Undeniably Yours (11 page)

My heart clenched at the thought of the real Scout. I hoped someone was taking care of him. After all, the last I’d seen of neighbor Morgan, he’d been getting stitched up in the emergency room.

“
Psst
,” I said to get Ava’s attention, barely catching her eye before I ducked back into the bedroom.

Slowly, I leaned forward—just far enough to see her. “Peekaboo!”

A smile crept across her face.

During the middle of the night Em had called with an update on Aiden. The scan had revealed he had a laceration of his spleen that would either heal on its own or require surgery. Time would tell, but until then the doctors needed to keep a close eye on his condition. He’d be in the ICU for the next couple of days, then if progressing to his physician’s liking, he’d be moved to a recovery floor for a few more days of bed rest. Em didn’t want to leave his side, which meant that Ava would stay with us for a while.

It also meant missing some of her exams. I knew choosing Aiden over the tests was a no-brainer, but I also knew Em. She was going to be stressed.

Until Aiden was released, I was in a bit of an investigative limbo. I usually worked with Aiden or Sean—both of whom were currently out of commission. Time was of the essence with Kira’s disappearance, so I’d go solo if I had to. And it was looking like I had to.

I hid again, then popped out. “Peekaboo!”

Ava squealed.

I hid, smiling like a damn fool.

It was then that I noticed Sean sitting up in bed, staring at me, a soft glint in his eyes.

“What?” I asked him.

“Nothing.” But his grin told me otherwise.

I waved him off and popped back into the other room. “Peekaboo!”

Ava threw her head back and laughed.

It might have been the sweetest sound I’d ever heard.

“Good morning,” I said, limping over to her.

Reaching into the crib, I lifted her out. I racked my brain for any kind of morning lullaby but couldn’t think of one.

Another reason my job at the daycare had been appropriately short-lived.

Softly, I began singing about my man taking a morning train. I clumsily danced around the living room as Thoreau ran circles around my feet, barking sharply.

He hated my singing.

Sean appeared in the bedroom doorway still wearing that bemused smile. “Sheena Easton?”

“Raphael’s influence.” His love of eighties music had rubbed off on me. I started singing again.

Ava’s face crumpled and she let out a wail.

“What? What?” I asked her. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s probably your singing,” Sean said.

I made a face at him.

He came over and held out his arms. Ava went willingly into them and immediately stopped crying.

My jaw dropped. “How—”

Smiling, he said, “I have a way with women.”

I rolled my eyes and went to brush my teeth, wash up, and pull my hair back.

His laughter echoed through the cottage and soon Ava was giggling with him. It did my heart good.

By the time I emerged from the bathroom, Sean had a mug of coffee ready for me. A freshly-diapered Ava was sitting with a pile of blocks, carefully stacking them. I saw Ebbie eyeing the tower and had the feeling she was plotting to knock it down. Ebbie as King Kong versus toy skyscrapers. I took a picture of Ava with my cell phone and messaged it to Aiden—it was my way of showing him that Ava was perfectly fine.

A moment later, my cell phone rang, and I saw it was Em calling. I quickly answered.

After a minute of catching up on Aiden’s condition (nothing’s changed), and how she was doing (tired but fine and she didn’t want to talk about school), she said, “Aiden wants to talk to you.”

“Why does that sound like a warning?”

With a question in his eyes Sean glanced at me, and I shrugged.

“He’s grumpy,” Em said. “Brace yourself.”

I mouthed, “Aiden’s grumpy” to Sean, who was going about making breakfast. He nodded. I supposed Aiden had reason to be. Someone had almost blown him to bits. “I’m braced.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” she said.

I heard a lot of static—probably the shuffling of the phone—and then Aiden’s voice came on the line.

“How’s Ava?”

I wanted to tease him about his manners and not saying hello, but I gave him a pass this time. “She’s fine. Didn’t you get the picture I sent?”

“Are those non-toxic blocks?”

“Nope. Full of arsenic.”

There was silence on the line.

Finally, I thought I heard him mumble, “I need to get out of this place.”

Then I thought I heard Em say, “Not until the doctor says so.”

Then I definitely heard Aiden let loose a few choice swear words.

“Hello?” I said. “I’m still here.”

