Here Comes Trouble (17 page)

Lacy watched as a young woman accompanied by two little girls walked through the door of the coffee shop. One girl hovered by her mother’s side while the other girl ran to the display counter and begged for a muffin. “I’ve been spending the past few months trying to understand why she did it,” Megan said.

Lacy tore her gaze away from the six- or seven-year old girl with yellow overalls and disheveled black hair. Megan’s words took a second to register in Lacy’s brain. “You mean why she left me?” The harsh tone in her voice had been unintended. As Megan had told her before, she’d been shocked to learn she had a half-sister. Those circumstances had been well beyond Megan’s control and she didn’t deserve the brunt of Lacy’s anger and resentment.

“Yes,” Megan answered before Lacy had a chance to apologize for her callous tone. “I know I said this before, but the mother I knew would never have done anything like that.” She picked up her paper cup then set it back down. “I went through a period of anger after my father died, but it’s probably nothing compared to how you felt.”

Well, she didn’t want to rub it in Megan’s face or anything. But, yeah, Lacy doubted that, too. She swallowed some more hot mocha and decided to change the subject. “Do you go to school back home?”

Megan nodded. “I just finished my first year at USC San Diego as an undergraduate. I plan on getting a degree in psychology. Then when I’m done, I have to get my masters in clinical psychology.”

“Wow. What do you plan on doing with that?”

Megan wrinkled her nose. “I was planning on being a forensic psychologist. But I never realized how incredibly
boring
it all is. Not to mention a ton of work. Not that I thought I could sail through it in a few years.” She shook her head, sending her caramel tresses across her jaw bone. “There’re about half a dozen degrees to earn and I have to work side by side with a chartered forensic psychologist in the field. And there’s an exam I have to pass so I can get certified.”

Lacy smiled. “No offense, but what in the world made you want to go into that line of work?”

A light-hearted laugh bubbled out of Megan’s full mouth. “I don’t know. Watching too many crime shows, I guess. My dad said he never understood why I would want to do something so morbid and depressing. He wanted me to major in fine arts at Chapman University because that’s where he went.” She tucked a short strand of hair behind her ear. “Fine arts and theater and all that other stuff never interested me. I don’t have a creative bone in my body. I’m more of an analytical sort.” She inhaled a deep breath. “Not at all like either one of my parents.”

Lacy sucked down some more coffee. “How long will all this take you?” No way could she imagine spending that much time studying in school.

“If I’m lucky, I’ll have a stable job by the time I’m thirty. At the rate, I’m going I’ll finish my undergrad by the time I’m twenty-three. I was going to go for my doctorate but those can take up to seven years.” She sipped her chai latte. “Anyway, I think I’m going to transfer to Pepperdine to get my masters. If I have the stamina, I’ll try to do my field work and study at the same time.”

Never in a million years would Lacy have imagined someone who drove a Lexus convertible and wore four inch heels having an affinity for science. The two went together about as well as chocolate and lima beans. Then again, Lacy knew first-hand how flawed it was to judge a person by their looks. According to half the town, when she was a teenager, she was just as much a criminal and drunk as her father. Thus far, Lacy had tried not to judge Megan, however unsuccessful she’d been.

She shook away the thoughts and swirled her drink around. “So what exactly does a forensic psychologist do?”

“It’s kind of hard to explain. Basically, they get inside the mind of a criminal and try to understand why they do the things they do. A lot of their practice happens in a courtroom and their evaluation of a criminal’s sanity is for purposes of testimony. They need to have a great understand of legal language and the judicial system.” Megan’s short fingernail drew circles on the faded tabletop. “A lot of it is pretty boring and sometimes I second guess my career choice.”

“It’s never too late to change your mind.”

“Yeah, I figured since I’ve only got one year of my undergrad done, I could change my mind and not have to start over. But in most cases, the beginning classes of any major are unexciting. I think I’ll give myself one more year, then I might switch to forensic science. Though I don’t think I’d have the stomach to examine a dead body.” Megan’s thin frame shuddered and she ran her hands up and down her bare arms.

Public toilets held more appeal to Lacy than cutting open and cutting apart human bodies. She’d barely managed to stomach dissecting frogs in high school.

The two of them enjoyed their drinks in companionable silence while the other woman in the coffee shop tried to corral her two daughters to a table. As Lacy swallowed, an unsettling thought occurred to her.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

Megan grimaced. “I have a step-brother from my dad’s first marriage. But he’s way older than me and was already out of the house by the time I came along.” She inhaled a deep breath and pulled her thin brows together. “Paul, who lives in San Diego, and my dad had a strained relationship because of my dad’s divorce from Paul’s mother.” One thin shoulder lifted in a negligent shrug. “We’re not very close. No brothers or sisters for you?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s just me.”

Megan tilted her head to one side. “What about your dad?”

Delving into Dennis’ criminal background and lack of paternal skills was entirely too deep a discussion for morning coffee with a person who was practically a stranger. “I was mostly raised by my grandfather.” Not a total lie and about as much as Lacy wanted to share at the moment. “He died about two years ago and I decided to move into his house. He was pretty much the only family I had.”

Megan nodded. “I never knew any of my grandparents. My dad’s father died years before I was born and his mother lived on the East Coast and died when I was three. And Mom, well…she never mentioned her parents.”

“I never knew them, either. I asked Ray about them once before and he said…”

“Said what?” Megan prompted after the words died off Lacy’s tongue.

They’re as worthless as your mother
, was what he’d said. For Megan, who obviously had a much different perspective of their mother than Lacy, she’d only be hurt and confused by such a statement.

“He didn’t have a whole lot to say about them. If they remained in the area all these years, then they never bothered to get to know me.”

Pretty sad and pathetic but true. Lacy could draw her entire family tree on a Post-It Note.

