…Kate and I might have a real chance.”
Peter gave him a small smile. “Wouldn’t be the worst outcome.”
Eli nodded, determination settling in. “I need to tell Vivien. And Crista. And Tessa. They should know about this.”
Peter clapped a hand on Eli’s shoulder. “Then go do it. Let’s get back here after a day of rest. We need to bulk up for the fashion show.”
Eli chuckled, standing up and shaking his head. But as they said goodbye and he walked to his car, he had to say a power prayer that “anonymous” was not Artie Wylie. Please, God .
* * *
“Anonymous?”
“Redacted?”
“ What ?”
The questions volleyed at Eli by the three women on the deck with him were understandable, despite his best efforts to explain what Peter had told him. It was just enough information to be dangerous, confusing, and frustrating.
Eli had called Vivien on his way back to the Summer House and asked her to gather Crista and Tessa with some privacy, which was probably why Lacey had taken Nolie down to the beach to play. Jonah was up in the apartment finishing the bathroom’s tile floor.
That meant Eli was able to be alone with these three—who very much deserved to know what Peter had told him.
He’d tried to call Kate from the car, but she was in a meeting; he’d fill her in later.
For now, he had to navigate the reactions of three very different women with three very different agendas as far as Artie Wylie and Roger Lawson—and their wives—were concerned.
“Well, that’s our answer,” Tessa said.
“How is anonymous an answer?” Crista snapped back, her stress palpable from the minute this conversation started.
“My father wouldn’t do anything anonymously . He’d call that cheap, cowardly, and shameful. If he reported a criminal act, he’d proudly put his name on the documentation and give all his reasons for turning the bad guy in.”
Vivien sighed. “Tess, can you do us a favor and refrain from calling our father a ‘bad guy’? We know what he did.”
Her eyes shuttered. “Sorry. I’m just defending my dad. You know I will to the death.”
“Well, our father has already met his death,” Crista muttered. “And no one’s defending him.”
For a moment, no one spoke as they let the comment settle over them. The only sound was the rustle of the palm fronds and Nolie’s voice from the beach, an ironic contrast to the tension straining across the deck.
“I’m certain that my dad would have signed his name.”
“Was the name redacted?” Vivien asked. “Or was the tipster called ‘anonymous’ through the whole document?”
“You know, I’m not sure, but Peter might know. He wasn’t allowed to copy or take pictures of the files.”
“Doesn’t that seem weird to you?” Vivien asked. “I mean, it’s a thirty-year-old closed case and Dad’s long gone, so…”
Eli shrugged. “I asked Peter, and he said it’s at the chief’s discretion. Or that the FBI got involved at some point, because they are very tight with clearances and files no matter how old the case.”
Crista folded her arms, her dark brows knit with the strain of the conversation. She rose from her seat and walked to the railing, leaning against it to watch Nolie play, sighing repeatedly as she put her hand on her stomach like she could feel the stress right in her gut.
“Our mother insisted it was Artie,” she said suddenly, turning toward the rest of them. “Why would she make up something like that?”
Vivien’s posture was calm but cautious as she leaned forward, her gaze on Crista. “Maybe she believed it to be true. Maybe she needed someone to blame. Maybe Roger told her that to ease his own guilt. There are a lot of reasons, but it doesn’t necessarily make it a fact. Anonymous doesn’t automatically translate into Artie.”
“Thank you!” Tessa exclaimed. “Nothing translates into Artie.”
“But he’s not exonerated,” Crista said.
Eli watched the flicker of anger in Tessa’s eyes, the way her lips pressed together before she spoke. “If the source was anonymous, then that means there’s no proof it was him. That means my father doesn’t have to be the villain in this story.”
“You want to believe that,” Crista replied. “I get it. But it also doesn’t prove it was someone else.”
“Remember,” Eli said, feeling a fight brewing. “Peter said he has connections and some more trails to follow. We could still learn something more definitive. But with this question?—”
Crista let out a sharp breath. “What question? Maggie said Artie turned him in and that was the cause of their big falling out. Why would she lie? Why else would they end a long friendship?”
“Kate and Jo Ellen are coming in a few weeks,” he said. “So we can?—”
“I can’t.” Crista threw both hands in the air, one of her common gestures when she was losing the battle with her emotions. “I can’t do this. I can’t have this conversation or let Artie off the hook for being anonymous. I don’t think I can continue to hobnob with…his family.”
“Crista!” Vivien launched out of her seat. “Don’t do this. We’ve made so much progress. You and Tessa and?—”
“That’s a Band-Aid that isn’t going to heal the wound,” she said, taking a step away. “And the wound is deep. Dad died in prison. Do you think that would have happened if he’d been home? Mom would have called an ambulance at the first pang in his chest and he could very well be alive today. But he was alone, in a cell!”
Tears sprang to her eyes, surprising Eli because she hadn’t cried in so many days.
“You can’t blame me for your father’s death,” Tessa ground out.
“I’m not blaming you,” Crista insisted. “I just…promised my mother and…” She turned again, swiping at tears she obviously didn’t want to shed. “I’ve lost sight of everything.”
Her murmured words were carried on the breeze, but Eli heard them and he and Vivien both went to her.
“Come on, Cris,” Eli said. “You know that’s not true. Nolie’s made progress.”
At the mention of Nolie’s name, they all looked down at the beach, watching the child dance in the sand while Aunt Pittypat scampered around her. Lacey was clapping and singing a song, the two of them laughing in the sunshine, bathed in what Eli thought of as the enchantment of Destin.
Crista looked at him, something dark flickering in her eyes. Guilt, maybe. A mother’s worry and a daughter’s doubt. Then her expression hardened and she pushed off the railing, past all of them.
“Anthony’s right,” she said softly. “She’s just playing. Not learning.”
Tessa flinched like she’d been struck.
“Are you kidding me?” Her voice wavered, but anger burned behind it. “You promised you’d stay if she passed the third-grade test. We’re taking it today. That’s why she’s down there. We thought she could decompress and?—”
Crista shook her head, taking a step back. “I can’t do it, Tessa. I just can’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I’ve been programmed my whole life to hate a Wylie.”
“ Programmed is right,” Tessa said with a bitter laugh. “Do you ever think for yourself, Crista Merritt? Or just follow the orders of your Queen Maggie or your husband?”
Crista stared at her, breathing so hard her nostrils flared. She opened her mouth to say something, then slammed it shut.
“Crista, please?—”
She shook off Vivien’s attempt to make peace. “I’m packing our things,” she ground out. “Nolie and I will be gone this afternoon.”
With that, she strode inside, leaving them in silent shock.
Eli exhaled sharply. He wanted to stop her, but knew she needed to calm down. His eyes met Vivien’s, who looked as troubled as he felt.
And Tessa looked gutted. She swallowed hard, then lifted her chin, her breath shaky as she shifted her gaze to the beach and it landed on Nolie.
“I made a promise and a commitment,” she said, voice steady but fierce. “And Artie Wylie’s daughter doesn’t break either one.”
With that, she walked off, leaving Eli and Vivien standing in the wreckage of the argument.
Back to square one, Eli thought. Back to broken bridges, and fractured families.