Absolutely, Positively (18 page)

“Journalism law and ethics class.”

She made a compelling argument. “We’ll stop at DSW on the way back to the office.”

Smiling, she said, “Now I remember why I like you.”

“Because I have a company credit card?”

“Exactly.”

Scarlett announced we had reached our destination. I drove past the storefront, banged a U-ey that had Scarlett pitching such a fit I had to turn off the GPS, and parallel-parked across the street.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. I stared at the front of A Clean Start, the Laundromat owned by Tristan’s grandmother, as a woman came out with a laundry basket full of something other than clothes. I squinted but couldn’t identify the items. “What’s in her basket? Can you tell?”

Preston pulled binoculars from her bag and trained them on the unsuspecting woman. “Groceries. Milk. Cereal. Soup. No clothes. You’d think with that being a Laundromat and that being a clothes basket there would be clothes. There’s not even a sock to be seen.”

I stared at the binoculars.

“What?” she asked.

“Do you always carry around an extra set of binoculars?” The other pair was back at the office, still sitting on the windowsill where I left them.

“I was a Girl Scout,” she said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “I like to be prepared.”

“You were a Girl Scout?”

“Don’t look so shocked.” She pointed. “Here comes someone else.”

A young black man, early twenties, was headed into the Laundromat with an empty basket. Five minutes later, he came back out. The basket was full.

“What does he have in it?” I asked.

“Looks like two blankets, a loaf of bread, and a gallon of milk. Skim.”

What was going on in that Laundromat? Was it a general store as well?

“We need to go in,” Preston said. “Scope it out.”

“Maureen Rourke knows what I look like. She’ll never tell me anything.”

“Okay, then. I’ll go in.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Don’t be such a nervous Nelly.”

She was out the door and halfway across the street before I could even think to tease her about the phrase. Preston didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. In fact, as she rushed in, the woman coming out gave Preston a wide berth. I couldn’t blame her—Preston was a little scary herself.

The woman had one hand clamped tightly around a little girl’s hand; the other was holding a paper sack with a loaf of bread sticking out of the top.

The mother looked both ways, held tight to the girl, and crossed the street. They passed my car, headed slowly toward an apartment complex farther up the block. The girl, maybe four or five, was dragging her feet through the slush.

On impulse, I jumped out of the car and jogged after them. I was closing in when the mother suddenly let go of the girl’s hand, turned, and aimed a pepper spray canister my way.

“Stop right there,” she ordered.

I skidded to a halt, nearly falling over with the sudden inertia. I swung my arms, teetered.

“I mean it!” she yelled, thrusting her hand forward. Her thumb was on the button, poised for squirting.

“She means it!” the little girl echoed.

My foot slipped on the slush and my feet slid out underneath me. I fell flat on my ass. The icy slush immediately soaked through my pants.

The little girl giggled.

Her mother still pointed the spray. Right. I was going to jump her now, armed with a snowball. “I come in peace,” I managed to say, trying to find to find an elegant way to stand up.

The woman eyed me suspiciously but reached out her hand (I didn’t
see
anything). She’d put the pepper spray away. “You scared the shit out of me,” she said.

“Scared,” the girl echoed.

“Shush, Nessie.”

An icy drip slid down the back of my thigh. I didn’t even want to check the damage.

“What are you doing chasing after me?” the woman demanded.

“I, uh—” It had been a completely stupid thing to do.

“Don’t you know this is a bad neighborhood? You’re lucky I didn’t have a gun.”

“Lucky,” Nessie parroted, nodding her head. Jet-black twin pigtails bounced, brushing her shoulders.

It
was
a bad neighborhood. Yet I saw tiny gems of hope along the neglected street. New fencing, newer windows on some of the houses, and fresh paint covering gang graffiti.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I saw you come out of A Clean Start.” A quick look at the storefront didn’t show any sign of Preston, but I suddenly noticed how the building stood out. Bold paint, big windows, a bright airy feeling around it. The place fairly sparkled, which I supposed was a good image to have for a Laundromat. I wasn’t so sure it was the best idea to stick out like a sore thumb, even if that thumb had just been manicured and painted with a fresh coat of polish.