Aiden’s voice was tight, maybe from pain, maybe from anger. Maybe both. “Early report is in about the blast at Kira’s house. Amateurish homemade bomb rigged to the front door. House doused with gasoline.”

“Thank goodness it was amateurish,” I heard Em say, “or we’d still be picking pieces of you off that lawn. Don’t look at me like that, Aiden Holliday. You know it’s true.”

I could easily imagine the stern look she was giving him, and also the clenching of Aiden’s jaw.

But Em was probably right. If that blast had been stronger or if he hadn’t turned to face me at the last moment… I shook my head. I didn’t want to think about it.

He said, “There’s a team putting the pieces of the bomb back together to try and get prints.”

“How long will that take?” I asked.

“Days, weeks, months.”

“That narrows it down.”

He didn’t comment on my sassiness, but went on to say, “We hit a snag with Kira’s SUV.”

“What kind of snag?”

“She doesn’t own one. Or lease one. There are absolutely no records of her owning a car since March.”

“She got it somewhere. It’s not Cinderella’s coach.”

“It’s being looked into, but until we find out, there’s no way to track it. No license plate number. Nothing.”

Not good.

“Oh,” he added. “I got a call earlier from Trey Fisher.”

I was very curious as to what Kira’s boyfriend had to say. “Oh?”

“You’re meeting him at ten a.m. for an interview.”

I straightened and almost let out a groan as my muscles protested the sudden movement. I didn’t even mind so much that Aiden hadn’t asked first. This was too important. “Where?”

“Coffee shop in Hingham.” He gave me the address.

I jotted it down.

“After that, you have a meeting with Barb Manciello, the assistant director of the CFC.” He rattled off that address, too.

“After that?” I asked, teasing.

There was no joking in his voice when he said, “I’ll let you know.”

“Any news on the doll?” I asked. Last night Aiden’s unmarked car—and the doll we’d picked up at the garage—had been collected by the state police from in front of Kira’s house.

“Not yet. Make sure you review Dustin McDaniel’s file before going to CFC.”

“I will.”

“Send more pictures of Ava.”

“I will.”

“Lucy?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks,” he grumbled.

“You’re welcome.” I promised to call him later.

I hung up as Sean went to the fridge for eggs and milk. He poured the milk into a sippy cup that must have been part of Em’s haul that she left here because I’d never seen it before.

“How’s Aiden?” Sean asked.

“I think the doctors will be transferring him from ICU to the psych ward soon.”

Laughing, he put the milk back in the fridge.

“He just wants to be working,” I said, glancing at Ava. “There’s still so much to do.”

“Was he calling about Kira?”

Between restorative sips of coffee, I filled Sean in about the latest on the explosion.

He motioned to the note I’d written. “You’re going somewhere?”

I explained about meeting with Trey Fisher and going to the CFC office later today.

His dark eyebrows furrowed.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, knowing instantly that he was concerned about my going alone.

Meeting my gaze, he held it for a long second, and then nodded. He walked over and handed the cup to Ava. She happily sipped away. Thoreau sat next to her, watching her every move, and Ebbie was still eyeing the block tower. Grendel sat near his food bowl, his tail swishing back and forth.

As I went about getting food bowls filled, Sean said, “Take a look at this when you get a chance.”

He pointed at his laptop on the breakfast bar.

Ebbie abandoned her desire to knock over the tower in favor of food. She rushed to her bowl. She was no fool—if she waited, she knew full well that Grendel would snarf her breakfast in a hot second. Thoreau’s bowl was on the other side of the room which gave him a fighting chance against Grendel’s thieving ways as well.

I washed my hands and pulled up a counter stool.

Sean had already told me that during his social media search of Kira Fitzpatrick yesterday he’d found someone hell-bent on smearing her name on every platform possible. Even when the comment was deleted by site administrators, other comments remained that referenced the original and the vitriol it contained.

I looked at Sean’s computer screen. The Channel 3 Facebook page was loaded, and a post about the explosion was at the top. I skimmed to the comment Sean had highlighted. It was from a user named Barracuda Smith and read “Hahaha. Whore got what was coming to her.”

Harsh. “Is that the same user you’ve seen on the other sites?”

