Authors: Jude Deveraux
“I have no idea,” Eli said. “If you don’t hurry up, whoever owns that car is going to leave. You do want to see who it is, don’t you?”
“I’ll get a table while you pay for this. And get a cooler and some ice.”
As he watched her walk away, Eli was annoyed—but only for seconds. He was so very pleased that his plan had worked. The Chelsea who’d arrived at his house, the one with the scared look in her eyes, was beginning to disappear—thanks to him. He’d thought she needed a jolt, something that would shock her out of what she’d become, which was a woman who didn’t laugh at truly idiotic things that were said about her hair and her eyes being pools of . . . whatever.
At one point last night he’d said, “My dad fell in love with Mom when they were alone in the woods.”
Chelsea had narrowed her eyes at him. “I bet that adorable little town of Edilean is full of women who love the forest at night. I bet that town has pie-baking contests. You should do a search to find the winner and ask her to marry you.”
Eli had tried to act as though her words displeased him, but he was glad he was finally seeing a glimpse of
his
Chelsea. This clean-faced Chelsea, chomping down on fried chicken, was interested in something besides her hair—and her eye makeup and whether she’d gain an ounce from eating a hot dog. He didn’t want her to go back to being the perfectly bland creature she’d been when she arrived.
As for the expensive briefcase and watch in the car, Eli didn’t think it mattered much. There was probably a perfectly good explanation for it, but if it put light in Chelsea’s eyes, then he’d help her. As long as she didn’t get too outrageous and do something they could be prosecuted for, he would back her up.
By the time Eli had paid for their items and put them in the car, Chelsea was seated in a booth in the diner and pretending to read a menu. He took the bench across from her.
“The waitress hates me,” she whispered over her menu. “I moved three times because I was near the wrong people, but I think I got it right this time.” She lowered her voice. “It’s the man we saw in the store. I think he’s waiting for someone.”
“I think I should remind you that you and I are the ones in the wrong here. We were illegally breaking and entering. I think we should—” When his phone buzzed, he looked at the message. “It’s from Steve and there are no records on the guy. The car’s had several owners, but nothing’s been reported on it. The man and his vehicle are clean.”
“They tell you anything about him personally?”
“No. Think we should look on his Facebook page?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I know you think this is silly. Maybe his Jag broke down and that car is the only loaner the garage had. Or maybe that’s not his briefcase or his watch.” She took a breath. “But I have a feeling and I
know
something is wrong!”
Eli was looking at the menu. “If I had a briefcase I cared enough about to keep it on a white cloth, I wouldn’t put it in a tied-down trunk. I would carry it into a restaurant with me and not leave it in a place that can’t be locked. And watches are to be worn.”
When he looked up, Chelsea was smiling at him. “I agree.”
The waitress came to ask for their orders.
“What kind of salads do you have?” Chelsea asked.
“Baby greens with fresh-caught Pacific wild salmon with balsamic dressing. We age the vinegar in our own kegs.”
“That sounds great!” Chelsea said. “I’ll have that.”
Eli rolled his eyes. “Two club sandwiches, mayo on the side for her.”
“And what about you, darlin’?” the waitress asked Eli, smiling at him.
“All the mayo you can give me.” He gave her a slow, lazy smile.
Smiling, she took the menus and left.
“What the hell was that about?” Chelsea asked. “Were you flirting with her?”
“Actually, I was. My Taggert cousins taught me how to do it. It was a struggle to learn, but I believe I mastered it. What do you think?”
“I think you should stick to who you truly are.”
“By that I take it you mean a computer nerd? A guy with no life? To quote you: That guy was a myth.”
“I liked him,” Chelsea muttered.
“Sorry. Didn’t hear you.”
“I
liked
that guy,” she said through her teeth. “He had an honesty about him that was admirable. He was—”
Chelsea broke off because a woman entered the diner. She was in her late thirties and had once been pretty, but now she looked tired and anxious. She was wearing jeans and a shirt, both of which looked as though they’d been washed too many times. Her eyes searched the diner.
In the booth behind them, the man got up and went to her.
“Give me your phone,” Eli said.
