An Adrien English Mystery: The Dark Tide (23 page)

Chan confirmed that the body was presumed to be Jay Stevens and that the investigation was proceeding along those lines.

“Who's in charge of the investigation?” I asked.

Chan named the detective who I'd spoken to previously. He'd left a message that morning saying the construction site had been approved to be reopened.

“Alonzo isn't part of the investigation?”

“Alonzo?” Chan looked cautious. “Not to my knowledge. It's strictly CCHU.”

“Is that so?”

His look was inquiring. I let it go. It was good to know that I had recourse, but I wasn't sure I wanted to risk antagonizing Alonzo. With Jake gone, my only friend at LAPD was Chan.

At the break, Chan asked awkwardly after Jake.

I thought of my last conversation with Jake. “Hard to read,” I said shortly. “You should give him a call.”

“I did,” he said, surprising me. “Right after it all went down. I heard a rumor that he's moving.” His brown eyes met mine.

It wasn't exactly an accusing look; even so, I felt myself coloring. “He's been offered a job in Vermont.”

“Vermont? What would Jake do in Vermont? He's a California boy, born and raised. All his family is here.”

“Maybe that's the point,” I said wearily.

When the meeting broke up at last, I headed straight upstairs in the hope that Jake had called.

The answering machine was empty of any calls.

* * * * *

I spent an undisturbed night, so perhaps the trouble with Harry was over.

The next morning, Wednesday, I weighed myself. Halle-fricking-lujah. I'd finally gained a pound. I took my temperature. Perfect. Heart rate also normal. Incision looking good. I studied myself in the mirror.

“It looks like you're going to live.”

The guy in the mirror smiled sheepishly back.

* * * * *

“Let's talk about Friday's cardiac-rehab session,” Dr. Shearing said in the tone of one who would brook no arguments.

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“I wasn't here on Friday.”

“
Exactly
,” she said with satisfaction. “One week into cardiac rehab and you've already started playing hooky. Do you understand why that sends up flags for your recovery team?”

“Not really. I'm sure people—”

“Patients,” she interjected in that kind, all-knowing way that made me long to hit her with the crystal angel paperweight on her desk. “There's an element of denial—”

“Patients,” I corrected, “occasionally have to miss rehab.”

“Occasionally emergencies crop up,” she conceded graciously. “What was your emergency, Adrien?”

I opened my mouth to tell her it was none of her damned business, though that was bound to create more problems than it solved. “To tell you the truth, I went out with a friend.”

“That's
excellent
,” she praised, as though I'd managed to mostly stay within the lines of my coloring book. “I'm very glad to hear that you're making an effort to reach out to friends and family again. That's very encouraging.
However
, I'm sure if your friend realized how important cardiac rehab is to your recovery—”

“I missed once last week,” I interrupted. “I was here Monday, and I'm here today. I'll be here Friday. I'm committed to my recovery. I want to get well.”

“You still sound a
wee
bit defensive,” she observed. “However, you're much less angry than our last session, and that's
very
good news.”

I sighed.

“Fear, depression, and anger are very common after cardiac events…”

And they're off!
I kept a polite expression on my face while her mouth galloped along yards ahead of her brain.

Why did they call heart attacks and surgeries cardiac
events?
Why not cardiac incidents?

Incident
far better captured the sinister connotations.

I realized that Dr. Shearing had stopped and was waiting for an answer.

“Sorry? I missed that.”

She summoned her patience. “I said perhaps this friend would be willing to act as your support partner?”

“I don't think so.”

“We never know until we ask.”

“Sometimes we do.”

She gave me a chiding look. “I'm going to give you your first homework assignment, Adrien. I want you to invite someone—you can choose anyone you like—to accompany you to our session next Wednesday.”

“Does this count toward the final?”

She allowed herself a very small smile. “Indeed it does.”

I nodded. It sounded to me like an excellent time to transfer to woodshop.

* * * * *

“How much longer, Lisa?”

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Josh Lanyon

“Call me 'Mummy,' Em,” Lisa instructed gently, eyes on the rearview.