“The name changes. Shark Smith. Piranha Smith. I’ve found posts on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. All the same kind of thing. Slut. Whore. Etcetera.”

“Etcetera?” I smiled.

“Trying to keep things PG in front of Ava. She’s like a sponge right now, you know.”

At her name, she looked over at Sean and started babbling up a storm.

“I’ve heard.” Danny, the Channel 3 garage manager, had told me so yesterday. The memory made me think about that doll again. The sooner it was processed the sooner we might have a more substantial lead.

“Think it’s a coincidence that the user name on those accounts is some sort of vicious fish?” I asked Sean.

“Nope.”

“Trey Fisher’s wife?” I speculated.

“I need a little more time to track the IP address but I’d say it’s a good possibility.” He cracked four eggs into a bowl and began whisking them to make scrambled eggs.

I knew my woman-scorned theory was a good one.

I took out bread for toast, supplemented my coffee with ibuprofen (only two), and let Thoreau out, clipping his lead to his collar.

I was surprised to see a dark pickup truck turn off Dovie’s drive and head this way.

I felt Sean come up behind me. “Who is it?” he asked.

“Not sure. I don’t recognize the truck.”

Sunlight glinted off the windshield, making it impossible to see the driver. I glanced toward the woods. The rent-a-ninjas remained hidden.

The truck stopped and parked at the edge of my crushed shell lane—far enough off as to not interfere with Thoreau’s exploration of the front yard.

Dressed in dark jeans and a snug polo shirt, the man stepped out of the truck and hitched a messenger bag onto his shoulder. Ah. That was why the ninjas hadn’t come out.

Jeremy Cross was the one who hired them.

He bent to have a silent conversation with Thoreau, who happily wagged his stubby tail. Gulls squawked overhead and Sean hurried to the kitchen, muttering something about his eggs burning.

Jeremy slid sunglasses off as he approached. “Thoreau requests that you stop singing.”

Sean let out a loud laugh, and I folded my arms and stared at the dog. “Is that so?”

Thoreau looked away and wandered over to sniff a rock.
Huh
. See if he got any treats today.

“Where are your crutches?” Jeremy asked.

“Inside.”

“That’ll speed healing.”

I frowned at his sarcasm and folded my arms. “I’m a little surprised to see you here.”

“I have a few things I need to discuss with you.”

I didn’t like his tone. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes and no.”

“What’s the yes?” I asked, instantly alarmed.

“There was an incident last night…”

“An incident? Where?”

Jeremy didn’t so much as blink. “Here.”

I looked at the woods, at the security team I couldn’t see. “You’d better come in and explain.”

“C
offee?” I asked as I led Jeremy into the house and motioned to a chair.

“No thanks.”

He sat, but his gaze hadn’t left Ava since the minute he walked through the door. Sitting at the dining table in her little booster seat, she played with more than ate the scrambled eggs in front of her. Sean set a halved piece of toast on her plate, and then came over to shake Jeremy’s hand before going into the kitchen to refill Ava’s sippy cup.

If he was vying for the title of Mr. Mom of the Year, he’d win, hands down.

Jeremy couldn’t take his eyes off Ava, and I couldn’t even imagine what was going through his head. Or the pain he’d lived through when his little girl had been murdered by a madman.

I grabbed my coffee mug from the breakfast bar and sat on the sofa. “That’s Ava, Kira’s daughter.” I’d already told him all about the case when I called yesterday.

It wasn’t until Ebbie streaked across the room and leapt onto his lap that Jeremy tore his gaze from the little girl.

He whispered to Ebbie, and she began purring.

“Does she hate my singing, too?” I asked.

“Not as much as Thoreau does.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled.

“What’s this about an incident?” Sean asked, sitting next to Ava at the table, keeping a close watch on her.

Grendel was watching, too, hoping some scraps of food would fall. He was probably in luck today with the way Ava was flinging her food around. She reminded me a little bit of the Cookie Monster—and how most of his cookies ended up on the floor.

Setting his bag on the table, Jeremy reached in and pulled out a manila folder. “Someone tried to breach the perimeter here last night.”

“Tried?” I asked.

Jeremy’s tone was hard, unyielding. “It was not a successful attempt.”