“I need it to—” Chelsea began, but at his look, she handed it to him and he began punching numbers into it. “What are you doing?”
“Watch them and listen,” he replied and kept punching. “And remember to never carry an open bag.”
They were too far away to hear what was being said, but the woman seemed to be upset about something. The man slipped his arm around her shoulders in a comforting way and she leaned her head against him.
“Whoever he is, she trusts him,” Chelsea whispered. He was in his forties, maybe older, and the clothes he had on were cheap: a nearly worn-out cotton shirt, the cuffs frayed. His trousers were old and the belt’s edges were nearly raw.
At first glance he looked like he was one step below the poverty line, but Chelsea noticed some other things. “His nails were done professionally.”
Eli didn’t look up from the phone. “How can you tell?”
She put her hand next to his. Eli’s nails were chipped and stained from garden work and last night’s camping, while Chelsea’s were a perfect oval, the cuticles evenly pushed back.
“Good observation,” he said, then stood up. He started toward the door but when he got near the couple, he tripped and almost fell on the woman. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his hand on her forearm as though to steady himself.
Only Chelsea saw him drop her cell phone into the woman’s open-topped handbag.
Eli went back to the seat across from Chelsea, took his phone out of his pocket, and began more tapping.
“So help me, if you don’t tell me what you’re doing, I’m going to start screaming.”
“I’m being the nerd you think I used to be. I may look different, but it’s still me inside. There. Done.” He moved to the bench beside her and held his phone up between them.
They heard a woman’s voice through the phone: “It’s been a long time.”
“Too long,” said the man. “How is Abby? She must be what now? Thirteen?”
“Fifteen,” the woman answered.
Chelsea pulled back to look at Eli. “You set up the phones to eavesdrop?”
“I did. Learned how from some spies.”
“Interesting coworkers you have,” Chelsea muttered, then leaned her head close to his.
“How is Paula?” the woman asked so softly she could hardly be heard.
There was a pause, then the man’s voice sounded near to tears. “Bad. She is . . . It’s not long now.”
“Orin, I’m so sorry. This is hard on you, I know.”
There were some sniffs as though the man was trying not to cry. “When we met she was so very pretty. To me she’ll always be that girl I knew in high school. But now she’s—”
“You don’t have to say it.”
“But I need to,” he said. “She’s dying and it won’t be long until the end. Grace, you’re one of the few people who haven’t deserted us. Your cards and emails have been a treasure to both of us.”
“I’m glad I can help in some way,” Grace said. “I feel responsible for so much of it.”
“It’s not your fault!” Orin said. “What Gil did to all of us wasn’t your responsibility. You’ve suffered as much as Paula and I have. I’m just glad your daughter isn’t ill like my dear wife is. The bills, the debt . . .” He started crying again.
“I’m so, so sorry,” Grace said. “If I could help in some way, I would.”
“The money from the sale of the house?”
“I gave you that,” she said, her voice alarmed.
“Yes, yes, of course you did,” Orin said. “I’m sorry. I spend my life with bedpans and IV tubes. It’s hard for me to remember things. Yesterday . . . Oh, never mind. Tell me something happy about your life.”
“I don’t know what to say. Abby has grown into a very pretty young woman. She’s rather shy, but one of the football players has taken a liking to her and he invited her to the prom. Next Saturday we’re going to buy her a dress.”
“How wonderful,” Orin said, but there was a bit of an edge to his voice. “How different our lives are. Yesterday four big men came to repossess the mechanical bed Paula lies in. I can make it go up in the back so she can see out the window. It’s one of the last pleasures she’ll ever have. Oh, Grace! I was begging them to give me another week. Just one more week with the bed and I swore I could somehow raise the three hundred dollars they wanted. Paula was there in the room and she heard me pleading. She was so humiliated that there were tears running down her cheeks. She only weighs eighty-four pounds now, and to see those tears broke my heart. She—” He began to sob loudly.
“I’m so very sorry,” Grace said.
“I know you are.” His voice grew angry. “But sometimes, I remember what Gil did to Paula, me, and to you and sweet little Abby, and I want to . . . I want to . . .”
“I know,” Grace said. “I do too, but he’s gone now.”
“Yes, he is. Did you ever find any of the money he took?”
