The Next Always (33 page)

She thought of the weekend with stomach flu and bored children. And that hadn’t been the first time. “Yes, but I—”

“Goddamn it.”

“Beckett—”

“He’s more than a pest, Clare. He’s harassing you, and it needs to stop. You have to call the police.”

“I don’t want to do that. I just don’t.”

“You’re smarter than this.” He turned away, paced to the stacks. She could actually see him struggle for control. But there was still plenty of fire in his eyes when he walked back to her.

“Let me lay this out for you. He comes in here when you’re alone.”

“I let him in. I made the mistake.”

“Regardless. He pressures you, as he has before, to go out with him. You decline. You ask him to leave. He won’t. Then he scares and intimidates you by trapping you here at the counter. You tell him to stop, he doesn’t. You tell him to leave, he doesn’t. He put his hands on you, and you can’t be sure what might have happened if Avery hadn’t come to the door. Is that accurate?”

“Beckett—” Something in his face stopped her from making more excuses. Because he was right, she admitted. And she was smarter than this.

“Yes, accurate enough. But he didn’t hurt me, or even come close to hurting me.”

“If Avery hadn’t come along, he might have. He comes here, he comes to your house. Think about that, then think about your kids and what it would be like for them if things had gotten more out of hand here, if anything had happened to you.”

“That’s not fair. It’s not fair to bring the boys into this.”

“The hell it isn’t. If this is about you, it’s about them. You call the town cops, you tell them exactly what happened. Then it’s on record. You want this to stop. That’s a step to making it stop. It’s obvious he isn’t going to listen to you. Maybe he doesn’t come here to the store next time. Maybe he drops by your house again. Your kids like to answer the door. Think about what might happen if one of them lets him in.”

“Now
you’re
trying to scare me. Good job,” she muttered. “All right, I’ll call the police, tell them what happened. Mostly because you’re right—he doesn’t listen to me. He doesn’t take my refusals and disinterest seriously. I guess if I do this, he might.”

“Good, and I have a feeling he’ll take me more seriously.”

“I knew it.” She jabbed a finger at him. “You’ve just got to go confront him. Make it an issue.”

“Clare, for Christ’s sake.”

The tone, a kind of weary patience she often heard in her own voice when her children behaved like morons, might have amused her under any other circumstances.

“It is an issue. You think I’m going to go call him out? Beat him up?”

“Aren’t you?” she demanded.

“It would be satisfying, and I admit it was my own knee-jerk response. But no, that’s not what I’m going to do. What I am going to do is talk to him, make it clear if he bothers you again, there’ll be consequences.”

“So if he bothers me again, then you’ll beat him up?”

He had to smile. “That’s possible to likely. We’re involved, you and me. You matter. I’m telling you what I’m going to do because I figure when people are involved, when they matter, they tell each other.”

Something in what he said struck a chord with her, and opened a void. Think about it later, she told herself. Deal with now. “I don’t see how picking a fight with him is an answer.”

“Clare.” Firmly, he covered her hands with his. “I didn’t pick the fight. Neither did you. Now you do what you have to do. Make the call. I’ll do what I have to do. Then, if Sam’s got any common sense, or sense of self-preservation, he’ll leave you alone.” He gave her hands a light squeeze before releasing them.

“You can be pissed at me for a while,” he told her. “I’m still a little pissed at you. We’ll get over it.”

“You know what I’ve always noticed about you and your brothers? The hard heads, and the unassailable certainty that you always know the answer.”

“When you know the answer, it’s not being hardheaded. It’s just being right.” He went to the door, opened it. “You’re the woman in my life,” he said. “Another thing about me and my brothers? We look after the women in our lives. We don’t know any other way.”

He went out, stuck his hands in his pockets, crossed the street. He was more than a little pissed off, he admitted. At her, at fucking Sam Freemont, at the whole screwed-up situation.

He knew how to put on the calm when he had to. Knew how to exert some self-control even when he didn’t want to.

He went through the inn, looking for one or both of his brothers. His pleasure at the sight and smell of paint, of men busy at work, couldn’t quite cut through the fury still balled in his gut.

He caught the scent of honeysuckle as he topped the second floor—and heard the porch door swing open in E&D.

“Not now,” he muttered, and kept going up to three. He found Ryder in the innkeeper’s kitchen setting the first of the cabinets.

“Good, give me a hand.”

“I’m heading up to Hagerstown.”

“Give me a hand anyway. Let’s get this first one up. How’d it go with Clare?”

“You don’t know people till you know them. Isn’t that what Dad always said?” He braced the cabinet on the marks while Ryder got the drill. “She’s got a bigger stubborn streak than I ever noticed.”

“Let me ask you a question. How many women have you known who didn’t have a stubborn streak?”

Beckett thought it over. “Good point. But she’s calling the cops. She doesn’t want to, and she’s pissed I found the right lever to push her to do it.”

Ryder drilled the first screw home. “You used the kids, didn’t you?”

“That’s her weak point, so yeah. Plus, I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. And she’s pissed I’m going up to talk to Freemont.”

“Told you not to tell her.”

“That’s not how I work things. That’s not how you build a relationship.”

“Build a relationship.” Ryder snorted as he sent the drill whirling. “You’ve been reading again.”

