Mint Juleps and Justice (6 page)

CHAPTER NINE

S
inking down into the lavender-scented water until her chin just barely cleared the frothy softness, Brooke wished she could float in a warm tub until this divorce was behind her. She extended her leg out of the bubbles and used her toes to twist off the oil-rubbed bronze faucet.

Pools and the ocean scared her to death, but bathtubs and hot tubs were just her speed. Jenny had a good point. With the amount of time Brooke had spent trying to soak away the stress, it was a wonder she hadn’t sprouted mermaid fins.

“
Mer
maid. If I ever get through this damn divorce, I’ll welcome becoming an
old
maid.” Either way there’d be no more wedding bells in her future. The twinkle in Keith’s eye when he saw her anger rise played on her mind. She’d never be his victim again. No way. But the police around here were not on her side, and she had no proof anyway. Not really. Just her gut instinct, which was enough for her, but no one else.

Brooke soaked until her fingers and toes turned pruney, then gave up and pulled the plug to let the water swirl out of the tub. She dried off and put on her favorite pair of pajamas.

Stitches snoozed on the living room couch, staying as far away from the sound of running water as possible. Who could blame her? Brooke settled down on the couch with Stitches in her lap. Flipping through the channels, she hunted for a distraction. The Travel Channel was touring Cape Cod. She’d always wanted to visit Woods Hole on the way to Martha’s Vineyard. Maybe a couple weeks away somewhere would give Keith time to find something new to focus on. No, that was too much like letting him win.

He’d already run her out of her hometown—she darn well wasn’t going to flee Adams Grove too.

She switched over to the Food Network. A little food porn always did the trick to chase away her troubles, but tonight the shows were all reruns.

Nothing worth watching again, or was it just her mood?

She turned off the television and carried Stitches to the back door to let her out. A cool front had pushed through, reducing the humidity to something bearable and making the air feel fresh for a spring night. The crickets and clean night air made her yearn to sleep with the windows open. That wasn’t going to happen tonight, though. She’d already checked windows and doors twice. An open window would be her undoing for sure. She’d be on the alert all night.

Stitches toured the yard, disappearing for a moment in the shadowy darkness. Brooke rushed outside in a panic, only to have Stitches greet her halfway across the deck.

Brooke forced herself to let the dog walk into the house on her own four paws.

Tears of frustration hit Brooke’s cheeks as she realized there really wasn’t any other way to handle this. She grabbed the phone and dialed Connor.

It was after hours, but at least calling now would keep her from changing her mind in the morning.

“Hi, Connor, this is Brooke Justice. Last time we talked you mentioned a private investigator who might be able to help me with my ex. Can you touch base with me in the morning? Thanks so much.”

She grabbed a pad and pencil and jotted down some more notes about what had happened, then resigned herself to dealing with it in the morning.

T
he night sky gave way to the morning sun, and she was ready for coffee. She headed to the kitchen and poured a piping-hot mug to take out on the deck. She sipped and listened to the birds waking up. They chirped and twittered, and she was thankful to see the familiar cardinals darting in and out of the tangle of vines along the fence. Cardinals, good luck. What a relief.

A garbage truck clanged through the neighborhood as the sun broke the horizon. Being on the Saturday route ruined any chance of sleeping in. Relieved to have made it through the night, Brooke went back into the kitchen and punched the second speed-dial number on her phone. Her brother, Dean, answered on the first ring.

“What time is it?” he grumbled.

“After seven. You never were a morning person.”

“Sis?” he grumbled. “Did we have plans this morning? Please don’t tell me you’re calling to see if I want to grab coffee or some happy shit like that.” Sheets rustled, followed by the sound of something crashing to the floor. She winced, as he cussed under his breath.

“I’m not calling about coffee. I’m calling because you’re right.”

“I must be dreaming. Did Brooke Justice just say I was right?”

“Aren’t you just a funny guy? Fine. Yes, I admit it. You were right. Are right. Whatever. I left a message for the lawyer here in town. He said he knew an investigator.” Brooke felt some of the frustration lift just talking about getting help. “Keith’s been in the house.” It sent a shiver through her. “I never thought he would do anything dangerous. But frankly, I’m a little freaked out. I should have listened to you before.”

“Damn right you should’ve listened to me. You told me to stay out of it, but it’s been killing me. Get the restraining order like I told you to weeks ago.”

