Reluctantly in Love (5 page)

“This is Henry,” Beverly said.

I tore my attention from the mansion’s photograph to one below it, sitting on the marble mantle. In the image, a smiling Beverly stood beside a man who had his arm around her. He wore a panama fedora on his head, the chin leather strap hung loose around his neck.

“You kept your maiden name when you married?” Gen asked.

“When I met Henry, I had dreams of becoming a movie star.” She chuckled, her eyes shimmering with memory. “I was only nineteen and acting for a small theater in New York, and he was just a man in the audience who had stepped in out of the rain.” Her eyes warmed at her husband’s photograph on the mantle. “I didn’t take him seriously when he took me aside after the show and told me he would come back every night until I agreed to let him take me to dinner. He was a stubborn man, my Henry; he wouldn’t give up. We married soon after. I kept my maiden name because a part of me worried our marriage wouldn't last—it all happened so fast. I always thought I’d go back to acting someday.”

“Did you?” I asked. “Return to acting, I mean?”

She pressed her fingers together then touched her pointer fingers to her lip with a chuckle. “Oh, no. Henry kept me so busy traveling. We saw the world together. Being a Garrett meant parties and social events every time I turned around.” She sucked in a breath of nostalgia, the corners of her lips turned up into a small smile. “Coming from a poor Polish family and stepping into pearls with riches and privilege—it was the biggest role of my life. It took a very long time for me to get used to wearing silk.”

“That’s so romantic,” Gen breathed. She wasn’t the fairytale romantic that her twin Lexie was, but Gen had found her prince charming last year and everything was rainbows and cupcakes for her. They were still in the mushy-love stage, something I didn’t understand because I’d never been there before. At twenty-three, I’d never been in love. Teenage girl crushes didn’t count, and neither did my obsession with a certain sexy actor who played my favorite bad-boy vamp in a television series. That was my secret guilty pleasure. If my friends knew I had a stomach-flutter crush for the guy, they’d think there was hope yet for my cynical mind. But even I knew the character was fictitious, which made that crush safe.

Beside the photograph of Beverly and Henry was another of Henry and a man standing in suits beside a long white limousine. The second man was maybe in his fifties. His dark hair combed back, the sideburns peppered with grey. He leaned back against the door, looking confident and carefree. Money had that effect on some people. My dad owned a culinary empire, and though I didn’t grow up with him, when I did visit I spent a lot of time in his restaurants in Vegas. When I got older, I went along to penthouse dinner parties and charity events dressed to the nines in the kind of dress a woman only wore once.

“Who is this man beside Henry?” I asked, pointing to the photograph.

“That’s Matthew, his son.”

“Your stepson?” I glanced sideways to Beverly, whose eyes were on the photograph. She nodded.

“He was eight years old when I met his father. Henry and his wife were separated and talking divorce then. The circumstance made it difficult for Matthew and me to bond.” Her smile was shadowed with sorrow.

“How is your relationship with him now?” I asked.

“He blamed me for his parents not reconciling. It took many years for him to accept me. But, I think even he knew that his mother and father were toxic together. She was in and out of rehab for alcohol abuse—the whole thing was a mess. That woman never was able to clean herself up.” Beverly’s frown deepened. “From what Matthew’s wife told me a few months ago, his mother was on a transplant list for a liver. She’ll never get one, not with her history of alcohol abuse, and the stage of her disease.”

“Where does Matthew live?” I jotted his name down on the notepad, right under Meredith’s name. Resentful millionaire stepson and bitter old bag neighbor were both more likely suspects than an alien.

“He lives here in town. I see him even less now that Henry is gone.” She waved her hand. “The two got along like cats and dogs. They weren’t on speaking terms toward the end. I never did know what their last big fight was about, but when the family business is involved, it always seems to be a big feud. I stay out of it. I have a silent stake in the company.”