“So?” she said.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seemed strange you came out with groceries instead of laundry.”

“Why do you care?”

“Yeah, why?” Nessie asked.

She was the spitting image of her mother—her smooth skin a light brown, her dark eyes and lashes slanting slightly, her razor-sharp tone.

I couldn’t very well come out and ask about Tristan Rourke. I stalled for time, but not only did my butt ache; it was now frozen also. I longed for home and a long bubble bath. I was fresh out of ideas of how to beat around the bush. “Do you know Tristan Rourke?”

The woman raised a paper-thin eyebrow.

“Robin Hood, Robin Hood,” the little girl chanted.

I glanced at her, then at her mother. At the bag of groceries and the pair’s thin spring coats. It clicked. “Robin Hood? Robbing the rich to feed the poor?”

“You didn’t hear it from me,” the woman said.

Nessie smiled. A space was missing where a front tooth should have been. “Or me.”

I smiled back. “Does he only provide groceries?”

“Clothes. Food. Blankets. Cash. In some cases, tuition.”

“And what does he get in return?”

“I can’t say I know.” She started forward, stopped, turned. “This may still be a bad neighborhood, but a year ago, two years ago … It was hell on earth.”

“Hell,” Nessie said, nodding.

The woman tsked at her.

As they walked off, Nessie looked over her shoulder and waved at me. As I waved back, I felt a presence behind me. I spun just as the man reached out and grabbed me.

21

Sean gripped my upper arms. His eyes were a dark, stormy gray. “What are you doing here?”

Adrenaline zipped through my body, leaving my skin prickling. I drew in a deep breath and said, “Scare a girl to death, why don’t you?”

“I’m sorry.” He let go of my arms. The warmth of his handprints slowly ebbed. “I got your message about Tristan Rourke. I didn’t think I’d find you here. This isn’t a safe area.”

“So I’ve heard.” Now that I thought of it, why was I even here? How had I let Preston talk me into this? I was off this case. Sean might still be on it, but I had better things to do. Like take my bubble bath and soak away my worries.

His gaze swept my body, lingered on my lower half. I’d like to think he was taken with how nicely my pants fit, but I knew what he was looking at. “I slipped in the slush.”

He opened my trunk, pulled out a beach towel, and handed it to me. I wrapped it around my waist before I slid into the car. Sean slid into the passenger seat.

“Preston’s inside the Laundromat. She’s intent on uncovering Rourke’s underground headquarters.”

“Who is he, Batman?”

“More like Robin Hood.”

Dark eyebrows dipped in question. I explained what I’d found out, which seemed big—but when broken down and examined closely wasn’t all that much.

My teeth were chattering. I wished I had no modesty—I would have slid off my pants completely, but explaining why I was half-naked to Preston when she returned wasn’t something I wanted to do. I started the engine, turned the heater on full blast.

My stomach hurt. I glanced at the Laundromat, willing Preston to come out. A little telepathy would be nice right about now. What could possibly be taking her so long? As I watched, a young woman walked into the shop, two little boys each holding a hand. No laundry basket.

It was really quite remarkable what Tristan was doing. A one-man welfare system. A criminally misguided philanthropist. Who would have thought?

“Lucy?”

“Hmm?” My teeth chattered. My rear end was freezing.

“Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

A car pulled up in front of the Laundromat as I turned and looked at him. I wasn’t okay. I was getting mad. Really mad. “Why couldn’t you walk away from this case?”

He opened his mouth, then snapped it closed. His eyes targeted something over my shoulder. I turned to take a look.

Agents Thomas and St. John were staring back.

*   *   *

The sun was dipping in the sky as I made my way home. A plane flew along the horizon, its taillights blinking.

Preston had finally emerged from A Clean Start five minutes after the FBI agents had asked Sean to answer a few of their questions. Downtown.

That was two hours ago, and I still hadn’t heard from him.

I parked along Main Street in Cohasset Village and ran into my favorite little bistro to pick up my take-out order. I was tired, I was hungry, I was grumpy, and all I wanted to do was eat, take my bath, cuddle with Grendel, and go to bed. Alone.

Sean never had the chance to tell me why he’d taken Meaghan’s case, and I wasn’t even sure he was going to at all. He must have a good reason, and I wanted to know what it was.

