After All These Years (32 page)

He learned details that threatened to clog his brain. She kept coffee beans and flour in the freezer, ibuprofen in a cupboard above the fridge. She hid a fifty-dollar bill under the kitchen radio. He knew the brand of Lia's soap, shampoo, hand cream, and lipstick. Her one perfume bottle looked expensive, called Dolce Vita. Either it was brand new or she used it sparingly. He guessed the latter to be true. The sheets on her full-size bed were yellow flannel with a tiny flower print. Her nightstand held Christian books, nonfiction, of the type Brady passed on to him and Pastor Peter quoted from in his sermons. On the dresser was a framed photo of her family. She was young, probably a teenager. Her older sister resembled her, though she was thinner, her hair shades lighter than jet black, her mouth not a soft bow tie. Their
mother was distinctively Chinese, pretty, with an expression of happiness that practically jumped out of the photo. Their dad towered over the women and appeared the standard gaunt image of an intellectual with his light hair that may have been pulled back into a ponytail.

Cal sipped the coffee.

If he were sweet on—He cringed, remembering the way Benny said “the foreigner.” If he were sweet on Lia Neuman, then he had to excuse himself from this case.

But he wasn't sweet on her because he was more or less going with—whatever that meant this many years out of high school—Tammy. Everybody knew that.

Then why had he kissed Lia?

And why was he already looking forward to the next time he could kiss Lia?

This was crazy.

That was the word. He wasn't sweet on Lia. He was crazy about her, and he might as well admit it, but just not too loudly yet. He wanted to get to the bottom of the thefts, of the harassing phone calls. It had to be someone in Valley Oaks because the situation with Chloe's dad seemed to be sorting itself out, eliminating him as a suspect—

Chloe.

He'd forgotten about Chloe.

Isabel prepared a whole pot of coffee. She expected Cal to drop in at any moment. His shift would be ending about now, and she doubted he'd go home without first checking in on Lia. She didn't think it was her imagination that something had connected between her friends. Connected nothing. Sizzled was a better description. Sparks fairly flew as Cal escorted her and Lia out of the pharmacy last night, carrying Lia's bag, the two of them lingering beside the car while Isabel got in and started it.

Lia still slept. No doubt she had lain awake for hours. Although she was strong in her faith and confident about herself and smart about business, last night harshly undercut all of that. The thought of some intruder sneaking into the store, which was also Lia's home, and taking prescription drugs chilled Isabel. On top of that, Benny Richards insinuated that Lia was responsible! To have Cal calmly explain that searching the apartment was necessary procedure didn't help one iota.

As if on cue she heard Cal's tapping on her porch door. She unlocked the kitchen door, walked through the adjoining screened room and unlocked the exterior door. As she suspected, he was still in uniform, the short brown leather jacket bulging with cop gear. Along the sides of his goatee, his face needed a shave.

He stepped through the door, worry etched into his wrinkled brow. “How's Lia?”

“Asleep. Want some coffee?” She led him into the kitchen. “Notice I had that outside door locked, just like you always harangue me to do?”

“Uh, now that you mention it, yeah. Good.”

She poured a large mugful and handed it to him. “Last night scared me enough.”

He sat at the table and stared at nothing in particular.

“Want some eggs? Cereal?”

Cal shook his head. “No, thanks.” Now he eyed the mug in his hand as if unsure how it got there.

“So what happened last night?”

“We turned Lia's home upside down.”

“And?”

“And nothing.” His steely cop look closed in. “It's my job.”

Isabel shivered in spite of the sweats she wore.

“Hi.” Lia stood in the doorway, Isabel's white robe covering yellow pajamas. Her eyes were almost swollen shut, her hair disheveled.

Cal stood, took a step toward her, then hesitated. “Lia.”

Isabel wished herself far away. “Hey, you two, pretend I'm not here. As a matter of fact, I'm not here.”

Too late. Lia's form was buried in brown leather before Isabel could duck out.

Cal rested his chin on Lia's head. “Mendoza, forget you saw this, okay?”

They held each other tightly for a few moments and then sat side by side at the kitchen table, fingers intertwined on it. Their hostess had disappeared into another part of the small house.

Lia smiled. It was true. She hadn't imagined his feelings for her. “Isabel guessed already.”

He squeezed her hand. “Lia, we can't have anyone else guessing. Do you understand? I should quit this case, but I want to get to the bottom of it. I'm afraid the investigation would just drag on and affect your business. I mean, it's not a problem as long as you're not a suspect.”

“What exactly is not a problem?”

A grin slowly spread across his face, crinkling eyes that were incredibly green in the early morning light. “That I can't stop thinking about you.”

“Oh.”

“That kind of thing could cloud my ability to reason.”

“I see.” They stared quietly at each other. Lia cherished the moment, but knew they had to deal with other problems. “Am I a suspect?”

“Well, technically you're not cleared yet. We have to search the store, and even then, until we get proof you're not illegally selling drugs, somebody like Richards won't let it go.” He grinned again. “I'd rather it be me than him watching you closely.”

She did too. “So now what?”

“I need to file the report and then sleep. I'll take you home this afternoon and help you clean up. I'm sorry. I did the best I could to keep things in order.”

She stretched up and kissed his rough cheek. “Can I open tomorrow?”

“No.”