“Blow me.” He glanced around as Owen came in.

“Guys downstairs said you blew right through, so I figure you’d talked to Clare.”

“Yeah, I talked to her. I’m heading up to talk to Sam.”

“Good. Are you sure you don’t want backup?”

“I can handle Freemont.”

“He practiced fighting with Clare first,” Ryder said as he checked the level of the cabinet.

“Well,” Owen shrugged, “she’s wrong.”

“I don’t know how you guys missed the memo, but it doesn’t mean dick when a woman’s wrong. Flowers,” Ryder told Beckett.

“I’m not buying her flowers. She ought to buy
me
flowers. She screwed up, and I don’t care about the goddamn memo.”

Ryder just shook his head when Beckett stormed out. “You know, for twenty bucks’ worth of daisies or whatever, he could smooth a lot of this over.”

“He’s standing on principle.”

“Yeah, and a man who stands on principle doesn’t get laid.” He finished the first cabinet, stood back to take a look. “Let’s get the rest of the top run up.”

“I’m supposed to meet Hope over at Vesta at ten. Avery’s letting us use the back room to go over the reservation software.”

“So, she can wait a few minutes. You’re not planning to bang her, are you?”

“Jesus, I’m not going to bang our innkeeper.”

“Then you won’t have to buy her flowers if you’re late. Let’s get these up.”

BECKETT FOUND HIS
calm again on the drive up the Sharpsburg Pike. In his experience you got more results with flat reason than angry confrontation. He just had to keep reminding himself he wanted results and not the satisfaction of a fight.

Not that he couldn’t take lame-assed Sam Freemont—which he had on one memorable occasion in sophomore, no junior year, he remembered, when the bastard had tried to shake down little Denny Moser over Denny’s homework.

And that, he recalled, had taken only one punch.

He remembered, too, Freemont had gone whining to Assistant Principal Klein, but with Denny backing him up, Beckett hadn’t gotten in any particular trouble.

Freemont tended to steer clear of the Montgomerys, he thought as he pulled into the car dealership. Beckett doubted Freemont would be pleased to see him there, on his own turf.

Beckett headed straight into the showroom with its shiny, new, spotlighted cars. Before he’d done more than glance around, one of the salesmen hotfooted over.

“Good morning! It’s a great day for a new car. What can I put you into today?”

“I’m not after a car. I’m looking for Sam Freemont.”

The salesman’s smile stayed in place, but his eyes lost their light. “He should be back in his office. I can have him called out.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll go on back. Where’s his office?”

The man gestured. “Back there, turn left. He’s all the way down. The corner office.”

“Thanks.”

Beckett worked his way down past empty offices, or others where salesmen manned phones or computers. He found Sam with his feet up on his desk, paging through a copy of
GQ
.

Figured.

“Sorry to interrupt since I see you’re so busy.”

Sam looked up. The sneer came first, just a quick twist of the mouth as he slowly set his feet on the floor. “Looking for a new pickup? We’ve got a basic economy model that should suit you. No frills for the working stiff.”

“Nice sales pitch.” Beckett stepped in, closed the door.

“Leave the door open.”

“Fine, if you want everybody to hear this.” Obliging, Beckett opened the door again. He thought about remaining standing, then opted for the more casual, even careless mode, and sat.

“Unless you’re here to buy a car, I’m busy.”

“Yeah, checking out the latest fashion in ties. This won’t take long, then you can get back to it. You crossed a line with Clare yesterday.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know you’ve been—let’s just call it pestering her.” Insulting word, Beckett thought. The action of a child, not a man. “And you haven’t taken no for an answer. She’s not interested in you.”

“You’re speaking for her now?”

“I’m speaking for me. She’s already spoken for herself. I’m speaking for me when I tell you to leave her alone.”

“Or what?” Sam flicked at his lapel. “Did you come here to threaten me? Do you think you worry me?”

“Yeah, I think I worry you. I think you’re smart enough for that. It’s pretty simple. You’ve been trying to push yourself on Clare. She doesn’t want it. You’re going to stop.”

“You don’t give orders to me.”

To test, Beckett shifted in his chair, and watched Sam jerk back.

“I’m laying out the facts. Clare’s off-limits. That’s it.”

“Because you say so? Because she’s decided to try a little slumming with you?” Heat spread over his cheekbones in red patches that clashed with his tie. “It’s no business of yours if Clare and I had a slight misunderstanding yesterday.”

Some people don’t change, Beckett realized. He was pretty sure Sam had used the
slight misunderstanding
gambit to Assistant Principal Klein to explain his harassment of Denny Moser.

“It’s completely my business, and she’s explaining your slight misunderstanding to the town cops right about now.”

Sam’s color surged hot, bright, then drained. “She’d never do that.”

“Don’t come around her again. You don’t live in town, Sam. You’ve got no reason to be in Boonsboro anyway.”

“You think you own the town now?”

“I think Clare means more to me than Denny Moser did. Not that I didn’t like him,” Beckett said easily. “Still do. But if you try anything with Clare again, you’ll find out how much more she means to me.”

Beckett got to his feet.

“You’ll be sorry you threatened me.”

“I haven’t threatened you. I won’t. Let’s hope you don’t put me in a position where I have to act. Nice tie,” he added, and strolled out.