Emma's eyes met mine. She shoved a french fry into her mouth and chewed without comment.

Lisa sighed.

We were once more on the road to Chino, having stopped briefly to supply Emma with lifesaving McDonald's french fries. Other than that, it had been an uneventful trip. I hoped it stayed that way. Or at least that the only event would be the purchase of a horse for Emma.

“Are you seeing Jake Riordan again?” Lisa asked over Jacqueline du Pré's performing Elgar's Cello Concerto in E Minor.

I glanced back at Emma, who was now managing to eat french fries while holding her nose as we passed yet another dairy farm.

“Natalie told you I went with him to Santa Barbara.”

“Was it a secret?”

“No.”

“You're a grown man, Adrien,” she said, and I almost fell out of my seat. “I'm not going to tell you what to do.”

“Why, thank you.”

“
Are
you seeing Jake Riordan?”

“No. He's…helping me with the situation at the bookstore.” She didn't comment, and I added unwillingly, “He may be moving.”

“
Jake
?” It was the closest I'd ever heard to her sounding dumbfounded.

I nodded, gazing out the window.

“Why is he leaving?”

I looked at her in surprise. “He got a job offer in Vermont.”

“
Vermont
?” She asked quite sharply, “Are you thinking of going with him?”

“No.”

I thought she might have something to add to that, but by then we were turning off for Osseo Farms.

At the farm, Lisa and I stood watching in the paddock as Adagio was saddled and Emma mounted. Karin Schultie led horse and rider to the larger arena, and Lisa and I followed.

We leaned against the tall white fence, watching as Emma rode the gelding around the arena.

“You see the difference in his three gaits? See that? He really is a beauty.”

Lisa eyed me resignedly. “I suppose. He does have a pretty face.”

I ruthlessly suppressed my smile as we watched Emma, solemn faced, make another pass around the enclosure.

“I'm glad you get along with her so well,” Lisa remarked.

“She's a great kid.”

“Yes.” She sounded unexpectedly melancholy.

“I'm not competing with a memory. Em never had a big brother before.”

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“I suppose that's true.”

I glanced at her still-flawless profile. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, darling. We have no secrets from each other.”

“Er—right. Anyway, kind of a funny question, I know, but why is it that I call you
Lisa
and not
Mother
?”

Lisa's gaze locked onto my own. “Did you want to call me
Mother
?”

“Now? No. I mean, it doesn't matter. I'm not—I'm curious…”

“Your father taught you to say
Lisa
. He thought it was very funny, and it was. You said it with the exact same inflection he did, but in your baby voice.” To my alarm, tears filled her eyes.

She turned her profile to me, staring out once again at the arena. “And after he died, I liked hearing it. That…echo.”

“Oh.” I swallowed hard. Had to ask, didn't I? Now she was wiping hastily at her cheeks.

I looked quickly out to where Em continued putting Adagio through his paces, still with that set and serious expression on her face.

At last Karin walked out, and Emma reined in. They returned to the paddock. We followed, rejoining them as Emma swung down from the saddle.

Karin raised her eyebrows in inquiry.

I said, “Well, Em? What did you think?”

Emma parroted, “He's got lots of suspension, and presence and great reach.” Then any attempt at dispassion flew, and she hugged me. “Oh, Adrien. He's
wonderful
. I
know
he's the right one.”

I thought with a pang that one day she would be telling me this about some unworthy asshole boy. At least she was probably right about Adagio.

“Okay, but remember what I told you about show jumping. Adagio is a classic Arabian.

Lots of spirit, lots of stamina. The best jumpers are heavier. They've got that solid bone structure to absorb the impact of landing on their front legs.”

“I don't care about show jumping. I love him.”

I looked at Lisa, and she closed her eyes in pain.

“Jumping aside, we're not going to find a better horse for her.”

“We haven't even looked.”

“Sometimes when you find the right one, you know it.” I said coaxingly, “If she's not interested in show jumping, there's less opportunity for her to break her little neck, right?”

