When Fall Fades (The Girl Next Door Series Book 1) (13 page)

Roger paused and downcast his gaze. “What I understood was Charlie tried to warn Reamus but he wouldn’t listen. So Charlie started digging around trying to figure out where the Cap had sent those planes and how he could authorize an abort before anyone got hurt. Next thing I knew, he was scrambling around trying to find this notebook he kept records and system checks and notes in. Once he grabbed it, he ran out just as fast as he came.

“A few of us went looking for him.” With a slow shake of his head he continued. “He returned a few days later all bruised up and bleedin’. Never said a word about what happened. Shortly after that, his time was up and he was gone.”

“Did he have the notebook with him when he returned?” Archer asked.

A violent rattle filled his throat, and he shook his head. “He didn’t even have his shoes. But I suspected he’d hid it somewhere.”

“What made you think that?”

“Well, even after he was gone, there was this tension in the air. Like everyone was waiting for something to explode. I figured if the Cap had gotten what he wanted, he wouldn’t have seemed so nervous after Charlie was gone.” The old man shrugged, the jagged tip of his bony shoulder forming a peak under the pale green gown.

“Roger, we have reason to believe Charlie had that journal until recently.” Archer watched his reaction for any tells and came up dry.

“Charlie was a smart guy. I figured he must have hidden it out there somewhere good. That way one day he could prove his innocence.”

“What do you mean prove his innocence?” Sal jumped in before Archer voiced the same question. The tension in Archer’s stomach mounted.

“The Captain pinned the whole thing on Charlie. Said he was responsible, but we all knew the truth. Cap needed someone to draw attention away from his treasonous dealings. I swore Charlie murmured something about transferring missiles. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Charlie wasn’t technically dishonorably discharged, but there was a stain on his record that I’m sure followed him until the day he died.”

Feeling drawn back in time, Archer felt as if he were reliving the tortured moments of Charlie’s past. “What exactly did they pin on him?” He knew before he asked but he needed confirmation.

Roger’s eyes clouded with emotion. He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again before his cracked lips surrendered the daunting words. “The deaths of the eleven soldiers flying the combat planes, including his little brother John Westwick.”

The heavy silence weighed on them. Air deflated from the room like a trailing balloon. No one spoke for a full minute as Archer and Sal digested the information they had just received—the burden Charlie had carried.

Before Archer could dislodge the next question from his stricken throat, Roger continued, his voice laced with anguish. “Several of us tried to find the notebook over the next few years during the war, but once we were moved to a new location, there was little chance of us clearing Charlie’s name. A few of the guys even attempted to testify on Charlie’s behalf—even though there wasn’t a formal hearing—but I’m fairly certain they were bribed before that ever happened.”

Roger sighed. “I was young and I was a coward. I should have done something, instead I just did what Charlie said and kept my head down until Reamus was demoted, ironically, for accepting a bribe—for Lord knows what.” He hesitated. “I’m not sure anyone ever learned the truth, and now it’s too late.”

“I’m curious about something.” Archer leaned forward in his seat. It was a fascinating story, but the cogs weren’t quite lining up for him. “If Charlie’s name was never cleared, why was none of this in the record we have on him?”

All three men sat motionless, unable to understand the circle of questions surrounding the case and the centuries old conspiracy that undoubtedly haunted the life of Charles Westwick.

They wrapped up with a few more questions and Archer and Sal thanked Roger for his time. Just before leaving, Roger called them back.

“There was one thing Charlie said to me the day he left that I always thought was odd.” Archer and Sal halted on their way out and turned to listen. “He said he’d found treasure and if I was smart enough to see it, I would, too. I walked around with my eyes peeled for a month.” He exhaled a timid laugh. “I always wondered if he meant ‘treasure’ literally or metaphorically. Maybe someday I’ll ask him about it, hopefully not too soon.” He patted his heart and said his final good-bye.

Archer and Sal exited Roger’s room and trudged out of the hospital, each caught up in his own thoughts.

“What a story.” Sal broke the silence as they exited the parking lot.

“Seriously.” His thoughts stirred with questions about Charlie’s clean record sitting on his desk. “Do you think Charlie actually did clear his name, maybe just quietly, or do you think someone is still trying to cover this whole thing up?”

“I know, I’ve been thinking the same thing. Raised some good questions. I can’t wait to start digging up the answers.”

“I hear ya. You wanna go back to the office and get started or do you still want lunch?”

“Ooo, that’s a tough one, but I work better on a full stomach.” Sal gained a little pep in his step. “Let’s get some Hacienda, you won’t be sorry.”

He already was.

After eating their fill of bottomless chips and salsa and a huge cheese-smothered platter of enchiladas, Archer conceded. “You’re right, best Mexican food I’ve had in a long time.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin.

