After All These Years (31 page)

In the end they allowed Lia to gather a few personal belongings. She was going home with Isabel.

Cal hovered near the bathroom door while Lia rummaged through the medicine cabinet. She stuffed things into a clear plastic baggie she had grabbed from the kitchen. Cal hoped that his presence would prevent Richards from digging through her overnight bag. The other deputy waited downstairs with Isabel while Terry dusted for prints.

“Here, Cal.” She held the baggie up now in front of his face. Inside was a toothbrush holder, toothpaste, a hairbrush, a bottle of facial lotion. “Satisfied?” She brushed past him. “Come on, let's go search my dresser drawers!”

At least her hints of anger were an improvement over despair. He stood a discreet distance from her open bedroom door as she reached into the closet.

“You'd better search this, too!” She pulled out a black duffel bag and flung it toward him.

He caught it. “Lia, I'm sorry. It's for your own protection.”

She slid out a drawer. It crashed to the floor, silky contents spilling over the edges.

Cal entered the room and pulled her into his arms. “It's okay.”

She cried softly against him.

“Shh.” He touched her head, holding her tightly. “Lia, don't worry.”

“Do you think I took the drugs?” Her upturned face was damp with tears.

The night vanished. For one eternal moment there was no time, no investigation, no past, no future, no one waiting downstairs. There was only Lia. He kissed the crease between her brows, he kissed the corners of her eyes, he kissed her dewy cheeks. And then he kissed her lips, and he wondered why he had waited so long. He only stopped
because the cop niche in his mind signaled there was an urgent matter at hand.

They stared at one another.

She swallowed. “Calming the distressed victim, I take it?”

“Mmm, something like that.” He smoothed her hair back from her face. “Please don't cut any more off?”

She pushed herself from him, gave him a half smile, and knelt beside the drawer.

“Need some help?”

She pulled out something yellow and flannel. “Will you grab Soot there? She'd better come with me.”

He noticed the kitten slinking down the hallway and retrieved it.

“Cal, I want to be here when you search things.”

“No, you don't. It would feel like a violation.”

She crossed her arms and shuddered.

“Lia, I promise, I'll take care of your belongings.”

“It's not just that. There's…something else.”

There was a twisting in his stomach. “Something else?”

“They might plant evidence. They want me out of town.”

Relief surged through him. She wasn't hiding anything. “Who does, Lia?”

“People like Benny Richards.”

“No, no. Benny's a good guy. Hey, where's my Miss Impressively Independent?”

The tears spilled again. “Oh, Cal. Did you like her?”

“I liked her a lot.”

“But you never kissed her.”

He grinned. “Next time I see her I will.”

Unintentionally, Tony tuned out the young woman sitting across the table from him as she gave the waiter her dinner order. The downtown Chicago restaurant they sat in was the latest rage among those who were in the know. Tony deduced this not because he was in the know, but because the clientele was the under-30 glitz, the prices outrageous, the waitstaff informal and gauche, the atmosphere cacophonous. The only journalists in the place were himself and Brandy.

He reminded himself that yes, indeed, her name was Brandy. He should accept that as fact, given the dual byline coming out in the Sunday
Tribune.
They had just put to bed a collective piece about a complex murder investigation. Late tonight it would be in print: Anthony Ward and Brandy Kettelson. Why not Elderberry Kettelson? Or Cognac Kettelson? Or Scotch—

“Yo! Mister.” The waiter waved a hand in front of Tony's face. “How about your order?”

“I'll have the same.”

“Got it.” The kid left.

Brandy giggled. “Something else we have in common. A passion for meat loaf and garlic mashed potatoes.”

Yeech! That's what he ordered?

His mind wandered again as she chattered. She was cute, with long, natural blonde hair. Long legs, short skirt. Mediocre writing ability, but she interviewed like a banshee, which could be a plus under certain circumstances. She was
new and appreciated his tutoring her through this assignment. Dinner was her idea, her treat.

He stifled a yawn. The place made him feel old. No, not old, rather…bored.

What was Izzy doing now? Ten o'clock on a Saturday night? Reading alone…laughing with good friends…jotting down new ideas for interviews…joining her girls for a campout… She wouldn't be chattering at him, nudging his shin with the toe of her shoe, making silly innuendoes.

If Brandy only knew… He didn't get involved, not in one-night stands or short-term or long-term relationships. He had neither the time nor the mind-set. The last time he felt any interest had been three years ago. Or was it four? The wacky actress… What was her name?

A chunk of iceberg lettuce appeared before him.

Cold and tasteless. Kind of like his life. Kind of like the life of everyone he knew.

Except for Izzy. She was everything he wasn't. Warm, full of love, interesting and interested, giving, strong and secure in her faith, no masks, not claiming perfection. To her it seemed that every day was a new adventure, even at her little radio station in Valley Oaks. Maybe she was in hiding, but then, who wasn't?

Here he was, hiding from himself. His ugly, cold, tasteless self.

He wanted to see Izzy. Immediately. As in
yesterday
.

“Brandy.” He carefully folded his napkin and laid it on the table. “Look, I'm really sorry, but I…I can't stay.”

“What?”

He stood, pulled a fifty from his pocket and set it beside his napkin. “I—” There was no explanation that would make sense, not even to himself. “I just can't stay. Something has come up.”

