Chapter Twelve #2
The thing he’d said about how they still had time penetrated all the other static in her head. Did that mean he was single? Doesn’t matter.
“You have siblings?” she asked, when she really wanted to inquire about his relationship status. Not going there.
“Three brothers. All older.”
“So you’re the baby?” Interesting.
He laughed. “Thirty-two is hardly a baby, but yeah, I guess I am.” He motioned for her to follow him into the hall. “What about you?”
He already knew this answer. The Colby Agency had likely done a thorough background search on her. “No one else. Just me. I believe my mother said they’d given up hope of ever having children and suddenly I came along.”
He checked Janey’s room, the bathroom and her office and then moved on to her bedroom.
It suddenly felt too intimate having him run his fingers over her things, even though he’d already been through her room before.
She lingered at the door, deciding not getting too close was the best choice at the moment.
He leaned forward, checked the lamp on her side of the bed. Then he crouched down and examined her bedside table. When he stood, she watched far too closely the way he moved. His long legs, lean body…broad shoulders. Her throat went dry.
She gave herself a mental kick. This was beyond ridiculous. He hadn’t mentioned a significant other but that didn’t mean—
“You didn’t ask—” he leaned against her dresser and studied her “—if I was with anyone.”
For two beats she struggled to figure out how to respond. “I figured if you wanted me to know you would tell me.” Perfect.
“In case you wondered, the answer is no. I was engaged once, years ago, but that didn’t work out. We’re still friends, but she’s married to someone else and has two cute kids.”
Brenda wondered what woman in her right mind would toss this guy aside. But then she barely knew him. He might not be… What was she thinking, of course he was. He was really nice, inordinately handsome. Ugh. Stop!
He pushed off the dresser and started her way. Her breath caught. Okay, enough of this fantasy. She recognized the need for distraction, but this was not the way to assuage all the emotions twisting inside her.
The doorbell sounded, and she had never been so relieved in her life. She headed that way. “Must be the pizza,” she called out as she practically ran.
Somehow Ben reached the door before her and took care of the tab and the tip.
Brenda went back into the kitchen and slid onto a stool, rested her elbow on the counter and stared at the glass with the tiny electronic devices floating amid the melting ice cubes.
Whoever put those in her home was convinced she knew something.
Why would anyone believe this when she had never been involved with Scott’s business?
Unless he told the bad guys—and these were really bad guys—otherwise. If she got her hands on him…
Ben placed the box and the drinks next to the glass. “You have paper plates?”
“I do. They’re an essential around here.
” She reached over and opened one of the drawers on the island.
She liked keeping paper plates handy. They were immensely useful for snacking children.
Not to mention they were unbreakable. Whenever Janey had friends over, paper plates were the preferred dishware.
The fresh wave of feelings came from deep inside so quickly and with such impact, she couldn’t hope to slow them. Would she ever have a normal evening with her daughter again? Here in their home? How could the man she had once loved and married—for God’s sake—have allowed this to happen?
Forget about his wife, why would he let this happen to his own child?
No, the real question was, how had she allowed this to happen? Why hadn’t she paid better attention?
How had she become so complacent?
“Go ahead and start without me.” She placed the plates on the counter. “I should call Janey before her bedtime.”
She backed away, then turned and hurried to her room. She put through a call to Mallory’s number. The call was answered on the second ring.
“Hey, Brenda, is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” She sat down on the edge of her bed, an urgency pulsing inside her. “I just need to hear Janey’s voice.”
“Oh.” Mallory made a sound of regret. “She’s asleep already. Would you like me to wake her? That little girl is really missing you too. She keeps asking when we can go home.”
The words pierced right through the center of Brenda’s chest. “No. Don’t wake her.” Just because she was miserable didn’t mean Janey had to be as well. “I’ll call her in the morning.”
“Are you all right, Brenda? We’ve been worried about you.”
“Yeah. I guess I am. I’m just tired and missing my child.”
“My word,” Mallory said. “After all you’ve been through it’s no wonder you’re tired. Most people would be hiding in their closets sucking their thumbs about now. You should be proud of the strength you’ve shown, Brenda.”
She wasn’t feeling particularly proud or strong right now.
“The one thing you don’t have to worry about,” Mallory went on, “is your daughter. She’s fine. She misses you but she’s fine.”
“Thank you. I really miss her.”
“’Course you do.”
A second or two of silence and then Mallory asked, “So you’ve found nothing that might be whatever that message on your garage door was about?”
“Not one thing.” She decided not to tell Mallory about the message on Bradley Street or the visit to Scott’s house. What was the point? They had learned nothing. Everywhere they looked there was either nothing or some dead-end lead.