“How you can joke about that…”

Emma and I waited while Lisa struggled inwardly. She said at last, “If I don't do this, you're simply going to go around me and buy this wretched animal yourself, aren't you?”

“Yes.” If I had to hock the bookstore to do it.

She opened her eyes and pinned me with a blue look as fierce as the flame of natural gas.

“Very well. I will do this,” she said tightly, “if you promise to attend
every bloody session
of your rehab. No more sloping off to play detective. You're there every day, and you're participating fully.”

Emma clung to me, gazing up hopefully.

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Josh Lanyon

“Deal.”

Emma squealed in delight and ran to Adagio.

My mother looked at me and shook her head.

* * * * *

When I got back to Cloak and Dagger, Natalie drew me into my office and informed me Ms. Pepper was unhappy with our business hours.

“What's that mean?”

“She feels we should be opening earlier in the morning and staying open later in the evening.”

“She's probably right about that. We don't have the coverage.”

Natalie took a deep breath. “Ms. Pepper is happy—well, she didn't actually say
happy
—

but she's agreed to work the extra hours.”

“You mean she'd be here
more
often?”

Natalie nodded.

I swallowed. “Let me think about it.”

“Don't think about it too long.”

“What's that mean?”

“I don't know. Only…don't antagonize her.”

“Did you ask the agency if they've found anyone else yet?”

Her hands fluttered in alarm. “
Shhhh
.”

“Nat, I think we were better off before…her.”

More hand fluttering. “The thing is, I'm afraid the agency sent her as a test for us.”

“Come again?”

“I think she's a spy for the agency.”

“I think you've been hitting the espionage shelves again.”

“We have a terrible reputation with all the agencies in the city. They claim our employees don't get their breaks and are frequently murdered.”

“That's ridiculous. Only one employee was ever murdered.”

“I'm telling you what our reputation is.”

“I don't care about our reputation. We have to get rid of her.” I added hastily, “The usual way.”

I left Natalie chickenheartedly filing in my office and went upstairs. A message was blinking on the answering machine. I checked the number. Jake. Instantly my spirits rose.

I called him back. He didn't pick up.

“Come on, Riordan.”

I contemplated ringing him again, but more than one message was going to look desperate.

Hell, it might look like I wasn't respecting the boundaries.

I went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. There was plenty of food there. My family was doing their best to keep me stocked in vegetables and fruits and lean meats. Somewhere An Adrien English Mystery: The Dark Tide

117

around here was a cookbook. If all else failed, there was a copy of the
Nancy Drew Cookbook
downstairs. Even I could probably whip up Casserole Treasure or 99 Steps French Toast.

Or I could open a can of salmon. I had the can opener in hand when the phone rang.

I jumped for it—even Tomkins looked impressed with my spring. I saw the number flash up as I lifted the receiver.

“
Hey
.”

“Hey.” Jake's voice was neutral. “Talked to Newman.”

“I thought I'd hear from you sooner.” I heard that and winced. “How did it go?”

“Interesting.”

“Good interesting or bad interesting?”

“He'll talk to you if you're willing to pay for the privilege.”

“Seriously? How much?”

There was a pause. “For some reason I didn't anticipate you being thrilled by this news.”

“Why not? I want to talk to him.”

He said delicately, “You're usually more concerned with your cash outlay.”

“Oh. Well.”

“So here's the deal. It's five hundred bucks—”

“Five
hundred
bucks?”

“You heard right. Plus the price of lunch. He'll meet us Friday afternoon at the Formosa Café. You can ask him whatever you like, and he's promised to answer to the best of his ability.”

Friday. Cardiac rehab. Shit. I'd given my word. I closed my eyes. “What time Friday?”

“Up to you.”

I opened my eyes. “How about two?”

“Sure. I'll set it up.”

A crazy thought went through my mind, and I very nearly asked him if he'd go with me to cardiac rehab. He was guilty enough about my getting shot that I was pretty sure he'd agree, but talk about failure to respect the boundaries.