Lethal Legacy: A Novel (Guardians of Justice) (8 page)

“No. Dad led a very quiet life. He was active at church and in the garden club, and he went on an occasional bus trip with a senior group from the community center. The only thing different he did in the last few months of his life was drive to Niagara Falls by himself on his wedding anniversary. That was where he and my mom went on their honeymoon. He was gone for about ten days. Taking a trip alone was unusual, but given the occasion, it didn’t raise any red flags.”

“Did you tell Alan about that, when he was investigating the case?”

“No.” She shrugged. “It didn’t seem relevant. Do you think it is?”

“I don’t know. But any out-of-pattern behavior is worth noting. What were the dates he was gone?” He pulled a notebook out of his pocket and jotted them down as she recited them. “Did he visit anyone on that trip?”

“Not that I know of. I don’t think he had friends in that area. He and Mom were born and educated in the Midwest. I suppose it’s possible he knew someone along the route, but I doubt it. I think he would have mentioned it when he told me about the trip. Then again, I don’t know why he never mentioned the scars or the internal injuries.” She bit her lip, her eyes troubled. “I’m getting more and more confused.”

So was he. Every fact they turned up left them with more questions than answers.

“Well, the trip may not . . .” At the sudden vibration of his cell phone, he shot her an apologetic look and checked caller ID. Sarge. That didn’t bode well for the rest of his evening. “Sorry. I need to take this.”

“Go ahead. I’ll clear the table.” She rose, picked up their plates, and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Taylor.”

“Cole, we’ve got a double homicide. I’m pulling in some extra people. Let me give you the location. They’ll brief you at the scene.”

He jotted down the address as the man recited it. So much for his evening with Kelly.

By the time she returned with a platter of lemon bars that looked homemade, he was on his feet.

“You’re not staying for dessert?” It was more statement than question, and there was a touch of disappointment in her tone.

“Duty calls. We’ve got a case that requires some extra manpower. It’s gonna be a late night.”

She sighed and started toward the foyer, platter still in hand. “I don’t envy you the kind of hours you keep.”

“They’re not always this bad.” He stopped at the door, liking her marginal security even less than he had on his last visit. “You need to get some better locks.”

“It’s on my list.”

“Bump it to the top.”

“I already made a few calls. I’m waiting for estimates. But I want to spend most of the weekend at my dad’s house, anyway. With all the new developments, who knows what else I might find?”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I will.”

“And next time, the meal’s on me.”

“I’d like that.” A heart-melting smile softened her lips.

His gaze got stuck on their lush fullness, and his pulse took a leap.

Man.

He did
not
want to leave.

But what he did want to do wouldn’t be wise. So maybe it was better he’d been called away. It would keep him from rushing things. Making a mistake he might regret. Like crossing the line from professional to personal. Or scaring Kelly off. She struck him as a slow mover, and he needed to downshift if he wanted to stay in this race.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything about the mystery number.” He grabbed two lemon bars, opened the door, and stepped out into the chilly air. “Lock up.”

Before she could respond, he started down the walk. And despite the frosty nip of the November wind, he felt toasty—thanks to the lingering warmth of her smile.

“Are you sure this is wise?” Lauren cast a nervous glance at Kelly’s cinnamon roll and mocha as they claimed a table at the Perfect Blend.

Kelly shrugged off her coat, draped it over the chair, and took her seat. “Relax. I’ve been coming here every Saturday morning since Dad died—and a lot of days in between. The food is safe. The manager just assured us of that again. Besides, I have a brand new injector with me. Sit. Enjoy. Stop worrying.”

“Easy for you to say.” Lauren shot her a nervous look as she perched on the edge of her chair. “You about gave me apoplexy last Saturday. I do
not
want a repeat performance. My heart couldn’t take it.”

“Neither could mine.” Kelly cut off a bite of cinnamon roll with the edge of her fork. “Do you really think I’d be eating this or drinking that”—she gestured toward the mocha—“if I had any concerns?”

Her expression skeptical, Lauren watched her in silence as she put the pastry in her mouth and chewed.

“Come on, Lauren, chill. I’m fine. I told you what Cole said. He thinks the older guy who picked up my drink put peanuts in it.”

“That’s just as freaky.”

“Tell me about it.” Kelly did a quick scan of the coffee shop. She knew the regulars by sight, and the older man had been a new face that day—one she hoped never to see again.

“So is our friendly detective more receptive now to your theory that your dad’s death wasn’t suicide?”

“Yes. Especially in light of other developments.” She told Lauren about the telephone number she’d found and the new information Cole had gleaned from the autopsy report.

“Wow.” Lauren took a sip of her caramel frappuccino. “When did you find out about the autopsy stuff?”

“Last night.”

Her friend arched an eyebrow. “Last night, as in after working hours?”