“Did they always get along poorly?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. When Matthew was a teenager, he was a rebellious boy. When he was in college, he didn’t take his studies seriously and was always in trouble. It embarrassed Henry, especially when he was kicked out of Columbia, and then two other universities. Finally, Henry threatened to take away his trust fund and he settled down a bit. It wasn’t until Matthew was in his forties that he asked to join the company. Henry didn’t make it easy for him. He believed in working hard, and that was something Matthew had refused to do for most of his adult life. He wanted an executive position, but Henry refused. Sometimes they wouldn’t speak for months. It broke my heart to see them disagree so much.” She gestured toward the patio door. “But isn’t that the way of things? There’s nothing more complicated than family.”

“Very true,” I said, thinking of my own dysfunctional little family. My parents split when I was thirteen and my relationship with them had been strained ever since.

She turned to point out a portrait hanging on the wall near the hallway entrance. Three teenaged boys smiled back at us, all as handsome as their father. One had a spattering of freckles across his nose. “Those are my grandsons, Matthew’s boys. They’re all three in college now. Attending Columbia, Henry’s alma mater.” Her words were swollen with pride. “All three are smart as a whip, just like Henry.”

I noticed she hadn’t said
like their father.

“Why don’t you walk me through the events leading up to Pretzels’ disappearance,” I suggested. “Every detail. You told me you first heard a prowler outside your bedroom window. When was that?”

“Two weeks ago.” She pointed to the hallway. “My bedroom window looks right out into the backyard. The second night, it sounded as if someone was tapping on my window. I called the cops right away and an officer came out.”

“So, that first week you heard noises two nights in a row, but you didn’t see anything out of the ordinary?” I jotted this down, though I’d recorded the same note at the office earlier. I would compare them later—I didn’t want to miss anything.

“The idea of a prowler in my yard rattled me. I decided to sleep on the couch right here in the living room.” She gestured to the plush sofa behind me. The open blinds left an unobstructed view of the patio door and the backyard beyond. “But as I lay here, I heard a noise. I got up and through the door I spotted a flash of grey.

Beverly’s eyes were drawn to the open blinds covering the glass door, as if reliving that night. “Nothing definitive. I’m a very rational woman. The idea it was an alien prowling around did not cross my mind.” Beverly’s brows creased with apprehension, as if she were anxious I didn’t believe her. “I was tired. I assumed I was seeing things.”

“Assumed, until two nights later when you heard noises again and found an alien on the other side of your patio door?” I asked, recalling what she’d said at the office.

“Yes. That night, I had settled into my reading chair. I was very tired. I’d had a long visit with family; my eldest grandson was back from college. And then there was the Rummy party at Linda’s. I forgot to pull the blinds before sitting down. I dozed off while reading a book. I looked up and saw . . . it. An alien on the other side of the patio door, just staring at me. I was so tired, and my body didn’t want to cooperate, so I lay there, staring right back at it. Then it made the strangest noise, like a . . . a . . . hiss. And then it disappeared.”

Gen and I exchanged glances.

“Like, disappeared, as in beamed up?” she asked.

“Into a spaceship?” I asked.

Beverly’s brows wrinkled in thought, and her head tilted a bit to the side. “You know, I don’t believe so. I think it ran around the corner of the house. For some reason I just couldn’t get my legs to move. It was like I was paralyzed and so tired.”

“I’ve heard of that.” Gen’s voice was nearly a whisper.

“I hadn’t, but since that night I’ve watched a few documentaries on aliens with Linda. She’s the only one I’ve told about what I saw. She insisted we get educated.”

I scribbled like mad across the notebook, trying to keep up with Beverly’s story. “And you’re positive this thing was an alien?”

“Those eyes. They weren’t normal. They were so . . . glassy. And its fingers.” She shuddered. “It was almost as if it waved at me before it ran across the patio and disappeared. The bastard is taunting me. I was so shaken I even called Matthew.”

“You sound as if he would be the last person you would call.” I looked up from the notepad. “Why is that?”

“Matthew and I get along now. I love his children, and they love me. But we’re not close, Mathew and I.”

“And he came when you called, because you saw an alien outside your house?” I tried not to sound skeptical, but I had to get to the truth. And that meant asking things to make her question everything she’d been through the last two weeks, question everything she’d seen, or thought she saw.

“I didn’t tell him about the alien.” She shook her head at the absurdity. “I do not make a habit out of sounding like a loony-tune.”

