What Laurel Sees: a love story (A Redeeming Romance Mystery) (12 page)

As day succumbed to night at his desk, Debra’s words turned over in Joe’s mind. Though the last thing Joe would do was to let Debra know she had gotten to him, she had. She had pierced straight through all his hard-earned armor. That sword of hers had penetrated, right through to his flimsy heart.

She was wrong about him. But then again, what if she weren’t? What if she’d nailed his whole sorry excuse for a life, right on its useless head?

This was no way to be.

Almost automatically, Joe opened his desk drawer and secured his notes inside. Taking notes while Laurel talked to him tonight would do nothing to help set her at ease. Jotting things down would only remind her that he was there to do a job, not to be the listening ear that she so sorely needed.

Joe hiked his collar up as he left
Kickerton Press’s
building. The evening air was crisp. It smelled of garlic and herbs from the new Bistro on the corner. Inside, a wood-fire burned invitingly. The place had the perfect ambiance for a date, not that he had anyone to take there.

At least it was a good night for walking, and Laurel’s workplace wasn’t so very far away. As late as it had gotten, they’d probably be closing the place up soon. It occurred to him that she could probably use a quiet stroll along the harbor just as much as he could about now.

Before he knew it, he was there, outside the plate glass windows of the Blackberry Grille. The “
Closed, Come Again!
” sign was already flipped to the outside. That African-looking woman he’d seen there before bustled about, turning chairs over and setting them atop the tables. Laurel mopped the floor.

He had to give it to her, after the day she’d endured. She was a hard worker, this one.

For the longest time, he just stood there watching her. Finally, she set the mop in its bucket. She stretched up and noticed him. A smile crossed her weary face.

Boats bobbed in their slips as Laurel walked with Joe along the harbor. Water lapped against docks that had been buffeted by centuries of storms. Yet, somehow, they had survived. Just like she would.

Joe turned to her. “Can I ask you something?”

Laurel smiled softly. “That’s why you’re paying me, remember?”

Joe shook his head. “No, it’s not about... Maybe I’m the one who should go off the record with you this time.”

“Okay.”

He stopped by the rail overlooking the water. “I need the truth about this. No matter what it is.” He fixed his gaze on the water, shimmering in the moonlight. “Do you think I’m lost?”

The look on his face made it clear to her. This was no casual question. And she would have to be completely honest. “I think if you weren’t,” she said, “you wouldn’t have to ask.”

Joe sighed. “No. I guess I wouldn’t.”

She drew her jacket close. “Don’t feel bad. I’ve been there.”

Joe chuckled. “What? You weren’t always so tight with the powers that be?”

Laurel shook her head wryly. “Shocking but...I guess you could say I was something of a prodigal years ago. Still lose my way here and there. Like you have. Like I did today. And again, I...I’m so sorry.” She trembled in the night air.

“It was a blow.”

She nodded, still under the weight of it.

Joe took off his coat. “You’re shivering.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine. Probably just my blood sugar. Oh, the joys of diabetes.”

Gently, he draped his coat over her shoulders. “Better?”

She gave him a sheepish look. “Better for me, I guess.”

“It’s okay.” Joe shrugged. “Rumor has it that I’m pretty cold-blooded.”

Laurel turned his way. “You say that but...you’re actually very sensitive.”

Joe gave her a congenial smirk. “I suppose God told you that?”

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “No. In the few moments I’ve managed to get outside of myself in this...I’ve noticed.”

His eyes widened. “You have?”

“Yes. I have.” She felt the color rise to her cheeks. How long had it been since a man had made her blush? As ruggedly handsome as Joe was, she’d have to keep her wits about her.

He set his forearms down on the rail. “You know, my boss, she... She says I’m losing my objectivity about you.”

“Oh.” Warily, Laurel leaned against the rail beside him. “Is she right?”

“I don’t know, I...” Joe paused. “Never in all my years have I compromised my journalistic integrity with a subject. There’s this invisible line. You don’t cross it. And I haven’t. Not once.”

He shook his head and blew out a long breath. “I could get really stupid about now.”

Laurel took it in thoughtfully. So, he was feeling it, too. That same longing she’d been struggling to resist. “I’ll admit it, Joe. If I gave in to myself, I could get kind of stupid with you, too.”

“Would that be so wrong?”

For a little while, she waited. Things were so complicated. How could she answer that question in a way he’d understand? “I can’t deny what’s going on between us, Joe. It’s just that we’re still so—”

Before she knew it, he’d turned her by the shoulders. He’d drawn her lips to his. His kiss was so tender, so aching, so astonishing. Every cell in her being wanted to respond to him, to give in to the pleasure of that moment.

But this wasn’t right.

Not for him. And not for her.

Ever so gently, she turned aside. She pressed her forehead against his cheek. “Forgive me, Joe. I shouldn’t have...” She straightened to look into his eyes. “I just can’t go there. Not with things as they are. Not with so much at stake.”

