Undeniably Yours (12 page)

“Who?” Sean asked.

“Unknown. Intruder escaped by jumping off the neighbor’s cliff.”

My gaze went to the window. The cliffs along this stretch of the coast were quite high, and it was extremely rocky below the surf. “Did he live?”

“Unknown,” Jeremy said. “No body has washed up.”

Sean’s eyebrows dipped. “Did your team find a car parked nearby?”

“Negative.”

“Any description?” I asked.

Jeremy scratched Ebbie’s chin. “White male. Tall, average build. Blond hair.”

It sounded a lot like the description of the man who put the doll in Kira’s SUV. Who was he? “Aiden was afraid this would happen. That someone might come after Ava.”

“But why?” Sean asked. “What’s she have to do with any of this?”

We all looked at her as she lifted a piece of toast toward her mouth. Bits of scrambled egg stuck to her chin, her hair.

It was an unanswerable question at this point. All we could do was continue to keep her safe. “Thank your team for us, Jeremy.”

Jeremy said, “I heard about the explosion and Aiden’s hospitalization. Thought I could be of help.” He dropped the file on the coffee table.

I reached for it.

“This is Kira Fitzpatrick’s banking history. I’m still working on getting her home and cell phone records,” Jeremy explained.

My eyebrows shot up. “I’m not even going to ask how you got this.”

“Good,” he said without a hint of a smile, “because I wasn’t going to tell you.”

I frowned at him, and he stared back, his gaze unwavering.

Damn, I bet he’d been (and most likely still was) an excellent FBI agent.

Sean unbuckled Ava from her seat, gave her hands and face a quick wipe, and set her free to run around. She grabbed her doll and plopped down next to her pile of blocks which had been, suspiciously, knocked over. Grendel quickly snarfed all fallen crumbs.

Sean sat next to me and leaned over my shoulder as I opened the file.

“As you can see,” Jeremy said, “there have been several withdrawals over the past couple of days from various ATMs.”

I skimmed the details. Starting late Thursday night the daily max limit of five hundred dollars had been withdrawn. Fifteen hundred so far. The banks had been in Quincy, Milton, Braintree.

“She’s alive?” Sean asked, glancing at Ava.

Jeremy said, “Appears that way. But appearances can be deceiving.”

I thought about the bomb at her house. If she were hiding, she had good reason. “Any chance you have video surveillance?”

“Working on it.”

My cell phone rang and Sean got up to grab it for me. He handed it over and I read the caller ID. Marisol. I silenced the phone—I’d call her back as soon as Jeremy left. She was probably calling to tell me how their coffee date had gone. It would be all kinds of awkward to talk about it in front of him.

Jeremy rubbed Ebbie’s ears, then put her on the ground. He stood up. “I need to get back. I’ll let you know when I hear something else.”

He didn’t know it, but I knew he owned a wildlife refuge in Marshfield. I suspected it was more of a refuge for him than the animals. I walked him to the door. I spotted my mother’s car turning in at the top of the lane. I could only imagine why she was dropping by so early.

Jeremy hopped in his truck and slammed the door. He apparently didn’t want to give me any time to question him about Marisol. I wanted to run to my phone to return Marisol’s call and get the details of their date, but there was the small matter of my mother’s arrival.

“Good morning, LucyD!” Mum said as she stepped out of her car. There was a covered dish in one hand and with the other she waved to Jeremy as he drove off. She yelled, “Fuzzy navel” toward the trees as she tottered up the walkway in strappy high heel sandals.

I eyed the plate as she climbed the front steps. “Are those cookies?”

“These aren’t for you,” she said as she set the plate on the porch railing. Again, she yelled toward the woods. “I baked you some chocolate chip cookies if you’re interested! I’ll leave them right here for you.”

“Chocolate chip?” I said, trying not to drool. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if I just had one… You know they’re my favorite.”

“I know.” She kissed my cheek and reached inside her leather tote bag. “I have yours right here.” She pulled out a plastic container which held at least two dozen cookies.

Suddenly suspicious, I eyed her. If she’d brought a half dozen—or even a dozen, I’d say it came from motherly love. Two dozen, however? It reeked of bribery.

“What are you up to?” I asked her.

“Me?” she asked, laughing as she linked arms with me as we went into the house. “Nothing. Nothing at all. There are a few things I want to show you…”

“What kind of things?”

She left me in the doorway and went to kiss Sean’s cheek, and then coo over Ava. “She’s the spitting image of Aiden, isn’t she? Hello there, beautiful girl.”

“Mum? What things?”

Mum knelt down on the floor next to Ava and picked up one of the stuffed animals—a lamb—and started making overdramatic
baa
ing noises.
Baa! Baaaaa! BAAA!

My mother was highly skilled in the art of diversion.

At first Ava looked to Sean like she questioned my mother’s sanity (I’ve questioned it a time or two myself), but then she laughed.

Not swayed by her lamb-tastic performance, I said loudly, “What kind of things?”

“
Baa
!” Mum answered, bouncing the sheep over Ava’s legs.

“
Baabaabaa
!” Ava echoed, reaching for the lamb.