Thankfully, I’d been able to drop Preston off at Valentine, Inc., instead of hitting the shoe store. Maureen Rourke apparently took one look at Preston when she walked through the doors of A Clean Start and deemed her worthy of help. Preston’s haircut (which was choppy enough to look self-inflicted), the coffee-stained coat, and the broken heel had been enough to grant her a pass through the doorway next to the vending machine for detergents and softeners.

A back storeroom had a set of stairs leading to a warehouse under the shop that would make Wal-Mart jealous.

“You would not have believed it,” Preston gushed as I drove her back to the office. “It was part flea market, part Whole Foods, part Bank of America. What really amazed me is that people only took what they needed.”

Preston had come out with a new pair of shoes (flats), a coat, and twenty bucks for a haircut. No one had asked her any questions or suggested payment in any form.

“Are you going to write about it?” I asked.

She bit her lip. “I don’t know.”

If she did, it would be a major scoop. At the same time it would be taking away something so many people obviously relied on, even if its origin was a bit on the iffy side.

It was a hard decision.

I turned into Aerie, wondering when I’d hear from Sean. It seemed odd to me the FBI only wanted to speak to him, but Preston speculated it was because he was the licensed investigator. Whereas I wasn’t.

The scent of herbed chicken barley soup drifted from the seat next to me. It had been an impossibly long day with no lunch.

I crested the hill, followed the bend, and Dovie’s house suddenly appeared as if out of nowhere. It was a grand estate, absolutely gorgeous even at night. Uplights highlighted the classic architecture, the simple elegance of Dovie’s pride and joy. I loved the Craftsman elements of her sprawling manor. The stonework, the wide eaves, the numerous windows. I was surprised to see a car in the driveway and even more shocked when Dovie opened her front door and started flailing her arms to catch my attention.

Looking longingly at my little cottage on the bluff, I turned the wheel into Dovie’s circular driveway, parking behind a dark Mercedes I didn’t recognize. I left my soup on the seat and yelped when my door flew open.

“Thank God you’re here,” Dovie said, yanking on my sleeve.

“What’s wrong?” I hurried after her as she jogged toward the house. “Is it Rufus?”

“Rufus is fine. He’s upstairs, locked in my room because he wouldn’t behave himself.”

“He didn’t take too kindly to the vet?” I asked, wondering how kindly Dovie had taken to the vet.

“No, no. The vet was fine.” She colored a bit. “It’s because Rick and Jemima Hayes are here. Christa’s missing. She never showed up at school this morning.”

I followed Dovie through the double doors and closed them behind me. I smelled a hint of garlic in the air as we walked down the hall and into the kitchen. From here, I could see my cottage down the lane, the front lights on, just waiting for me to come home. It was filled with the same charm as Dovie’s house. The stacked stone, the wide eaves, the huge windows. My place had the added benefit of a wraparound porch that was simply heaven on summer days.

Home.

There was nowhere I’d rather be right now.

Jemima and Rick sat at the kitchen table, and each had a mug of coffee in front of them. I looked around, half-expecting to see Em, but I quickly remembered she was on her way to Hawaii.

I bit back a jealous sigh.

Sinking into a chair, I said, “What’s going on?”

“Christa never showed up at school today. She’s not answering her phone. Her car is gone. We don’t know where she is,” Jemima blurted.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Rick said, petting his wife’s hand.

She snatched it away, set it in her lap.

“She’s a teenager,” he said. “Didn’t you ever skip school as a teenager?”

I looked at my watch—the numbers were blurring, my eyes were so tired. “What time does her play practice start? Has anyone checked to see if she showed up?”

Jemima lifted an eyebrow. “How do you know she has play practice?”

“She told me. This morning. When she called to ask if she could come over and see Rufus after school.”

“She called you?” Dovie asked, sliding a mug my way. It was my favorite mug, the one that read: “National Sarcasm Society. Like We Need Your Support.”

“About nine or so.” I sipped from the mug. The coffee was piping hot—just the way I liked it. “She said she had a late start.”

“Well!” Rick boomed. “She didn’t have a late start today. I think that proves Christa skipped. She’ll come home eventually.”