Sal nodded in whole-hearted agreement. “Even better than mine, I’m man enough to admit it.”

“You ready to get back to the office and do some digging?” A bout of boisterous laughter pulled Archer’s attention to a group of men being seated at a table near the bar. Locking in on one guy in particular—Sadie’s date from the other night.

Archer could hardly believe his luck when the guy turned around and his shirt read
Kirkwood Fire Rescue
.

“Are you even listening, Ace?”

Sal’s hand waved in front of Archer’s face, freeing him from the resurrected image of motorcycle boy’s muscled arm around Sadie. “What?”

“You know one of those guys or something?”

“Nope, let’s roll.”

Once they were back in the office they got to work searching the database for information about Reamus and any other corroborating information from Roger’s testimony about Charlie.

While they waited for a response to the queries they sent out, Archer did a little digging of his own on Kirkwood Firefighters with a motorcycle license. Two names popped up. Colin Paxton, forty-one, resident of Webster Groves, and Finnegan Carson, thirty, of Kirkwood, Missouri.

Bingo.

Immediate and undeniable relief eased the vise grip holding his chest.

Finnegan
Carson
. It had to be her brother.

Archer chuckled to himself. How ridiculous that for the past few days he’d been jealous of Sadie’s brother. The instant the thought entered his head his stomach dropped out, a knot forming in its place. 

He was jealous.

So much for no distractions.

Chapter 12

H
e held his breath as the squad car crept past the small break in the trees, the very spot he’d watched and waited that first night. From this vantage point he could see cars approaching from the main road, the currently sparse parking lot outside the condos, and most interestingly, through the sheer curtains of the girl’s bedroom window when the light was on.

The local PD had established a fairly predictable rotation of sweeping the area following his rendezvous with the nosy little girl next door during yet another fruitless search.

He should have known she’d be trouble. Her interference was making things increasingly difficult. And his patience was thinner than the walls he could hear her breathing through at night.

When she’d gotten away last night he’d hoped he had shaken her up enough with that unmistakable threat to scare her away. Time would tell, he supposed. And unfortunately, time, among other things, was something he didn’t have to spare.

Maybe it was time to reformulate. Shake things up a bit.

The now familiar growl of her hot rod warned him of her pending arrival. His body tightened as a new plan started to take shape. It’d be a gamble, but the payout could be satisfactory in so many ways.

The polished pewter classic swiveled into the parking lot and came to a stop. Moments later, her wild blonde hair was thrashing in the wind as she hurried to her door. He lifted the binoculars to his eyes and trained them first on the sway of her hips and then on her window, waiting.

It was time to up the ante. And he knew just where to start.

Chapter 13

Sadie Carson

T
he Camaro spit out its last macho rev before Sadie cut the engine. She gave her own heavy sigh, her version of the hot rod’s growl, proclaiming a long day. Elsie’s ankle was still giving her quite a bit of trouble and the pain from her arthritis was greater than normal, so everything seemed harder for both of them today. Caution whispered in her ears as she made a stealth dash to her front door, thankful she’d made it home before dusk had stolen the last blip of sunlight.

After fixing herself a simple dinner of pan-seared chicken and steamed veggies she retired to the tub for a long soak. Slipping down do her chin, she breathed deep of the thick, steam-drenched air—willing away the stress of the week and the exhaustive wanderings of her brain.

Her phone signaled urgent matters from her bedroom, but she couldn’t yet be persuaded to leave the comfort of the bath. Piddling away an hour of self-indulgent Sadie time was exactly what she needed after a day like today. But, alas, the constant stream of obnoxious beeping sounds eventually stole the last of the tub’s calming magic, so she exited her oasis.

Donning a short cotton robe, she towel dried her hair, clicked on the light and retrieved her phone from her dresser. Three missed calls, two messages.

“Hi, Sadie, this is John Westwick calling with a few questions and details about tomorrow’s service. I also received a call from Pop’s lawyer and need to set up a time for you to come in for a meeting regarding his will before we all leave town again. Feel free to call me back tonight if you’re available. Thanks.”

Why would she need to be in the meeting for Charlie’s will? Curiosity nibbled at her. Charlie had always been full of surprises. Deleting the message, Sadie listened to the proper voicemail lady signal the next message. At the mere sound of his deep, resonant voice her breath webbed in her throat.

“Hi, Sadie, it’s Archer Hayes. The team picked up the boxes of photographs from Charlie’s basement and attempted to drop them by your place today, but they said you weren’t there. I know the service is tomorrow night so I just wanted to touch base with you and figure out when I can get them to you before then.”
He hesitated.
“So, uh, I guess just call me back … bye.”