Joe brushed the hair back from her eyes as they parted. That’s when she noticed something light up in the distance. Her stomach sank. It was the glint of a streetlamp off a telephoto lens.

eleven

N
o matter how many times Joe dialed Lou’s number on the way home from Laurel’s, it rang through to voice mail. Clearly, Lou was dodging his calls. Joe was tempted to leave a message, but what could he say? Lou was paparazzi and this was his livelihood. Still, he’d promised Laurel that he’d try.

He couldn’t leave a voice record, asking Lou to suppress the photos he’d taken, or to at least hold them till he had a chance to explain. Anything like that could get back to Debra. All Joe could hope was that the missed calls would be enough to remind Lou of their friendship. But then again, maybe they were just colleagues at
Kickerton Press
and not really friends at all.

Joe pulled into the garage of his building. There was no point in trying Lou yet again. At least the paper would have been put to bed for the night before those compromising photos were taken. That would buy him another day to reach Lou. Joe sat in his car, his jaw resting on a fist. There was nothing to be done.

From the hallway leading to his apartment, Joe heard Stella meowing. It was almost a yowl, really. He could hardly blame her. She was just a cat. It was the only way she could communicate that he hadn’t made it home by her regular dinnertime.

Joe grabbed the keys from his pocket and opened the door.

Inside, Clay bent over Stella in the kitchen. He placed a fresh bowl of cat food on the floor by the counter. “Did he forget you? There. There you go.” Hungrily, Stella began to crunch the dry morsels. 

Clay straightened slowly. He turned away from Joe, to the mirror he had set up on the island. 

Joe draped his jacket over the back of the couch. Back to his real world, atilt as it was.

Clay winced as he brushed his face with one of those makeup remover pads Joe kept finding in the trash. He barely looked up. “So, Joe. Where have you been?”

“Out.” The last person Joe wanted to recount this particular evening to was his brother. He wandered to the refrigerator.

“You get some?”

Joe grabbed a bottle of cold water. Leave it to Clay to turn something so completely innocent into something crass. “It’s not that kind of thing.”

“But it is a
thing
, isn’t it?”

Joe unscrewed his bottle cap. “Why do I have to explain this to you?”

Clay shrugged. “Pardon me. Just trying to show an interest.”

Joe took a swig of water as he rounded the kitchen island. In the mirror, he caught a glimpse of Clay’s face. There were still remnants of Marilyn makeup around the edges. But he’d also been bloodied and bruised. A shiner swelled under Clay’s right eye.

Joe staggered. “Did you plan on mentioning that somebody beat you to a bloody pulp?”

Clay looked up, nonplussed. “Why state the obvious?”

Something in Joe popped a cork. “So, this is what they do at your high society parties.”

“Had nothing to do with the party,” Clay said. “It was after. Bunch of thugs grabbed me at the bus stop.”

“Put your shoes on.” Joe strode toward his coat.

Clay rotated on his stool. “Why?”

“Because we’re doing what you should have.” Joe shook his jacket. “We’re going to report this.”

“No.”

“We’re going to the cops. Right now.”

Clay looked back into the mirror. “I’m not going back to those goons.”

“Clay, I’m serious.”

“So am I, Joe.”

Joe dropped his coat. This was beyond the pale, even for Clay. “I don’t get you. One minute you’re Mister All-fired Community Activist, chasing down pedophiles, shutting down neighborhood restaurants and then... What? Are you actually going to let those hoodlums go?”

Clay dabbed his cheek with cold cream. “I let you talk me into going after Zoring. I figure I’ve done my bit.”

“What about the next guy they jump?”

“You know, that’s exactly what you said last time, Joe. And I spent a year and a half of my life being poked and prodded and questioned and humiliated and—”

“—and you got Zoring off the street. At least for a long while.”

Clay grabbed a tissue. “And now, lookee. Turns out there’s like a scabillion Zorings. Knock one down and fifty morph right out to take his place. There’s no shortage of abusers in this world, Joe. I thought you knew that.”

Defeated, Joe set his coat down. In his cockeyed way, Clay was right. And there was no way that Joe was going to pummel Clay any more, not after the beating he’d just taken.

“Look, Clay. Lemme...” Joe glanced around, at a loss for what to do. “I think I’ve got some hydrogen peroxide back there.”

“I already used what you had to get the blood out of my dress.”

All Joe could do was to shake his head. “Could you have saved some for your actual injuries?”

“I can’t afford to lose another costume, Joe.”

“Like you can lose an eye?”

Clay whirled. “Don’t help me, okay?  I’ve got it. Just go to bed and let me deal.”

Conceding, Joe threw up his hands. Who was he to stand in the way of Clay dealing with his own problems? Without another word, Joe traipsed back to his room.

Joe ran a weary hand through his hair. First the hearing, then Debra, then Laurel, and now Clay. What a roller coaster of a day this had been. And sleep—sleep was the only way that he would ever be relieved of it.

Shana Fischer steadied her steps on the rail as she descended the winding marble staircase that led into her foyer. How she had longed to indulge herself that morning. She was, after all, so freshly bereaved. She should be able to sleep in on a Sunday without guilt nagging at her over everything that had to be done in the wake of Frank’s murder. Instead, she’d been awakened shortly after dawn by an incessantly ringing phone.