Megan tipped her head back and downed the rest of her drink. Without even realizing, an hour had passed since the two of them arrived. Her half-sister, even though she’d gotten the better end of the parental deal, was easy to talk to. The resentment Lacy had felt upon first meeting the girl faded by degrees until nothing resembling the emotion remained inside her. Its departure left room for things like companionship and the warm, fuzzy feelings that came with making a new friend. Although, Lacy wasn’t sure she was quite at the friendship stage with Megan. Old habits made it difficult for her to open up and allow people to see her vulnerable side. Ray was one of the few people who’d seen Lacy’s weaknesses and faults, yet loved her despite them. The same trust issues she’d always had prevented her from letting anybody else get close enough to see that side of her. That was probably one of the reasons she didn’t have very many close friends, save Brody.

Could Megan turn into one of those people? Their relationship was still in the infant stage, making it hard for Lacy to judge either way. So far, she liked was she saw in the younger girl, so there were definite possibilities of veering into the acquaintance category. After that, only time would tell.

“Before I forget, I have something for you.” Megan announced. She set her cup down on the table and grabbed her purse off the back of the chair. She dug around for a moment, then retrieved a small white box. “I thought about giving this to you the other day, but I didn’t want to bombard you all at once.”

Lacy sat while Megan slid the box across the table. “A few months ago, while I was going through Mom’s things, I found this. She had it wrapped in some tissue with a pink ribbon tied around it. At first I wasn’t sure what to do with it, but now I’m sure I want you to have it.”

Lacy’s heart thumped up into her throat and threatened to choke her. She took the box and ran her tongue along her suddenly dry lips. Megan had good intentions, Lacy knew that. The girl only wanted Lacy to know the mother Megan had known. Her fingers trembled when they removed the lid to the box, and placed it on the table.

Inside, nestled on a pad of soft cotton, was a delicate gold locket. The chain was whisper thin and etched in fine lines on top of the heart-shaped locket sat a single, tiny rose. Lacy took the necklace out of the box with sweaty fingers, and managed to open the heart. A faded, ancient baby photo of herself stared up at Lacy. She ran her thumb over the picture and tried to imagine the jewelry fastened around her mother’s neck. Had she ever worn this? Had she kept it as a reminder of the daughter she walked away from? So many unanswered questions still tortured her.

Hot tears burned her eyes and threatened to spill over onto her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Megan blurted out. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought maybe you’d like to know that she never forgot you.”

“It’s okay,” Lacy whispered. “Thank you.”

****

“That’s pretty damning evidence, don’t you think?”

Chase didn’t respond to Anita’s, the assistant manager, question, mostly because she was jumping to conclusions. The fact that his father had been breathing down his neck for the past two weeks was the only reason Anita was reading between the lines of the less-than-impressive surveillance video.

He picked up the remote and rewound the tape. The employee backtracked his movements, jerkily taking three potatoes out of a paper sack and placing them on the shelf. He then walked backward and out of the food storage area.

“I think it’s pretty safe to say this is the reason we’ve been short lately.”

Anita was the sort of person who stood in the middle of a crowded room, waved her hands around and screamed “look at me!” until every eye focused on her. But her sharp eye and inability to take shit from anyone made her a good right hand man–or woman, in this case.

“I mean, look at him.” She waved a hand at the screen and sent the silver bracelets on her wrists clanging together. “He does it in plain sight. And there’s no evidence showing he tries to return them.”

Anita made a valid point. At no time during the remainder of the employee’s shift did the tape show the potatoes being returned to their rightful spot. On the other hand, there was no evidence showing the employee leaving the restaurant with them. The tape only showed them leaving the pantry.

Chase turned to Anita. “How do we know he wasn’t taking them out for Henry to prepare?” Forgive him for playing devil’s advocate, but Chase couldn’t bring himself to fire an employee based on three seconds of video.

Anita’s dark brown, heavily-made up eyes lifted toward the ceiling. “How many times do you see the wait staff going into the food storage area to retrieve supplies for Henry? That’s the
sous
chef’s job.”

Again, another point and one Chase already knew. But something about this didn’t add up. The tingling sensation on the back of his neck told him there was more to this than the tape showed.

“What about the money? There’s no footage of him taking money from the cash drawer.”

Anita rubbed her thumbnail along her sun-spotted cheek. “You’re right about that. However, that was one incident and several weeks ago. I’m leaning more toward human error.”

“I counted that drawer three times. That was no human error.”

“So you’re telling me that someone took money from the drawer and managed to dodge all our cameras? Not likely.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “What are the chances of having two thieves on our hands? Whoever took money also has been depleting supplies. And what’s puzzling about this,”–he jerked his thumb to the frozen television screen–“is that no one reported a shortage of potatoes that night.”

Anita’s too-thin brows pulled together over her eyes. “I think it’s worth at least a conversation. Your father’s demanding answers and right now we don’t have many to give him.”

No shit. Martin had been spending more and more time at McDermott’s, as though his mere presence would scare off the thief. Chase had gone so far as to scrutinize the schedule and try to find patterns in the thefts. Just when he thought he had someone pegged, something would go missing on a night that person had off, forcing Chase to dismiss them as a suspect. The incidents had no rhyme or reason. He’d even been forced to scrutinize Lacy, much as he hadn’t wanted to. As one of his head waitresses, she worked almost every time something was reported. To his relief, when she appeared on the tapes, she’d never been doing anything she wasn’t supposed to. He’d dismissed her along with almost everybody else. He already knew he hadn’t been the one taking things, nor his father. That left him with Henry, the
sous
chefs and even Anita. He was pretty sure Anita wouldn’t steal from them. In fact, he was pretty sure none of the chefs would steal either, which left him where he was when this whole thing started: at square one.