She disconnected the call before deleting his message, realizing she’d probably have to listen to it again to delete it. Tragic, no. Pathetic, absolutely.

What was
really
pathetic was how desperately she wanted to see him. But not just see him.
Feel
him. Her untouched existence more acutely painful than the tip of a blade against the skin. She wrapped her arms around her middle, hugging herself tight. After years of isolation, the thought of just being held made her feel as if she’d been existing in pieces and wouldn’t be wholly alive again until someone tucked her in their arms and held her together.

But, whole or not, if she was ever going to get her head on straight, she’d need some distance. It was too distracting having him around all the time. And it was much too difficult trying to stay mad at him for ignoring Charlie when he seemed so honorable, so dedicated to his job … and to protecting her.

Checking the time and deciding it wasn’t too late, she dialed John Westwick’s number first. After a brief conversation about the schedule for tomorrow’s memorial and a time when she could meet at the attorney’s office—he claimed he knew no specifics about why—she’d hung up.

She drummed her fingers against the phone for a full minute before she managed to press send. Nervous energy zipped along her bloodstream making her nearly jittery.

Calm down, it’s just a phone call.

“Hello?”

She gulped down dry air, her voice box shrink-wrapping around the suffocating breath. Her lungs were failing her. And her heart? Her heart was making such a racket he could hear it. She just knew he could.

“Hello … Sadie, you there?”

Oh, yeah, caller ID. Splendid. She rolled her eyes and took another stab at breathing.

“Uh, yeah, hi. Sorry, I was just, uh, calling you back about the pictures.”
Ugh
. Brutal. When the call was over she’d self-medicate with a large glass of red wine and a bag of dark chocolate chips. And possibly a paper bag.

“Oh right, I guess you got my message. When would be a good time to meet up before the service?”

Relief and disappointment battled in a knock-down, drag-out brawl in her head. Stay strong. Keep breathing. “I’m actually pretty swamped tomorrow, but I just spoke with Charlie’s son, John. He and his family are in town. They have a preliminary meeting with Charlie’s lawyer downtown tomorrow morning, so he said he could swing by your office and get the photos, if that’s all right?”

“Okay.” His voice portrayed perfect indifference, and it made her think she’d imagined his interest in her.

Maybe she had.

The next breath came easier, though she couldn’t say why.

Usually her solitary routine at night was a nice relief from the busyness of the day. But right now, with Agent Hayes’s voice in her ear, she felt a pulsing ache of loneliness and wished she were brave enough to ask him to come over to … deliver the pictures. Right. Just the pictures.

Not wanting to end the conversation, but knowing she didn’t have anything else she would allow herself to say, she stalled. The moment stretched.

“All right, well … uh, I guess that’s it then. Goodnight.” The breathlessness in her voice was painfully evident. Heat crawled up her neck. She rested her forehead against the wall. It was clear she needed to brush up on her female-to-male dynamics.

His returned silence mocked her tortured moment. Until—

“Goodnight, Sadie.” His husky voice, almost a whisper, tickled her senses as if he’d hummed the words against her ear.

When he didn’t hang up, intimate moments of silence passed between them. The charged air becoming a game of chicken to see who would buck up and address the elephant or end the call. Sadie closed her eyes, feeling as though she was actually sitting in his presence, toying with what she might say and yet not wanting to shatter the companionable stillness. She gave herself three more “Mississippis” in her head and started to wonder if she’d just cast her heart out on a line, waiting for a bite. Already tied to the past, she didn’t need any more stings. She released the breath she’d been holding and cut the line.

That was confusing.

Space. She needed space.

She’d seen him every day since this whole mess started. Proximity and frequency were the key problems here.

He seemed to be this sort of ironic and backwards white knight, riding in and stirring up trouble. It was almost comical thinking about the relatively short amount of time she’d known him and the number of times she’d torn into him so far. Remembering his comment about her many “assaults” against him made her chuckle to herself. If this were an old movie they’d probably end up together.

Against her will, the thought sobered in her mind, painting a picture of what that life might look like. Not even with him specifically, but a life where she wasn’t alone. Mindlessly she pulled a Hendrix T-shirt from her drawer and slipped the knot free on her robe. The material parted and cool air pebbled her skin.

Her phone rang. The jivey tune whisking away her
what-if
moment yet still rousing butterflies at the thought of his return call. “Hello?”

“Hey Sweetie! How’s it going?” Not Archer Hayes.

She tossed the shirt onto the bed and retied the knot. “Oh, hey Joss. It’s going. Just nailing down the final details for tomorrow. What are you up to?”

“I just got home from the most comically bad blind date ever. I mean, you couldn’t script this stuff, it’s that insane.” Joss giggled.

