Borrowing Trouble (31 page)

“I got the impression he had more than one. We'll have to ask the Fagans.”

“No sign of a struggle in here.” Rhys went inside the bathroom and came out. “Nothing in there except a few toiletries. My guess is he shot up, went outside, and died.”

“But how?”

“Since the forensic anthropologist didn't find signs of trauma, I'm gonna guess an overdose.” Rhys looked at the table with the paraphernalia. Apparently, Kevin hadn't done too well getting clean.

They went outside and searched the grounds. After four months, though, the likelihood of finding anything constructive was next to nil. Even footprints would've been washed away by what little rain they'd had. Rhys traced what seemed like the most probable path from the cabin to the river, with Sloane following. An easy walk, even for someone stoned. Level and less than a quarter of a mile.

“I heard Brady put in his notice,” Rhys said.

“I suppose you heard about Sandra too.”

“Yup.” Of everyone she knew in Nugget, Rhys was the most tapped in and the least gossipy. “You thinking of going with him?”

“Nope.” She didn't know yet whether she was staying, but Brady had made it clear that he had no intention of asking her to come with him.

He turned back to look at her. “I'm happy to hear that. But are you?”

“What do you mean?”

He let out a sigh. “I almost made the mistake of letting the best thing that ever happened to me go because I was afraid of commitment. I wouldn't want to see that happen to you.”

How had she ever misjudged this man? “I'm not the one afraid to commit.”

“Ah.” He leaned up against a big shade tree. “I'm sorry, Sloane.”

“I'll get over it.” If she cried now she'd shoot herself. “What's that?”

Something near the tree was glinting in the sun. From where she was standing it looked like a coin. A quarter, maybe. She walked closer and bent down to get a better look. It was half covered in leaves and dirt. Rhys came over and helped her clear away the debris.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked, staring down at what they'd uncovered.

“The clarinet from the empty case.” They both just stood there staring at it. “I'm speculating that he got high, came out here to sit by the river and play a little music, fell asleep, and stopped breathing.” Rhys looked up at the blue, cloudless sky. It was about sixty degrees. “In November we had some nice days like this.”

“So this is where you think he died?”

“Right under this tree . . . with his clarinet.”

“How awful.”

“Nah. It was probably painless,” Rhys said. Sloane knew he'd seen the horrors of the drug trade up close. “And at least he died doing what he loved in a scenic spot. I think we should offer the Fagans the opportunity to come see it for themselves.”

“Just leave everything the way it is?”

“We'll take the drugs and the clarinet into evidence, but it's not a crime scene. The coroner's office will classify this as an undetermined death, you can bet on it. We wouldn't be violating any police protocol by letting the Fagans see it.”

Rhys leaned against the tree once more and took in the area. Sloane had to admit that the spot was so tranquil and picturesque—it smelled like fresh pine needles, bark, and sage—that seeing it might help the Fagans with their grief. The pain of losing a child had to be the worst, but knowing that this idyllic spot was his final resting place could be succor. It sure beat the hell out of a garbage Dumpster or a rat-infested alleyway.

“I'll bring them here today if they want to come,” she said, and he nodded.

“T
hey're out there,” Maddy whispered to Brady.

“Who?” Brady whispered back. “And why are we whispering?” He was tired from tossing and turning in a tent all night, pissy from taking an ice-cold shower in the state park this morning, and generally in a foul mood.

“The parents of the missing man.”

“I thought they didn't know for sure . . . not until they matched the dental records or the DNA.”

“The parents seem positive it's him. It's so sad.”

Yeah, it was. Brady wondered how Sloane was holding up.

It was after eleven and most of the guests had already eaten. “They sleep in?”

“They got in very late last night—from Philadelphia.”

“I'll take them some breakfast.” He'd done omelets because they were easy and he wasn't up for hard. “You know if they have any food restrictions?”

“I'll ask.” She headed to the dining room and returned a short time later. “None. They seem very nice and a little shell-shocked.”

Brady broke five eggs into a bowl. “Get me out that serrano ham. I'm thinking they need hearty.”

Maddy stuck her head in the refrigerator. “Brady?”

“Hmm?”

“Don't go. Even if you don't want Nate's job, stay at the Lumber Baron. Or open your own restaurant. But you're family to us. Losing you . . . it's a big hit, Brady.”

It moved him knowing that people here cared. At the same time it made him itchy to leave. Not healthy, he supposed. But he was what he was. A screwed-up individual with fears of attachment. At least he knew his weaknesses. “I'll probably come back,” he lied.

The omelets were finished and he'd reheated the potatoes from earlier. Muffins and Danish were still out, along with coffee. He carried the plates to the dining room, where he found Sloane sitting with the couple. They were in deep conversation, but stopped when he came to the table.