“I’m really sorry this is happening. Please let me know if there’s anything else we can do.”
Brenda smiled sadly. “Just take care of my little girl.”
“You got it.”
They said their goodbyes and Brenda ended the call.
She should take a shower and just go to bed.
Who wanted pizza again? What had she been thinking ordering it?
But then if she did go to bed and managed to sleep she would only have bad dreams. Better to stay awake until she was too exhausted to dream.
A soft rap on the open door had her shifting her attention there.
“Pizza’s getting cold.” He studied her closely. “You okay?”
Brenda pushed to her feet and walked toward him, unsure if she could work up an appetite. Especially for pizza. “I spoke to Mallory.”
He stepped aside for her to pass. “Everything okay?”
“She said everything is fine and that I shouldn’t worry.”
“Easier said than done.” He followed her to the kitchen.
Brenda put a slice of pizza on a paper plate and picked at it, the idea of taking an actual bite making her queasy. “I keep asking myself where else Scott would hide anything in my house. I mean, we’re assuming he wrote that address on the Barbie elevator, but what if he wasn’t the intruder?”
“Taking a broader look, the one issue I’m having with him being the intruder is why—if he hid something—threaten you to find it for him? He would know where it was. And if his goal was to give you clues to its location, why all the subterfuge?”
“That’s a very good point.” She did take a bite of the cheesy pepperoni pie then. The nibbles had roused her appetite. “Off and on all day I’ve been mulling over where he would have hidden something so important or valuable to the cartel.”
“That is the one point,” Ben offered, “I believe we can safely assume without question. Scott has something they want. Depending on what exactly it is—files, a storage device of some sort—it would likely need to stay dry. Safe from fire. And, obviously, hidden somewhere we haven’t looked.”
“Given we and the police have gone through this place with no luck it has to be a really good place.” God, she was so sick of this mess.
Maybe it wasn’t even in the house. She thought of the flowerpots on the patio that the intruder had pilfered through.
But if Scott was the intruder, was all that for show?
No doubt the police had gone through those as well, maybe with just a tad more care for the plants.
She needed to take care of that jumble of potting soil and abused plants.
Good thing they hadn’t dug around in the ones in her home.
Her attention rested on the snake plant sitting in the white porcelain pot next to the sink. That would really have been a mess.
But why hadn’t they? Even if the police hadn’t, why didn’t the intruder dig around in that plant?
He’d gone through the ones on the patio.
She left the half-eaten pizza on the now greasy paper plate and walked over to the sink.
She stared at the potting soil for a moment.
It looked undisturbed. Then she touched it, scratched around.
The surface was firm enough she felt sure it hadn’t been recently disturbed.
So she moved on to the philodendron in the turquoise pot next to it.
Soil looked undisturbed. Surface was firm to the touch.
The only other indoor plants were in the bathroom, she considered, her feet already taking her in that direction.
Another philodendron and a fern. The fern was her favorite.
Nothing disturbed in the philodendron. Disappointment tagged her when she felt around the base of the fern.
The soil around it felt firm and undisturbed as well.
She stood back a moment, stared at the two plants.
But there was a difference between the fern and all the other plants.
The philodendrons and the snake plant were in pots with built-in saucers for drainage.
The vintage terra-cotta pot the fern was in had a separate drain saucer.
It was a long shot, but she might as well look.
Holding her breath, Brenda picked up the pot.
The saucer was stuck, so, with effort, she tugged until she pulled it free.
Right there stuck in the saucer was what appeared to be a piece of folded plastic with something white inside.
It was hard to tell since the water that had seeped from the drain hole had stained and yellowed the plastic.
Obviously, whatever this was, it had been here for a while.
Heart thudding like a drum, she pulled the plastic free. Not plain plastic, a sandwich bag. Fingers fumbling, she unfolded it and pulled the plastic open then reached into the bag.
“Ben!” She held the paper with the tips of two fingers, too afraid to open it for fear of somehow damaging whatever it was. There were darker areas in the folds that made her think there were written or typed words on the paper.
Ben appeared at the door.
She held up the paper. “This was stuck inside the drain saucer under that fern. If they picked up the pot, they probably thought it didn’t come apart since none of the other pots do.
But it does, it just took some effort.” Who would have thought anything of it…
save for her—the person who bought it. This vintage pot was her favorite.
She found it at a flea market in Chelsea on one of her trips to New York forever ago. Scott had been with her.
Her gaze met Ben’s, and she asked, anticipation making it hard to breathe, “Do you think this is what we’ve been looking for?”