“And, I think it’s a good idea to keep that detail between us.” I waved my pen in a circle between me, her, and Gen. “And Linda. Tell me what happened next.”

“Matthew came right away. He came straight from his office, so it didn’t take him long at all to get here.”

“Wait, what time was this, do you remember?”

“Maybe two o’clock in the morning?” She thought about it for a few moments then nodded. “Yes, it was after two a.m.”

“And he was still at his office?” I found that odd and jotted the time down.

“Yes.”

“What did you tell Matthew when he arrived?”

“I told him I hadn’t gotten a good glimpse of whatever was outside, but that I was worried about it.” She turned and rounded the breakfast bar. Opening a cabinet, she said, “He wanted details and I wasn’t ready to speak about it. He stayed for thirty minutes and promised to check on me the next morning.”

“Did he?” I asked.

“Yes, he did. He’s been very different lately. Friendly, even. I think he regrets not reconciling with his father before he passed away. Henry died of a heart attack in his sleep. I think everyone expected him to live forever. He was more active than men half his age.”

I thought of my dad, and how we weren’t really speaking at the moment. Not because we were fighting, but because my dad wasn’t the kind of guy who enjoyed phone conversations, and I knew he was upset about me not joining his company. I’d chosen my own path, as he chose his when he moved out to chase his dreams, without me. Our relationship had been strained over the last ten years, but I loved him.

“The night Pretzels disappeared did you see the alien again?”

She shook her head. “No. I haven’t seen the alien since. In fact, nothing happened for five days. I returned to sleeping in my bedroom. Then two nights ago, I heard noises from across the house. Pretzels jumped up, but I couldn’t go after her because I was sick as a dog. Nauseated. I might have had a touch of the flu. When Pretzels didn’t return, I knew something was wrong. I called Matthew again. He looked all over for her, but didn’t find her. She was gone. Vanished without a trace.”

“Holy . . . whoa,” I breathed. I’d barely stopped the expletive, but Beverly didn’t seem like the type of woman who cussed. I glanced over at Gen—her lips trembled. I handed the notepad to her, and told Beverly, “Just to cover all our bases, I’m going to interview your neighbors, your stepson, and put out some flyers. Do you have a picture I can borrow of Pretzels? I’ll bring it back as soon as I’ve scanned the image.”

While she went to find a good photograph of Pretzels, I walked outside with Gen. We walked the perimeter of the house, and Gen jotted down notes for me. I took pictures of everything—her patio door, the flower beds around the house, then checked for footprints—any sign that a person might have been prowling around. There was no sign of forced entry, and the house had a top of the line security system. This wasn’t a fresh crime scene, either. There’d been rain in the two days since Pretzels disappeared.

After saying goodbye to Beverly, I settled into the driver’s seat of my SUV. I set the camera in my duffel bag full of PI gear—binoculars, a taser gun, and the high tech tiny electronic gadgets I used to invade people’s privacy—anything a girl might need to work a case. Leo had helped me pack it. He called it my survival kit.

As Gen buckled her seatbelt, she said, “It’s so hard to believe—I mean,
a real alien.
As cool as it is, it’s kind of freaking me out.”

“It’s too soon to make any assumptions either way.” I put the vehicle in reverse and backed out of the driveway. “All I know is that her cat is gone, there’s no sign of forced entry, and she saw what she thought was an alien outside on her patio before her cat disappeared.”

There’d been a little part of me—
okay, a
big part of me—
that, on the drive over to her house, had chalked her story up to an aging woman hearing and seeing things. Now, after visiting with her in her home, I didn’t at all question her mental health. Whether or not an alien abducted her cat, the cat was missing, and her house had been entered without the security system being tripped.

I finally had a case that wouldn’t involve a money-shot with someone’s pants down. This was exactly what I needed, something to shake things up and once again get my brain firing on all pistons. This case was sure to unfreeze my writer’s block.

Chapter Five

“I’m drying up.” I threw myself back onto the sofa lounge beside Gen, who was sprawled out, her nose in a magazine. “Like a dusty old prune.”

“Dusty?” Gen said without a glance in my direction.