He nodded at the man and woman and said hi to Sloane. She returned a faint smile. After leaving, he stood in an inconspicuous place behind the doorway and watched her. Clearly she was in the midst of imparting some heavy stuff. The couple's heads were bowed as Sloane said something. The man eventually nodded and the woman wiped her eyes with a napkin.

He didn't envy Sloane her job. But she did it with grace and empathy. The way her hand gently rested on the woman's arm, how she spoke softly and calmly, giving the couple time to process. No judgment in her eyes, just warmth and caring. He loved her so much his body ached with it.

“Hey.” Nate slapped him on the back. “What're you doing?”

“Finishing the breakfast service.” He nudged his head at the couple. “They got in late last night.”

“They the ones with the missing son?” Brady nodded in response. “Come into my office for a sec.”

Brady followed Nate, who shut the door. “Look, you've gotta do what you've gotta do, but I'm prepared to up the salary to this.” He handed Brady a piece of paper with a figure that made him reel. It was a very nice chunk of change.

“It's not the money, Nate. Although if I stayed that's more in line with what I'd be looking for.” He smirked at Nate, who appreciated a good game of dickering. “There are other places I want to go . . . see, especially now that my situation has changed.”

“Your stalker?”

“Yep. I can finally breathe again.”

“I always figured you'd leave us for the big city,” Nate said. “What about Sloane? You two seem good together.”

Even though Nate was as much a friend as he was a boss, Brady wasn't going to answer that. “It's time for me to move on, Nate.”

“I'm sorry to see you go. Not just because I wanted you to be Breyer's executive chef, although I think you're a moron for turning it down. But hey, buddy, we'll always have Nugget.” Nate wrapped him in a hug. “I love you, man.”

Brady chuckled. “You find anyone to replace me at the Lumber Baron yet?”

“Working on it. There's some ski bum Emily knows who just finished culinary school. I might give him a try.”

Brady should've felt relief that Nate, Sam, and Maddy wouldn't be left in the lurch. Instead, a swift punch of melancholia hit him in the gut.

“We might rent him your side of the duplex too.”

Brady didn't want a man living next door to Sloane, not even a ski bum just out of culinary school. “I'm not out of it yet.”

Nate held up his hands. “Take your time. You're the one who wants to leave us.” He eyed Brady closely. “What's up with your hair?”

“I camped last night. Didn't have a comb.” Nate cocked his brows and Brady shook his head. “I've gotta finish up in the kitchen.”

On the way to a sink full of dirty dishes, he bumped into Sloane leaving. “Can I talk to you?”

“Not now,” she said.

Back in the kitchen, Maddy had already made a big dent in the cleanup. He started wiping down the counters and together they finished putting everything away. In a little while, after the couple had had time to finish their breakfast, he'd clear away the foodstuff and dishes in the dining room.

“Rhys just called,” Maddy said. “He and Sloane found a cabin where the young man was living. They found a pile of drug things and think he may have overdosed. But Rhys says they'll probably never know for sure. His poor parents. Sloane is coming over to talk to them and take them to the cabin if they want to go.”

“She was already here.” He let out a breath. So that's what that was all about. Tough thing to have to tell someone.

“Hey.” Lina came in carrying dirty dishes. “The folks from 207 are done. They're apparently going with Sloane somewhere. What's going on?”

Maddy explained the situation and for the second time that morning Brady worried how Sloane was handling all this. He put up a pot of water to boil and pulled a bag of pasta from the pantry. He'd leave her macaroni and cheese for dinner. After a day like this she'd need comfort food. Later, Brady delivered the dish to her apartment, stowed it in the refrigerator, and had just enough time for a hot shower before getting back to the inn for the afternoon service.

The whole place was abuzz. Apparently the Fagans' visit to the cabin had been trying, to say the least. Maddy told Brady that they'd seen their son's possessions and were convinced now more than ever that Sloane's John Doe was Kevin. Of course the DNA tests would be the official determiner, which Rhys had requested a rush job on. In the meantime, the Fagans wanted to hold a small memorial for their son at the very spot where they believed he died.

“They're not religious, so they just want to say a short eulogy. Their other son is flying in tonight. Sloane's pilot-program kids want to go.” Maddy made a face. “Rhys thinks it'll be good for them, and the Fagans said they didn't mind. I'll go with Rhys. I think it'll be nice to show support.”

“You think we should do some kind of food thing back here?”

“I hadn't even thought of that. Would it be too presumptuous?”

“I don't know. Should we ask them?”

Maddy pondered it a minute. “Would you mind calling Emily and asking her what she thinks? I don't want to bother the Fagans. Emily will know what's appropriate in a situation like this.”

“Will do.”