“Not a penny of it. Orin, please. You know I sold everything and I shared it all with you. The house, the cars, the mountain cabin. And I signed the stores over to you.”
“I know,” he said. “It’s my fault that I couldn’t keep them running. But Gil had taken even the deposits on the orders. No one would send me furniture I couldn’t pay for, so I had to give the deposits back to the customers from my own pocket. I owned three stores but I ended up massively in debt. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Grace said, her voice tired. “And that’s why I gave you what I made from the sale of the house.”
“Yes, of course you did.”
“Orin, I need to get home. You said you had something you had to ask me.”
“I just wondered if you’d ever found the papers from the last sale.”
“No, I haven’t. Everything is stored away and I work long hours. Besides, those things are hard for me to look at. I . . .” She trailed off.
“Gracie, I apologize. The papers were just an excuse to see you again. You and Abby are like family to Paula and me. I wish we’d been blessed with children. How wonderful it would be to think of buying a dress for a dance instead of facing creditors. Maybe after Paula is . . . is gone I can get a full-time job and help your little family some. Maybe I can give you—”
There was some noise of papers and keys as Grace rummaged in her bag. “Here!” she said. “That’s the three hundred I was going to use to buy Abby a new dress. Take it and pay some on Paula’s bed.”
“I shouldn’t, but since it isn’t for me, I accept. Thank you, Grace, thank you very much. You don’t know what this means to Paula and me. Three hundred dollars is like a million to us. And I promise that after she . . . she leaves this earth, I’ll pay you back.”
“Sure, of course,” Grace said. “I have to go. Good luck to you both.”
In the next second the woman was hurrying out of the diner.
“My phone!” Chelsea said.
“I’ll get it.” Eli got up and left behind the woman. Minutes later, he returned, put Chelsea’s phone on the table, and sat down by her. In front of them were empty plates. While they’d been listening, their sandwiches had been delivered and they’d eaten them. Eli wondered if Chelsea noticed that she’d eaten the one with a lot of high-calorie mayonnaise on it.
“She was sitting in her car crying,” Eli said—and Chelsea saw the blaze in his eyes. She well remembered that when they were children, Eli’s father had constantly hit his mother up for money. The man didn’t need the money, but it made him feel powerful to take it.
“He went to the restroom,” Chelsea said, “so you can talk.”
“I tapped on her car window and told her I thought I’d accidently dropped my phone in her bag. She gave it to me.” Eli was looking at his hands, which were clasped on the table, his eyes downcast, a muscle in his jaw working.
Chelsea put her hand over his. Eli had always had the softest heart in the world, but then he’d had to watch his mother being misused. “Déjà vu?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “She reminds me of my mom and how my dad used to con her out of money. He did it just to see if he could. One time he told me that the only thing that really mattered in life was winning.”
“You think that’s what this guy Orin is doing?”
He looked at her. “Why doesn’t he sell the watch and briefcase to pay his bills?”
“I wonder if they belong to him,” Chelsea said. She lowered her voice. “Or maybe he’s saving them to sell to pay his wife’s funeral expenses. What do you think the husband, Gil, did?”
“Sounds like he embezzled company funds.”
They looked up as the waitress returned. With a wink at Eli, she put two big slices of lemon meringue pie on the table, then left.
“Why did she bring these?” Chelsea asked, frowning.
“I asked for one. Guess she misheard and delivered two slices. She said they were homemade by a local widow who has two kids in college.”
Chelsea knew that story would get Eli’s attention. She took a bite. “Not bad.” She took another one. “Is that guy back at the table yet?”
Eli leaned around the end of the booth, and when he turned back, his face showed disbelief. “He stole the tip. When I left I saw three dollars and change by the tab, but it’s gone now. I’ll be back.” He left the table.
It was about ten minutes before he returned and by that time Chelsea had finished her pie and started on Eli’s. “He’s in there shaving—and smiling. He looks like he won the lottery. He told me I was with a really hot chick and asked if we were having a good time in bed.”
Chelsea’s eyes widened. “What did you say?”
“All you have to do with men like him is smirk.” He looked at her. When they were kids, they often understood each other’s mind without words.