She blew out a breath. “Okay. I didn't think so. I was supposed to pick up Chloe today at my parents' home in Chicago, but she can stay an extra day. There's no school tomorrow. I'll go then.”

“Leaving town is not a good idea.”

“What?”

“Don't leave town.”

“Cal, why don't you just arrest me?”

“Because my China Doll is not going to jail.”

It cut through the frustration and exhaustion. She laughed.

“I'll take you to Chicago, hon.”

“I can't ask you—”

“You didn't. I offered.”

She didn't know what to say.

He shrugged a shoulder, a small smile lifting one side of his mouth.

The doorbell rang. From where they sat, the front door was visible across the living room.

Isabel called out, “I'll get it.”

“Lia.” Cal squeezed her hands again, his forehead creased. “We'll figure this out, and then there will be time to figure out…us. That is, if you think there's something to figure out?”

“About us? Oh, most definitely, Deputy.”

As Isabel approached the front door, Cal let go of her hands and pushed himself to a standing position, kissing her temple on the way up.

Isabel opened the door. “What are
you
doing here?”

Tony stepped inside, wearing a grin, navy blazer, sweater, and slacks. “Picking you up for church. Hey, what's going on? You're in sweats. Cal's in uniform. And Lia's in pj's?! How come you three Christians aren't ready to go?”

Tony wanted to straighten his tie, but he wasn't wearing one. Instead he smoothed his navy blue blazer, threw back his shoulders, and surveyed the unoccupied room.

Reverend Peter Eaton's office overwhelmed him. Most of the four walls were covered in floor-to-ceiling shelves chock-full of books. The sanctuary's muted greens and oak accents carried over into here. Two overstuffed chairs and a coffee table filled one corner. Two padded, straight back chairs faced an enormous desk, upon which were the requisite family photos, pen holder, paper weight, and computer. His feet sank into plush carpet. The view through two narrow windows revealed shrubbery and a sliver of the Valley Café's back door across the street.

He was familiar with such bookshelves and desks and carpet. No, it wasn't that which overwhelmed him. It was something else, something intangible. The air was thick with it.

Tony had gone alone to church, his three new friends too discombobulated to join him. No wonder, after the night they'd been through. Izzy made him promise to tell the pastor's wife what had happened at the pharmacy.

Which was why he was standing here at this moment. When he found Celeste Eaton in the lobby after the service and explained the situation, her sparkling eyes and freckled, elfin face had gone lifeless. She had grasped his elbow, steered him down the hall, and ushered him into the office ten minutes ago, assuring him she would return soon with her husband. She wanted him to hear this.

He studied the book spines now, searching in vain for a familiar title. At the sound of knuckles rapping, he turned. The door opened and Reverend Eaton entered his office.

“Tony Ward. Nice to meet you again.” The pastor shook his hand and pointed to an armchair. “Have a seat. Celeste has gotten waylaid.” He settled into the other armchair.

Peter Eaton did not resemble Tony's image of a pastor. He wasn't sweet-faced, nor was he over 60. He wasn't even over
50. His unruly red hair, barrel chest, and craggy face suggested Ireland.

Tony met the pale blue eyes and said, “South-side Chicago. Your dad was a cop.”

The man burst into deep, rich tones of laughter that must have carried throughout the building. He wiped at his eyes. “Bingo!” He leaned forward. “But ‘twas me grandfather, on me wee mother's side, who was the cop.”

Tony grinned.

“And you're a reporter,” the brogue was gone, “for the
Tribune
.”

“You had help, Reverend.”

“Ah, I could have figured it out without my wife clueing me in. And we're Celeste and Peter, by the way. Sorry to keep you waiting. Please, tell me what happened.”

Tony relayed the events of the night before as he knew them. There were drugs missing and the pharmacy wouldn't open Monday morning. It was a mystery how anyone had entered the store without being detected, which seemed to place Lia in a dubious position.

Elbow propped on the chair arm, Peter held his chin, his wide face creasing. His eyes focused some place Tony couldn't see. After long, silent moments, he put his arm down. “Thanks, Tony. We'll get started right away.”

“Started?”

“On praying. We have a telephone prayer chain. Quite a few people will know by this afternoon. You didn't tell me anything classified, did you?”

“N-no.”

“You look doubtful.”

“Prayer? I mean, what's God got to do with this?”

“Lia needs His strength and comfort. Cal needs His wisdom. The perpetrators need His justice and forgiveness.
The town needs the pharmacy. And the drug addicts need healing.”

That sense of being overwhelmed settled on him again, and he heard himself speaking unintentional words. “My sister was a drug addict. Becoming a Christian got her killed.”

“Oh, Tony, I'm so sorry. What a dreadful heartbreak for you and your family.” He paused and again his eyes momentarily focused elsewhere. “Please, tell me what happened.”

“She followed a Christian rock band down to Colombia—”

“What was her name?”

“Joanna Ward.”

“Joanna Ward was your sister?” His jaw dropped. “Martyred about two years ago with five other young people? Weckel, Ruud, Piccurelli, Miller, Helms…and Ward.”

“You
know
about it?”

“Tony!” His brows shot up. “Everyone interested in Latin American missions knows about it! Men from the guerilla group responsible for their deaths have actually stopped working for the coca growers. They've relocated their families and are struggling, but they're Christians. They meet as a church. God answered your sister's prayers.”