While Sadie found most giggling intensely annoying, on her beautiful best friend it was kind of endearing, in an ultra-feminine way that was absolutely Joselyn.

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse. Putting aside his late arrival, the sonic boom laugh, and the midmeal text messaging—which you’ll understand is even more unappealing once I tell you about his main course—he starts out his meal with a salad, requesting an inordinate amount of fresh cracked pepper from the waitress. He takes one bite, starts into a convulsive fit of sneezing into his salad bowl, and then demands a new one. Then he proceeds to order lobster for his entree, so cementing my first impression of him as an overgrown toddler with a bib. And I mean, he actually
requested
a bib, the waitress had to track one down. Although even that couldn’t have forewarned me of the slobbering mess he was going to make of himself.”

“Oh, honey.” Sadie laughed at the picture Joselyn painted.

“There’s more. That poor lobster was mauled like a downed gazelle. The guy barely stopped rehashing his breakup with his ex long enough to draw a breath in between slurping down the melted butter like sake and shoving grotesquely large bites of the poor mutilated lobster into his giant yapper with dripping, texting fingers, no less. Melted butter.
On
the phone
. The unused napkin on the table. Just amazing really. Of course, he did eventually stop talking about his ex. Those moments were actually quite lovely. Peaceful. That restaurant
really does have stunning views of the Arch, Sadie, and the gnocchi was divine. But, alas, I couldn’t hold off performing the Heimlich forever. And once that silencing chunk of meat catapulted across the room onto someone else’s plate of eighty-dollar steak, he’d picked up right where he’d left off for another twenty minutes of ranting and the butter-fingers text-a-thon before realizing he’d forgotten his wallet at home.”

“That’s … horrifying.” Sadie hiccupped between laughs. “You could sue for pain and suffering. But, hun, what’s with all the blind dating? Every guy who looks at you wants to ask you out. Why do you feel the need to ambush them? Even the most composed men I know turn into drooling, bumbling idiots in your presence.”

“Oh, puh-lease. Who? I dunno. Maybe I feel like if they don’t ask me out solely based on my looks, or my father’s money, then they might enter into the date looking for something deeper—or have at least an ounce of noble intentions. They say the proof is in the pudding, and that means my theory bites. But you never know though—the next guy might be Ryan Reynolds with a heart of gold and then I’ll have my happily ever after.”

“Ooo, Ryan Reynolds is definitely in my top five. If things between you two don’t work out, or maybe if he prefers average girl-next-door types over exotic beauties, you could pass him along.”

Joselyn giggled again. “You’re ridiculous. But you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Joss.”

“What do you mean?”

“How you keep putting yourself out there, and when you strike out you still have this beautiful optimism.”

“Well not the putting yourself out there part, but the rest I got from you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you never settle. Your faith, your heart for lonely people, it’s like, you radiate contentment and you wait patiently for perfection.”

Oh, she was waiting all right. But her chance at perfection had passed.

“I definitely don’t see that. I’m lonely and jaded,
you’re
hopeful and patient.” The serious turn of the conversation made Sadie feel exposed, vulnerable, broken beyond repair. She cleared the emotion clouding her throat. “Well, my hat’s off to you … and Ryan Reynolds.”

Joselyn went with it, bless her heart. “Yes, thank you. I believe we’ll be very happy together.”

Happy, Sadie thought, as the past tempered her hopes. If only she still believed in happily ever after. 

Bright and early, Sadie finished her morning run, rejuvenated by the much needed endorphin rush. The past week had been unmercifully long. But it was Sunday, tied in too many ways to the tragic events of last week but a new week nonetheless. The sunrise wiped the slate clean, no matter how painful all the yesterdays had been. Perhaps if she reminded herself enough she’d start to believe that.

Wiggling into a pair of cutoffs, a fitted gray Beatles T-shirt, and her ancient black Chuck Taylors, she pulled her hair up into a messy topknot, dusted her fair skin with bronzer, penciled on some liner, mascara, and ChapStick before rushing out the door. He mother would likely burst an artery at her choice of clothing but she needed a victory today, however small.

When she pulled into the church parking lot, she glanced at the stereo. Late as usual. It almost didn’t matter what time she woke up or what time she left the house, she was five minutes late everywhere she went. Another dismal grade in a long list of failed courses from Lorelei Carson’s Finishing School. But in the instance of church it proved instrumental in sidestepping her mother’s matchmaking attempts.

Stopping for a cup of coffee in the lobby, she mixed up a sweet and creamy blend before moseying in undetected, slipping into the back row and seeking a moment of solace.

When the message started, Finn plopped into the seat next to her. He wasn’t known for his punctuality either, but she knew in the instance of Sunday morning he had a much better excuse—helping with the youth group before service.