“I knew that’s what you’d say, and don’t you worry. I am going to do just that. But you have to admit. It’s…weird. How can someone who once loved me enough to marry me suddenly do something so horrible? I don’t get it. Now he’s saying he wants to get back together after all he’s done. Not that that’ll ever happen.”

“Hey, that’s a question for Dr. Phil, not your brother. And definitely not for me at this hour. What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing. I just wanted you to know.” Brooke caught her reflection on the side of the toaster. This divorce was making her look old. Pulling a hand through her bangs, she noticed a gray hair. Thirty-three was way too young for gray hair. She plucked it, frowning at her reflection.

“’Bout time you started listening to your big brother.”

“I always listen to you.” Her childhood had been such a hodgepodge of unplanned events. Between her OCD daddy and manic mama, before she hit junior high, she knew the one thing she’d do different in life was always know what was ahead. The one sure thing she could count on was Dean. He was the best brother she could have ever asked for.

“Yeah, right. As long as I’m telling you what you want to hear.”

“Thank you, sweetest, dearest, most wonderful big brother.” Brooke wasn’t sure what a private investigator could even really do, but the constant looking over her shoulder and worry was beginning to wear on her. She had to do something.

CHAPTER TEN

I
t only took Brooke a few minutes to drive from her house to her office on Main Street. It never took long, but Saturday-morning traffic was nonexistent. She only had to work a half day today, and that was always a treat. Just as Brooke sat down at her desk, her phone rang.

“Glad I caught you. It’s Connor Buckham.”

She closed the folder in front of her and turned her attention to the call. “Hey there. Thank you for calling me back so quickly. Thought I might not hear back from you until Monday.”

“If this is about that almost-ex-husband of yours again, better to not let it wait. Sometimes these things get nasty. I do have the name of an excellent private investigator. He’s got some military background, great guy, and really fair prices too. Got a crayon?”

Brooke grabbed a pen and a sticky pad. “Sounds perfect. I’ve got a pen handy.”

Connor rattled off the number. Brooke jotted each digit as he gave them. “Got it.”

“His name is Mike Hartman.”

She underlined the number twice.

“His office is right upstairs from mine,” Connor said. “He’s good people. He’s usually in the office in the late afternoons if you’d rather just stop in.”

“I’ll give him a call. Thanks again.” But rather than make the call, she stared at the number. Was it possible this was the same Mike Hartman that she just met over at Kasey Phillips’s farm? It was a common name, but it was also a very small town. He’d said he was just helping out, but how awkward would it be to hire him to help with her disaster of a divorce, after she’d agreed to go to dinner with him. Damn him for being so good-looking. She never should have said she’d have dinner with him.

She got up and snagged the slim phone book from her credenza and flipped to the
H
’s. She swept her finger through the short list of Hartmans. Only one Michael.

“It had to be you, didn’t it?” She closed the directory and tossed it aside. After an hour of pushing work from one side of her desk to the other and feeling anxious about another connection with Mike, rather than make the call, she got up from her desk and walked down the block to see Jenny at the yoga studio.

“Knock-knock,” Brooke called out as she pushed through the tall doors on the old building. What a stroke of luck that the building had been for sale when Jenny was with her on the house-hunting trip, else Jenny may not have gotten the wild idea to relocate with her.

She could still see the look on Jenny’s face when she’d spotted the bright-orange building. Brooke had laughed because it was about the tackiest pumpkin-orange building she’d ever seen, but the yoga chakras or good karma must have reached inside the car and tapped Jenny right on the shoulder, because Jenny had nearly jumped out of the car before they stopped to go look in the window.

She’d bought and closed on the building before Brooke even closed on her own house. As crazy as it had seemed, Brooke wasn’t about to talk her out of it. Besides…she’d have missed Jenny like crazy if she hadn’t made the move.

Jenny came skipping out from the back carrying an armful of colorful yoga mats. “Hey!” She dropped them off on a counter next to the door and gave Brooke a hug. “I didn’t know you were stopping by this morning.”

“I had a few minutes.” Brooke stepped into the middle of the room and twirled in the wide-open space. “It’s great. It feels so peaceful compared to the bustle of the grand opening party.”

“That was fun, but I like this better.”

Brooke sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

“A new candle. Lavender and vanilla. Isn’t it divine?” Jenny inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. “I swear I’m tempted to wear it as perfume.”

“Nice. You nervous about your first set of classes?”

Jenny’s face lit up. “Not at all. I’m so excited. I have twelve people all signed up for the one this afternoon. The Monday-morning class is completely sold out. I thought I’d have to do a lot of free stuff to talk people into trying it, but that hasn’t been the case.”