Kelly squirmed in her seat. Lauren had always been open about her social life, even giving Kelly a play-by-play account of Shaun’s courtship. She, on the other hand, had been far more reticent about her infrequent dates, none of which had amounted to anything more than a short-term relationship. Lauren claimed the reason for her dismal dating history could be summed up in two words: too picky. Kelly couldn’t argue. Most of the men she’d gone out with didn’t meet her high standards.

Cole was different, though. From the day she’d shown up at his office with the packing slip from the bulbs, she’d felt a connection to him. Not just the spark of attraction—although there was plenty of that—but a sense they might have much in common at a deeper level. That’s why she’d ventured outside her comfort zone by inviting him to lunch and issuing that impromptu dinner invitation last night.

By no stretch of the imagination, however, could their relationship be called a romance.

Yet.

But she had hopes. Ones she hadn’t shared with Lauren, afraid if she talked too much about it, she’d jinx the whole thing.

“It wasn’t a hard question, Kelly. After work—yes or no?”

At Lauren’s prompt, a warm flush swept across her cheeks and she tried to hedge. “Detectives put in long hours.”

“So what time did he call to pass on this news?”

She was stuck. There was no dodging that question, short of lying. And she didn’t lie. “Actually, he told me in person, on his way home from work.”

Lauren stopped sipping her drink. “He came to your house?”

“Yeah.”

“How long did he stay?”

“Awhile. I, uh, invited him to dinner.”

Lauren slowly set down her drink and pinned her with what Kelly always thought of as her district attorney look. “I see I’ve been out of the loop. The vibes between the two of you in the ER last week were obvious, but I had no idea things had progressed to the stage of you issuing dinner invitations. What else have I missed?”

She might as well spill everything. Lauren would get it out of her eventually, anyway. “I invited him to lunch last Wednesday to thank him for hanging around the ER and giving me a ride home.”

“Let me get this straight.” Lauren sat back and narrowed her eyes. “In the space of a handful of days, you’ve asked the man to lunch and to dinner. Plus you talked with him on the phone several times. Do I have my facts straight?”

“Yes, but all of our contact has been in relation to my dad’s death. There’s been nothing personal about it.”

Lauren gave her a “get real” look. “Trust me. If the man wasn’t interested in getting personal, he wouldn’t have spent his day off in the ER, and he’d have handled any business by phone. Especially on a Friday night. Unless there was some personal interest, do you honestly think a single guy who looks like Cole Taylor would pass up a hot date to spend the evening discussing a case that could be dealt with in one quick call during working hours?”

It was hard to dispute her best friend’s logic.

“No need to respond.” Lauren picked up her drink and gave her a smug smile. “I can see the answer on your face. And I’m glad you’re being assertive about this. That’s how I got Shaun, as you recall. I asked him out first.”

“These weren’t dates, Lauren.” Kelly pressed her fork against the crumbs of the cinnamon roll she’d shredded during their exchange.

“But you wish they had been.”

She sighed. “Okay. Yeah. I do. He’s a nice guy.” She popped the fork in her mouth, disposing of the crumbs. “But I’d rather he focus on my dad’s case than on me until we get this cleared up.”

“I hear you. However, it doesn’t hurt to lay the groundwork. Let the man know you’re interested. You want him to want you.”

Kelly thought about the banked fire that had darkened Cole’s eyes to cobalt as he’d left after dinner. And the look on his face that had said he’d wanted to kiss her. Her stomach fluttered, and she gripped her cup tighter. “I think he does.”

“Excellent.” A satisfied smile settled over Lauren’s lips.

Blocking out the charged memory of last night’s parting, Kelly refocused on her friend. “Why are
you
so happy about this?”

“Because I’m your friend. I like to see you happy. And despite losing your father, despite your own health crisis last weekend, despite your frustration about the lack of proof to support your homicide theory, there’s a glow about you I’ve never seen before. The kind a person gets when they’re falling in love.”

Kelly stared at her in shock. “I only met the man a month ago. People don’t fall in love that fast.”

“Maybe not. But you can recognize early on that someone is special—and worth getting to know better. You look the way I did a month into my relationship with Shaun.”

“That doesn’t mean this will go anywhere. The attraction could fade if we ever do start dating.”

“It could.” Lauren grinned. “But I’m betting it won’t. Unless you get cold feet.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re a slow mover, and I suspect Cole may be used to the faster lane.”

She couldn’t refute her friend’s assessment. Most men did want more than she was willing to give. That’s why she always cut things off so quickly. She hoped Cole didn’t fall into that camp. Hoped, too, that he shared her faith. That topic hadn’t come up yet, but she needed to explore it before she got too carried away.

“It’s better to be cautious, Lauren. And I won’t violate my principles for any man.”

“Caution is good. So are principles.” Lauren picked up her cup. “And if Cole is the man my intuition tells me he is, he’ll respect both. Shall we drink to that?”

