Over the edge, p.15
Over the Edge, page 15
“I’d like to talk to you about her.”
The sudden shimmer in her irises ate at his gut. “Did you know we were best friends?”
“Yes. I also understand why you’d blame me for what happened to her. If it’s any consolation, I blame myself too. And nothing I’ve done for the past three years has helped ease that guilt. All I’m asking you to do today is listen. You don’t have to say anything.”
The sudden faint indentations on her brow telegraphed her indecision.
If she bolted, he’d let her go and hope that once the shock wore off, she’d reconsider and be more receptive when he broached the subject again.
With every second that ticked by, his hopes diminished. She wasn’t ready to—
“Ten minutes.” She retook her seat.
Shifting gears, he sat again too and plunged in. “I assume Clair told you about me?”
“Yes.” Her features hardened. “In case you didn’t know it, she was falling in love with you.”
The pasty he’d eaten congealed in his gut. “I began to suspect that in hindsight, but we only dated for four months.”
“It doesn’t always take long to know when you meet the right person.”
“Is that personal experience speaking?” The question was out before he could stop it.
Interestingly, she didn’t take offense.
“No. That’s what I’ve observed.”
“Is that how it was with your parents?”
She stiffened. “You want to waste your ten minutes talking about my parents?”
Huh.
She was fine with a question about her love life, but she didn’t want to talk about her parents.
There was a story there. And not a happy one, if he was reading her body language correctly.
But that was a subject for another day.
“Sorry. I’ll stay on topic. Clair was a lovely person, and I enjoyed our dates, but it wouldn’t have worked between us long term. We were too different.”
“If you knew that, why did you encourage her to go whitewater rafting? Surely you knew after months of dating that those kinds of activities weren’t her thing.”
“Yeah, I did. And I wish I had a good answer to your question.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “By that point, I was beginning to wonder if we had enough in common to sustain a relationship. But I liked Clair a lot. I guess I hoped that if she was exposed to more adventurous activities, she might enjoy them. That if we could find more common interests, there might be a future for us. But in hindsight I realize that was a mistake. When I talked to her parents at the funeral, I took full blame for what happened. I would have told you that too, but in the crush of people at the service, we never connected.”
A muscle beside Lindsey’s eye twitched, and she turned toward the window that offered a view of the gray urban landscape on this cold day. “I wasn’t there.”
It took a few seconds for her hoarse comment to register. Once it did, he had no idea how to respond.
She turned back to him. “Did you know I was supposed to go to that dude ranch with her?”
He searched his memory. Came up blank. “She may have mentioned it in passing, but if she did, it didn’t register.”
“Well, I was. We’d signed up for it months before. I was excited about the horseback riding and hiking and learning how to fly fish. She was looking forward to reading by the infinity pool, the gourmet meals, and the spa.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
“I’d been saving up for an intensive five-week Le Cordon Bleu seminar in Paris. The session I wanted to take wasn’t offered that often. Not long after Clair and I booked our trip, I found out the course was being held in a few months—and it overlapped with our trip. Clair encouraged me to go, said we could change our plans, but we would have lost a lot of money. So I talked her into going alone.” Distress etched her features. “I shouldn’t have bailed on her. If I’d been there, I would have tried to convince her to skip the rafting rather than push herself beyond her comfort level—or I’d have gone with her.”
Jack exhaled.
It appeared he wasn’t the only one with regrets.
Hers, however, were far less deserved than his.
“I think your guilt is misplaced. I’m the one who suggested she give whitewater rafting a try. And I’m guessing that if she cared about me as much as you say, she may have done it to please me.”
“That’s my take too. But me backing out of our trip was also a factor.”
He swirled the dregs of his tea, a few fugitive leaves clinging to the side of the cup. “What-iffing and second-guessing doesn’t change anything. But for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry I ever mentioned it to Clair.”
“I’m sorry you did too. It’s better to accept people as they are than try to change them.”
The sudden hurt deep in her eyes suggested that comment wasn’t just about Clair. That there was a personal component to it.
What was Lindsey’s story?
Not a subject he could broach today, with the clock winding down on his allotted ten minutes.
“I agree. And for the record, that was out of pattern for me. If I had it to do again, I wouldn’t encourage Clair to go rafting. I’m sorrier than I can say for the loss of your friend, and I understand why you’d hold that against me. But I hope at some point you can forgive me for my mistake.”
She searched his face, then dipped her chin and pulled out her keys. “Thank you for sharing all that with me.”
No offer of forgiveness—but that would have been too much to hope for while she was still digesting his confession.
“Since we may need to have more conversations, I thought it would be better to address the issue. Try to clear the air between us.”
“I appreciate that.” She stood, and he rose too. “I’ll talk to Dr. Oliver and see what he thinks about the memory that surfaced. If I have anything worthwhile to report, I’ll text you.”
“Thanks. I’ll walk you out.”
“Don’t bother.”
“It’s not a bother. My mom taught me to always escort a lady to her door—or her car.”