A little while later Brady had his answer and a kitchen full of the Baker's Dozen.

“They don't want to eat, they don't have to,” Donna said, muscling him out of the way while she put together her famous bean dip. “But this is the right thing to do. Those poor people shouldn't have to face this alone.”

She got busy chopping tomatoes for the salsa. “And you, Brady Benson, I'm pissed at you. Just because you no longer have a stalker, doesn't mean you can just up and leave. I'll stalk you all the way to Oregon, and you don't want to mess with me.”

Emily winked at Brady and whispered, “Do you really have to go?”

Brady didn't answer. “Hey, crazy women,” he called. “Huddle together.” With his phone he snapped a few pictures. He'd never forget these ladies.

That night he went home to a dark duplex. Sloane must've been fast asleep because both her SUV and Rav4 were parked in the driveway. He and the Baker's Dozen had made enough food for a proper memorial. The ladies wanted to make sure that not all of the Fagans' memories of Nugget were bad. It was tragic what happened to their son. Not knowing where he was for four years and then him dying alone like that. What he'd learned through the town grapevine was that the kid had suffered from depression. Brady assumed he was using the drugs to self-medicate.
Terrible
.

He stared at Sloane's door before dragging himself through his own. It hadn't been that long and he already missed sleeping with her. Tomorrow he planned to go to the service at the cabin. Not for the Fagans, who he didn't know, but for Sloane.

 

Practically the whole town had turned out by the big tree near the river's edge to pay their respects to the Fagans. The crowd stood back, giving the couple plenty of room to say their goodbyes and prayers in private. Sloane couldn't be more proud of her kids. Skeeter had dropped them off. Rose in a dark dress and the boys in suits. They behaved so respectfully that Sloane's heart filled with pride. Rhys and Maddy had gotten there early and set up chairs for the Fagans and their son Lucas, letting them know they should take as much time as they needed.

Even the Nugget Mafia, the Baker's Dozen, Griffin, and Lina had shown up. Harlee was there too, but in an official capacity as a reporter. Darla and Wyatt stood off to the side. The only ones from the department who hadn't come were Jake and Connie. Someone had to hold down the fort. But it was Brady who Sloane noticed the most. He kept looking over at her like he wanted to make sure she was okay. Between that and the mac and cheese he'd left in her fridge, she wrestled against her pride, wanting so badly to wrap her arms around him and beg him to stay.

The Fagans took turns eulogizing Kevin. Mrs. Fagan read a Native American prayer and each laid a rose on the spot where she and Rhys had found Kevin's clarinet. The family then shook everyone's hands and thanked them for coming. Mr. Fagan nodded at Sloane, who escorted them to her SUV so she could drive them back to the inn.

Before getting into the backseat, Mrs. Fagan took Sloane's hands in her own. “Thank you for finding our son. Chief Shepard told us how hard you worked on this case and I just want you to know that you've given us our lives back. All those years of not knowing whether Kevin was dead or alive was slowly killing us. You're a very dedicated officer.”

Sloane's throat clogged. All she could say was thanks.

Brady and the Baker's Dozen must've raced back to the inn, because when Sloane and the Fagans got there a full spread had been laid out. Rhys, Maddy, and Sloane's pilot-program kids were just seconds behind.

“This is absolutely lovely,” Mrs. Fagan said, taking in the table loaded with food.

“We understand that you're grieving and are under no obligation to mingle,” Sloane told her. “In fact, if you want to take plates up to your room everyone would understand.”

Sloane gazed around the dining room. All these people had come first to the cabin and now here to help total strangers through their sorrow. What a special town Nugget was. And what a fool Brady was for leaving.

Right then and there Sloane decided she wasn't going anywhere. Like Rhys had said, this was where she could make the most difference. All she had to do was look at the faces of the Fagans, who wandered through the crowd as Dink, Owen, Mariah, Sophie, Lucky, and so many others offered their condolences. All she had to do was look at Mrs. Fagan hugging Rose, Simpson, and Rudy to know that she'd made a contribution. That she'd left a mark, even a small one.

“You okay?” Brady sidled up to Sloane.

“Yeah.” She sighed. “Thanks for doing this. It was incredibly thoughtful. And thanks for the mac and cheese. Only you would've known how much I needed that.”

She walked away. Out of the dining room and out of his life. Lina and Griffin sat in the living room sharing a plate of food.

“You want to hang out with us?” Lina asked her.

The two of them looked so happy together Sloane didn't want to intrude. “Nah, I'm heading home.”

On her way out she bumped into Rhys. “I don't know if I've ever told you this, but you're the best boss I've ever had.”

He scrutinized her. “You're quitting, aren't you?”

“Nope. You're stuck with me, Chief.”