“By all means.” Kelly picked up her cup and touched it to Lauren’s.

Half an hour later, after an animated conversation on a variety of topics, Lauren glanced at her watch and gathered up their cups and napkins. “Sorry to cut this short, but I promised Shaun I’d be home in time for him to meet the guys for a round of golf.”

“No problem.” Kelly picked up her plate and settled the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “I always appreciate it when you squeeze in time for me.”

“Hey . . . you’re no less important in my life than you were before Shaun and the twins. I’m just sorry I won’t be here for you on Thanksgiving. I wish this wasn’t our year to go to the in-laws in Columbus.”

“I’ll be fine.” Kelly stood, not certain that was true. She and her dad had always spent the day together. Her first Thanksgiving alone would be tough.

“Maybe the good detective will reciprocate your invitations by asking you to have dinner with him that day.”

Startled by the suggestion, Kelly shook her head as they walked toward the door. “He has a very close family, and I’m a stranger to them. Besides, inviting someone to a family Thanksgiving is a big deal, and we just met.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t pray for it.” Lauren dumped their cups and napkins in the trash container.

Kelly followed, depositing her plate in the plastic bin. And as they hugged and said good-bye, she couldn’t help thinking how nice it would be to spend the holiday with Cole. Even if that notion
was
ridiculously far-fetched.

Hands on hips, Kelly surveyed the two shelves in her father’s bedroom closet. Like the junk drawer in his bureau, they were a mess—a mélange of items piled in haphazard fashion. For a man who’d chosen a career based on precise numerical balances, who had arranged the tools on his workbench in the garage with the meticulous care of a surgeon, who’d carefully organized and labeled every photo in the family album, the disorder of these two storage areas was an anomaly.

Then again, everyone deserved a few quirks.

But she wasn’t looking forward to spending her post-church Sunday digging into the chaos.

Resigning herself to the task ahead, she positioned the stepladder half inside the closet, climbed to the second rung, and reached for an armload of stuff. As she pulled it out, a cloud of dust invaded her sinuses, and she sneezed. Five times. With each ah-choo, an item or two shook loose from the pile in her arms and fell to the carpet.

When at last her sneezing spurt subsided, she descended the ladder and lowered the collection in her arms to the floor beside the bed. Sitting back on her heels, she examined it in dismay. Tattered jerseys, a clear plastic box containing a dead flower that might have been a boutonniere, a file filled with itineraries from old trips, a tarnished silver money clip, and various loose pieces of paper and greeting cards.

Sheesh.

She’d never considered her father to be a pack rat, but she might have to revise her opinion.

Still, the junk drawer had yielded a potential treasure. Perhaps this eclectic collection would too.

Encouraged by that thought, she plunged in.

An hour later, as she pulled the last armful of stuff out of the closet, her hope had dimmed. Though she’d examined every single item, none had held any significance she could discern in relation to her father’s death. Maybe the phone number was all she was destined to find. And that could very well turn out to be a dead end.

She sifted through the final armload. It was just more of the same. At first, she’d hoped some of the documents or cards in her father’s hoard of treasures might yield some interesting information, but they’d meant nothing to her. A program from a theatrical production. The menu from a restaurant. A receipt from a B & B bearing the date of her parents’ anniversary. Birthday cards from her mother. All sentimental keepsakes, nothing more.

A folded sheet of stationery did catch her attention, and she picked it up. A skim of the handwritten text, dated sixteen years earlier, told her it was a letter, and she went back to read it more closely.

Dear J—I’ve allowed extra time for this to reach you, so I hope it arrives by your birthday. I wish I could be there to deliver my best wishes in person, but of course that’s impossible—and the finality of that weighs more heavily on me as time passes.

When you left so suddenly fifteen years ago, before we even had a chance to say good-bye, I knew things would never be the same again. But I didn’t realize so much of my past would disappear, for only you and I know the old stories and share the old memories. Your absence has left a gaping hole that will never be filled again.

But as I think of my own loss, it is yours I regret even more. For you gave up everything. I pray the loneliness and isolation of your early years have subsided, and that life has treated you kindly. I know K is a great comfort to you, and I thank God for her presence every day. I am sure she has become the fine young woman you portray in your letters.

I want you to know that not a day passes that I don’t think of you—but I understand and accept that you’re where you need to be. Happy birthday, J, and may the year ahead be filled with happiness and peace for you and K. You are both always in my thoughts and prayers.

The personal and heartfelt letter was signed with the initial
P
.

An initial that clearly represented a person who had been important in her father’s life.

An initial that was connected to no person Kelly had ever heard of.

Stymied, she leaned back against the side of her father’s bed, letter in hand. Why had her father never mentioned such an old and dear friend? Why could the two of them never meet again? Why had they parted so suddenly? What had her father given up? When had he been lonely and isolated? Was P a man or a woman?