The corners of Lindsey’s lips rose a hair. “Clair said you were a gentleman.”
“Mom would have been pleased to hear that.”
She tipped her head. “Past tense?”
“She died a year ago.”
“I’m sorry.” Compassion softened her features.
“Thanks. Losing Dad was hard enough, but when your second parent dies . . .” He swallowed past the tightness in his throat. “There’s a finality to it, an emptiness, that’s hard to deal with. Do you still have both your parents?”
“No. My dad died twelve years ago. No siblings, either. I was an only child.”
“At least you have your mom.”
“Yeah.” She averted her gaze and walked toward the door, leaving him to follow—and wonder about that less-than-warm response. Must be issues there.
He reached beyond her to pull the door open, inhaling a sweet, spicy scent that fit this personal chef whose orbit had intersected with his.
As they parted at her car and he watched her drive away, that appealing aroma lingered in the air. Like thoughts of the intriguing woman who’d known too much trauma in her life and apparently had skeletons in her closet, just as he did.
Perhaps one day she’d tell him about them.
For now, though, he’d simply be grateful for her willingness to listen to what he’d had to say, and hope their paths crossed again soon.
But for reasons that didn’t involve murders, missing cars, boating accidents—or danger of any kind.
Sixteen
“GOOD MORNING.”
At the greeting from behind her in the Robertson kitchen, Lindsey spun around, sending a handful of grated cheese spewing over the countertop and onto the floor.
Heidi stood in the doorway. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Trying to rein in her galloping pulse, Lindsey gripped the edge of the granite behind her. “No worries. I was, uh, lost in thought.”
Not a lie. She’d been replaying her session with Dr. Oliver yesterday and thinking about her tearoom exchange with the detective who was beginning to dominate her thoughts.
“I don’t want to disturb you, but I was hungry for the first time in two weeks and decided to scramble an egg or eat some yogurt before I go to James’s office.” Heidi sniffed and pulled out a tissue. “To be honest, I was also lonely. The house feels so empty and quiet.”
Lindsey’s throat tightened. Her client might not have been the warmest person in the past, but tragedy could shake anyone’s world, leave them feeling vulnerable—as she knew from personal experience. It wasn’t difficult to empathize with someone going through that ordeal.
“Why don’t I make you an omelet?”
“Won’t that interrupt your cooking?”
“No. I’m at a stopping place. I can put everything on hold for ten minutes.” She gathered up the grated cheese littering the floor and counter and tossed it in the trash as she responded.
“Well, if you’re certain . . .” Heidi slid onto a stool at the island. “Thank you. And I also appreciate your willingness to continue on as my personal chef. I know it has to be hard to come back here after . . . after everything that’s happened.”
“I don’t like to disappoint people, or renege on commitments.” Lindsey crossed to the fridge and removed a carton of eggs, along with a container of mushrooms.
“Admirable traits. Ones that sometimes seem in short supply in today’s world.” Heidi rested her elbows on the granite countertop and linked her fingers. “At least the lead detective on James’s case appears to be dedicated to his job. But I don’t think the police are making much headway.” She sighed.
“I wish I could have been more help.” Lindsey sliced a few mushrooms and put a pat of butter in a small sauté pan.
“I’m sure you told them everything you know.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t much.”
“Detective Tucker mentioned the shoe brand you noticed.”
“As far as I know, that didn’t lead anywhere. But I did remember one other thing.” As she added the mushrooms to the sizzling butter, she described the mark she’d seen on the person’s arm. The same information she intended to share with Dara later today when she called to check in with her. Hopefully that would help relieve her mind about Chad.
Heidi’s forehead crimped. “That could be an important new detail. Have you told the detective?”
“Yes.” She whipped up eggs, milk, and chives and poured the mixture into another pan.
“What did he say?”
“He listened, but I have no idea where it will go from there—if anywhere.”
“Why wouldn’t he follow up? He struck me as conscientious. I can’t imagine him not investigating a lead like that.”
“Unless I remember more about it, there’s not much to investigate. Besides, I’ve had a couple of . . . strange . . . experiences over the past week that haven’t helped my credibility.” Enough about that. “Would you like a cup of coffee with your omelet?”
“I already have a cup. James kept a small coffeemaker in his office. He liked to have his caffeine close at hand.” A tear brimmed on her lower lashes. “Sorry. I can’t get used to the fact that he’s g-gone.”
“I can’t begin to imagine how hard this must be for you.” Lindsey continued to put the omelet together by rote, adding the mushrooms and folding the eggs over at the appropriate stage of doneness.
“It’s like a nightmare that—” She stopped and withdrew her phone from the pocket of her slacks. Checked the screen. “Sorry. It’s James’s office. I have to take this.” She stood.
“Shall I bring your omelet to the study when it’s ready?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She put the phone to her ear and greeted the caller in a businesslike tone.
Lindsey finished the omelet, walked it down the hall, and set it on the burnished desk in the study after Heidi motioned her in with a distracted wave, obviously more interested in the call than the food.