Helen was at the foot of the stairs, dutifully organizing the paperwork she had requested for the day. “Almost ready, Mrs. Fischer.”

“Thank you, Helen. Howard assures me this will be quick, but you know probate. Even with an iron clad will.”

“Surprising that Mr. Berg is working on the weekend at all.”

Shana flipped through the folder. “Howard said he wants to get a jump on it. That way he can get everything filed first thing tomorrow.”

“Don’t you worry about the phones,” Helen said. “I’ll cover them for you while Mr. Berg is here.” Helen winced a bit. “And I’m afraid to tell you that Laurel called again. It was while you were in the shower.”

Shana shook off the dread that threatened her. “I’m going to have to change our number.”

“She said it’s her only day off this coming week,” Helen replied, “and she was hoping to see Grace.”

Shana straightened her back. “Absolutely not. Not without me.” Shana leaned to peer back up the staircase. The last thing she wanted was for Grace to overhear them. She lowered her voice. “It’s not your fault, Helen. I’ve already taken half a dozen calls this morning, all over some ridiculous spread in a tabloid about her.”

Helen’s eyes widened. “About Laurel?”

“She sold her story to them, for a pretty penny I’m sure. Told them about some dream she had about Frank with another woman. It seems she claims that was what all their phone calls were about.”

Helen rested a hand on Shana’s arm. “Oh, no... Oh, Mrs. Fischer.”

As hard as she fought it, Shana’s eyes misted. The betrayal was still so fresh.

Helen reached into her pocket and extended a tissue. “It’s clean.”

Shana dabbed at her eyes. “Of course, the masses lap this up like it was gospel. I can’t believe she’d even talk to a tabloid. They’re heartless bottom feeders. I know. They were all over me when my parents were killed, and I’m not going to let her do that. Not to Grace.” Shana looked toward the kitchen. “Has Grace come down for breakfast yet?”

Helen blanched. “No, Ma’am. I thought she was still upstairs. In bed.”

“No. I just looked for her in her room.” Shana darted by Helen, her heart suddenly racing. She rushed to the kitchen’s bay window, overlooking the yard.

Grace’s swing drifted, desolate in the breeze. Her favorite doll lay abandoned on the grass beneath it. A horrible feeling sank into the pit of Shana’s stomach.

Grace was gone.

Howard had been a godsend. He helped Shana search the estate top to bottom, but it was no use. Grace was nowhere to be found.

Shana did her best to keep her mind from running absolutely amok, her heart from beating out of her chest. But what could have happened? When she finally returned to the kitchen, she found Helen concluding a call.

Helen glanced at Shana as she spoke into the receiver. “Yes, well, could you give me a ring if you see her? Thank you.” Helen hung up the phone. “No sign of her there.”

Howard emerged from the front of the house. “She’s not at her friend’s next door.”

Shana caught her breath. “Anything from the security log, Howard?”

“No entrances or exits during the night.”

“Oh, dear,” Helen said. “I’d disarmed the system first thing this morning, like always. She must have gone out to the yard after that. I’m terribly sorry, Ma’am. I couldn’t have turned my back on that kitchen door for a minute.”

Shana covered her face, fighting to focus. This was beyond horrifying.

“Time to call the police,” Howard said.

Shana picked up the house phone.

Howard pulled out his cell. “Ask for McTier.  I’ll get my P.I. on it, too.”

Helen went ashen. “You don’t think—”

Furiously, Shana dialed. “Wealthy children who are the subjects of custody battles don’t just wander off, Helen. They get abducted.”

Joe made his way to the neighborhood newsstand. After the way Lou had dodged his texts on Saturday, all Joe could do was hope against hope that they’d run the photos he’d actually selected to go with his Sunday story. If they hadn’t, this could be it. It could be the beginning of the end of what was left of his lame career.

From half a block away, the newsstand clerk spotted Joe. The clerk waved a copy of
Kickerton’s
Sunday edition. “Hey, ya, Joey-boy. Doin’ all right, ain’t ya?”

Joe picked up his pace. He snatched a copy of his rag off the top of a dwindling stack. There on the cover, big as life, was Lou’s photo of him with Laurel, kissing at the harbor. In all caps, the headline blazed:

KISS AND TELL
.

He’d half expected it, but still Joe reeled. Underneath was his usual byline, but strangely, Adele Stedler had also been credited. “What?”

The clerk grinned widely. “Front page and everything. Pretty hot, too. Paper’s moving like mad.”

As quickly as he could, Joe skimmed the story. His blood boiled. What was left of his writing had been heavily edited. There were whole paragraphs that Adele had replaced, things he hadn’t written at all, anywhere but on his notepad.

Joe pounded on Debra’s brownstone door. It wasn’t his normal inclination to cause a public scene, but somehow, he didn’t care anymore. Let Debra explain to her neighbors why he was so furious.

Debra peered out the window flanking the entry, then opened the door. Apparently, she’d been working out. She was wearing gym clothes.