“Maybe that other lady had already whetted their appetite for a yoga class.”

“Well, then I should find out who she was and thank her.”

Brooke started laughing. “Yeah, about that…”

“What’s so funny?”

She winced, hoping Jenny wouldn’t take the news as bad karma. “I heard the story about what happened with the yoga center that was supposed to have opened up here before.”

“What?” Jenny looked worried. “Tell me.”

“Turns out that lady is in prison now.”

“No way. Stop. You’re lying.” Jenny took a step back. “You’re serious?”

Brooke nodded. “Dead serious.”

“Bad joke, Brooke.”

“It was a little funny, admit it.”

“Okay, no thank-you notes to jailbirds. I’ll just take the good karma and roll with it,” Jenny said.

“Good idea.”

“Are you coming to the class this afternoon?” Jenny asked.

Brooke hiked herself up onto one of the stools in front of the smoothie bar. “I wouldn’t miss it. I need the balance, that’s for sure.” But Brooke’s nerves were on edge and Jenny was giving her the look. She could always tell when something was on her mind.

“What’s up?”

Brooke let out a sigh. “I talked to Connor. I got the name of the investigator.”

“Thank goodness. What did he say?”

“I haven’t contacted him yet.”

“Why not?”

“Maybe I’ll call Monday once we get past your first weekend of classes and all.”

Jenny picked up the cordless phone on her counter. “Don’t you dare use me as an excuse to delay this any longer, Brooke Justice. Lord, girl, call him now.”

“I think it might be the same guy I told you about over at the farm.”

“The ‘not Cody Tuggle, but not a troll’ guy?” Jenny’s face lit up. “The one you are interested in whether you care to admit it or not?”

Brooke hid her face with her hands to keep Jenny from seeing her smile. Jenny knew her too well. She dropped her hands and tried to look serious. “Stop. It’s not like that, but seriously, wouldn’t it be weird if it’s him?”

“Why?”

“Because I said I’d go to dinner with him, and now I’d be airing my dirty laundry.”

“There’s nothing dirty in your laundry. It’s Keith that’s the dirty scoundrel. Call him,” Jenny said, nudging the phone toward her.

“I can call him when I get back to the office. What if he can see me today, and that makes me late for the class? I just didn’t want to—”

“Let me down? Don’t be stupid. If we don’t take care of this mess with Keith, you might not be around to let me down. And I have gotten used to you being around.”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being practical. Dial!”

“Fine,” Brooke said. She took the piece of paper from her purse and dialed the number before she chickened out. He answered the phone on the first ring. He could see her as soon as she could get to his office.

“So? You’re on your way?” Jenny asked.

“Yeah. Apparently. Just how good can this guy be if he can see me like right now? What’s he doing? Just sitting around waiting for business? Doesn’t sound like the best to me.”

Jenny snagged the phone from Brooke’s hand and sat it back on the charger. “Is it him?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. But yes…it sounds just like him.” Brooke let out a sigh. “It’s going to be so weird.”

“Quit stalling.”

“Fine.” She got up and gave Jenny a hug, waving as she walked out the door.

“Call me and let me know how it goes,” Jenny called after her.

“I will,” Brooke said, only her gut told her that was just Jenny’s way of making sure she really went.

Brooke’s stomach swirled. Talking to someone she didn’t even know about this mess with Keith was embarrassing. Plus, it somehow just seemed more real when you said it aloud. Out of habit, she swished her hand through the top of her hair, then raked the bangs back into submission across the front.

Brooke had walked as slow as she could but it still hadn’t taken long to reach his office. She stood in front of the law offices of Buckham and Baxter on Main Street. The numbers above the door of the old bank building were 11515. Ones and fives. Her favorite numbers. To some a mere coincidence. To Brooke, a lucky sign.

HARTMAN SECURITY AND INVESTIGATION, LLC
in red letters scrolled professionally across a metal sign. It swung from two lightweight chains at the second-story level. Flower boxes hung from the windows, filled with happy splashes of color from the marigolds that overflowed from them. She wondered if they were his doing or part of the Main Street beautification guidelines. It didn’t matter. She loved marigolds.

“Marigolds. Good luck.”
The ones and fives in the address may have been a stretch, but marigolds were a sure thing.
They’d been her favorite flower since she and Granddaddy started planting them each year from ten-cent seed packets. Whenever she happened to see them, she felt happy for the memory and very, very lucky.