“Since when!”

“Here, you'll need cab fare, too.” He dug for a twenty, laid it atop the fifty, knowing the total wouldn't cover two meat loaf dinners in that place, but it was all the cash he had.

“Tony! What kind of weirdo are you?” A familiar sullen expression crept across Brandy's features.

How was it that all of the under-30 females these days had lips that so easily, so often
pouted
?

Correction. Izzy was under 30 and hers didn't.

He hurried toward the exit.

The red dial in Isabel's spare bedroom clock radio glared in Lia's face. How could it only be 3:16?

What was Cal doing now? Removing the cushions from her couch? Emptying her refrigerator? Rummaging through the linens?

She rolled over onto her other side.

As long as it was Cal and not that macho cop Benny Richards… She trusted Cal. She had trusted Cal even before he kissed her.

The tickles swished again, the sensation of floating gossamer brushing her from head to toe.

Oh, Lord! What happened to the three strikes?

Evidently the feeling she had tried to ignore was mutual. But they
had
to ignore it. There was Chloe and the failing pharmacy and Tammy. And now Deputy Sheriff Richards insinuating that she had stolen the narcotics.

She flopped onto her back.

Cal's kisses had soothed her, calmed her, cleared her head so she could pack. Did he know they would? Or did he just want to kiss her? Well, obviously he wanted to kiss her, but surely he didn't go around kissing every damsel in distress.
No, it was just like Cal to accomplish two goals in one efficient motion.

She kicked off the covers. This “damsel in distress” role made her skin crawl.

When she and Cal had gone downstairs and she saw the other man dusting black powder on the latch of the half door between the counters, the room began to spin.

Isabel stood and took Soot from her. “Can we go now?”

Deputy Richards never took his eyes off Lia. “Miss Neuman, maybe you should take something to help you sleep. You've had a tough night here.”

She shook her head and murmured that the OTC stuff made her sick.

He gestured toward the counter, toward her supply of prescription drugs. “I'm sure you know what would be helpful.”

A surge of anger pumped adrenaline through her. He just assumed—!

Behind the policeman, Cal caught her eye and cocked his brow. She wasn't going to convince Richards tonight that she was innocent. There was no reason to try. They all knew that she wasn't allowed by law to prescribe for herself. She knew, and Cal knew intuitively, that she didn't. She had turned on her heel and walked out the door.

She looked at the clock again. Just 3:22.

Tomorrow would be a nightmare. Could she make it to church? Could she drive to pick up Chloe? Could she clean up the pharmacy in time to open on Monday? Would they even allow her to open?

She had to stop this train of thought. She flopped onto her side.

Better to think instead about Cal. Not of the three strikes against him, but rather of his strong arms around her.

Cal draped the yellow crime tape across Lia's back door. Dawn was still an hour away. Stars sprinkled the dark sky, and his breath steamed the cold air. He zipped his jacket more snugly and joined Benny beside his squad car parked in the alley.

“Cal, I agree the town won't want her shut down long, but I can't come in today. I promised the wife and kids we'd drive out to the pumpkin patch.”

They still needed to search the store and the basement. The apartment search was finished and naturally had produced nothing incriminating. Cal had already made a mental checklist of the favors he'd call in to rush the lab work on the prints, but finding someone to help scour the pharmacy on a Sunday afternoon might be next to impossible. The staff had been short-handed lately. Benny had just put in a double shift.

“Don't worry, Benny. You need to be with your family. I'm off until Monday night. I'll put in some extra time, see if we can't hurry things along. Besides the fact that we didn't find anything upstairs, my hunch is Lia Neuman does not deal drugs except as a pharmacist.”

“Yeah, I agree, but still, you never know. No forced entry. What are we supposed to think?” He punched Cal's arm and laughed. “Hey, if I didn't know you were dating Tammy Cassidy of all gals, I'd say you were a little sweet on this foreigner. You were up there alone with her for an awful long time. And I saw how you tried to keep things in order while tearing her place apart. Well, I'm out of here. See you.”

“Yeah, see you.”

Cal walked along the back of the store, around the corner, and down the long side of the building that bordered Walnut. Retracing his steps, he shone his flashlight at the base of the walls. Interesting. There was no basement window until he reached the video store's back door. He knelt on the rough
alley surface and studied it closely. It appeared caked with dirt inside and out, as if it hadn't been touched in years.

He climbed into his own car and headed for the Gas Mart. During the two-minute drive, he stopped thinking. Inside the brightly lit gas station, he didn't think. He poured a cup of coffee, grabbed a fresh donut, and made small talk with the clerk and a semi driver. He was on cruise control.

Then he returned to his car and sat, sipping the hot, inky liquid the Gas Mart owners called coffee. Finally, he let the thoughts come.

The last few hours had been spent with Benny, sifting through every inch of Lia's apartment. They examined closets, clothes, dressers, her niece's room, kitchen cupboards and drawers, refrigerator, trash, and a box of mementos, the contents of which concerned her sister. Cal knew he had done a thorough, professional job. No one could accuse him of anything less. No one could accuse him of letting personal feelings get in the way. Only now did his stomach twist at the thought that they had somehow desecrated what should have been private.