After exiting quietly, she retraced her steps to the kitchen and continued preparing the dishes Heidi had selected for this week’s menu, her mind only half on the task.
Strange how life worked.
Like . . . what were the odds that she’d have been in this kitchen at the very time the killer was here? Or that the detective assigned to the case would be the man who’d captured Clair’s heart? Or that her hostility toward Jack Tucker would not only begin to soften, but morph into . . . attraction?
And that’s what it was, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
She sprinkled chopped garlic into the olive oil marinade for the salmon entrée, the pungent aroma swirling around her.
Truth be told, it was hard not to like a man who was willing to admit his mistakes. Who acknowledged culpability and felt guilty about errors in judgment. Who came across as dedicated and conscientious, as Heidi had noted. Who radiated integrity and honesty.
As she stirred the marinade, her comment to Dara on Tuesday about how everyone makes mistakes replayed in her mind. As did her suggestion that the younger woman put Chad’s transgression aside and move forward. That it wasn’t wise to let one error in judgment forever shape your image of someone.
Lindsey winced as she added a splash of lemon juice to the marinade.
If she believed what she’d told Dara, she’d give Jack a second chance. Accept that a person who made a bad judgment call wasn’t necessarily a bad person.
Just as she wasn’t a bad person, even if she’d put her selfish desires above her commitment to Clair and the trip they’d planned. A choice she’d regret for the rest of her life, as Jack had confided he’d regret his.
But dishing out advice was a lot easier than following it.
She set the salmon fillets in the marinade, put them in the refrigerator to steep, and moved to the next menu item on today’s prep schedule.
Yet as she went through the motions, her mind remained on Jack.
She ought to report back to him about her session with Dr. Oliver—not that there was much to report. He hadn’t been able to help her remember more about the mark she’d seen.
But while she had Jack on the phone, perhaps she could summon up the forgiveness he’d asked for. His remorse seemed real, and it would be hypocritical to offer Dara advice she wasn’t willing to follow herself.
Yes, that would be the ethical and charitable course.
And she’d follow it.
As soon as she gathered up her courage—and corralled the butterflies that took flight in her stomach whenever an image of the tall, handsome detective flitted through her mind.
FILE FOLDER IN HAND, Eric stopped outside James Robertson’s office, where the man’s wife was waiting for him to discuss the pros and cons of the strip mall project.
Hopefully, he’d built a sufficient case to convince her it was a bad deal.
If he hadn’t, reporting back to Nolan wasn’t going to be fun.
Squeezing the folder, he knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
He pushed through.
Heidi Robertson was seated behind James’s desk, glasses perched on her nose as she read a document in front of her. She spared him no more than a quick glance, then waved him into the chair across the broad mahogany expanse. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
He took the seat she’d indicated, waiting while she scribbled on a yellow legal pad beside her.
At last she looked up. “Sorry. I wanted to jot a few notes before I shifted gears.”
“No problem.”
“Let’s talk about the strip mall opportunity.” She pushed the folder in front of her aside and replaced it with another one. Flipped it open. “After our brief conversation in the hall on Tuesday, I gave these financials another review. I didn’t see any red flags.” She scanned the sheet he’d provided. Took off her glasses. “You mentioned liabilities. Tell me about them.”
Heart hammering, he opened his own file. “Location, for one. Crime statistics in that area have been trending upward for the past few years.”
She frowned. “I’m familiar with that part of town. It doesn’t trigger any alarm bells.”
“The numbers don’t lie.” Although data could be manipulated to support any position, if you knew how to frame it.
“You have reports to back that up?”
“Yes.” He withdrew a sheet and passed it across the desk, keeping his features neutral. Unless she dug in deep, they appeared to paint a less-than-rosy picture.
She put her glasses back on, and for two eternal minutes, while sweat trickled down the side of his neck, she pored over the sheet he’d handed her.
Finally she set the paper on the desk and removed her glasses. “I’m not certain this is worrisome. There’s been no increase in violent crime, just a bump in minor vandalism and shoplifting. From what I hear in the news, that’s happening everywhere. Crime is rising, period. How do these statistics compare to trends in other areas of town?”
The moisture in his mouth evaporated.
She was much shrewder than anyone in the company had given her credit for. Almost a clone of her husband.
“I, uh, was more focused on running the numbers in the vicinity of the mall.”
“Do the same for a few other similar areas and let me know what you find.” She folded her hands on the desk. “Anything else?”
“Yes. The structure is overdue for cosmetic updates, and the systems are older.” He extracted another sheet from his file and handed it to her. “I ran a few of the costs we could expect to incur over the next five years.”
Once again, she settled her glasses on her nose and examined the paper. “Is this based on a physical inspection of the property?”
“Yes.”
“Did my husband see this?”
“No. We hadn’t yet had an opportunity to discuss it.”
She perused the financial analysis sheet again, the creases on her brow deepening. “A steady increase in income stream may justify these kinds of expenditures. Are any of them urgent?”