Miraculously, my mother handed it over.
Finally
.

Before I could ask her again about the things she wanted to show me, someone knocked on the door.

“Who could that be?” my mother said brightly.

Her tone told me she knew exactly who it would be.

Sean looked amused. I had the feeling my face did not show any amusement whatsoever.

I pulled open the door to find a skinny little man, upper middle aged and dressed in a three-piece suit, surrounded by three scary-looking men who wore dark clothing and carried big guns.

The skinny man’s eyes were wide with fear, his forehead dotted with sweat, and his knees knocked as he clutched a satchel to his chest.

“Shit,” my mother said, scrambling to her feet. “I forgot to tell him the safe words.”

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Ava echoed.

Oh,
that
she said perfectly.

Sean dropped down and began
baaa
ing madly to try to distract Ava from repeating the curse word—Aiden would be seriously displeased to learn of the latest addition to his daughter’s vocabulary.

I glanced from Sean to my mother to Mr. Shaky Knees and laughed.

“Lucy!” my mother chastised as she pushed past me saying “fuzzy navel” over and over in higher and higher octaves to the men in black.

I swiped tears from my face. “I can’t help it!”

My mother grabbed Mr. Shaky’s arm and pulled him inside. “Lucy, this is Reginald Bruce. He’s an architect. Your father and I hired him to draw up the plans for Valentine, Inc.”

“Hi,” I said to him, doing my best to hold in more laughter. Another giggle bubbled out.

“Wh—Who are they?” Reginald asked, surreptitiously looking over his shoulder.

The three men in black still stood on the porch.

I wanted to say something like “Your worst nightmare” but poor Reg looked like he’d already had a time of it. I couldn’t bring myself to tease him. “Security.”

Reg’s eyes grew even bigger. “Impressive.”

“Come sit down, Reginald,” my mother said, patting his hand.

One of the men in black said, “Everything good here?”

I said, “Depends on why my mother brought an architect by.”

He stared.

“Yep,” I said. “All’s good.”

I received three nods, then the trio turned and marched off the porch. One veered off and grabbed the plate of cookies before heading back into the woods.

By the time I let in Thoreau and closed the door, Sean had a whole farmyard of stuffed animals gathered around Ava. A duck, cow, and a horse had joined the lamb. He was doing his best Old MacDonald impersonation as he mimicked quacks, moos, and neighs.

Still in his jammies with his bandaged head and scruffy beard, he looked absolutely ridiculous lying on the floor playing with stuffed animals.

Yet…I fell a little harder for him.

“Lucy, come look,” Mum said as she unrolled a large piece of paper on the table. Building plans.

“What is that?” I asked, trying to make sense of it. “It doesn’t look like Valentine, Inc.”

Reginald’s head snapped up and he said to my mother, “You didn’t tell her?”

My mother waved away his concern.

“Tell me what?” I asked, squinting at the plans.

“About the renovations,” Reginald said, swiping his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief.

“Right, the renovations. At Valentine, Inc.” Why did I feel as though we were talking in circles? “Mum?”

“No,” Reginald said, looking between us. “The renovations…here.”

“Here
here
?” I pointed at the floor.

Sean stopped
moo
ing and watched us carefully.

Reginald tipped his head and said, “It’s more like here
there
.” He motioned upward toward the roof. “The plans are to renovate the first floor and add a second story.” He looked at my mother. “Did I misunderstand, Judie? I’ve already hired a contractor…”

My gaze whipped to my mother.

She smiled ear to ear. “I brought cookies.”

“There aren’t enough cookies in the world,” I said, folding my arms.

“LucyD, just listen to reason,” Mum said.

“No. I don’t have time for reason. I have somewhere I need to be soon.”

“Five minutes,” Mum persisted. “Five itty bitty minutes.”

“No.”

“Four, then. Reginald came all the way out here and the poor man is still shaking from being accosted outside.”

“It’s your fault he was accosted,” I pointed out.

“A pesky detail,” she said. “And they were chocolate chip cookies I brought, remember? Your favorite.”

I looked at Reginald. He blinked beguilingly at me.

“Dovie’s never going to agree to this,” I said, pulling out my trump card. Dovie loved this place the way it was. Same as I did.

“LucyD,” my mother reached over and patted my hand. “It was her idea.”

“Shit!” Ava squealed.

I agreed wholeheartedly.

T
he Brew the Day coffee shop occupied a corner of an upscale strip mall not far from Hingham center. Large planters filled with colorful summer flowers hung from lampposts along the sidewalk, and the shop’s pale-green awning flapped in the sea breeze. A decorative menu board boasted the lunch special of a tomato, basil, and mozzarella panini, which normally would make my mouth water, but I’d eaten half a dozen cookies on the way over. My stomach wasn’t too happy about my lack of discipline when it came to chocolate chips.

I bought an iced coffee and crutched back outside to sit at a bistro table under an ivy-covered pergola. Trey Fisher was late.

Aching, I stretched my muscles and breathed in the sea air to try to let go of some stress. It was nearly impossible. Between this case and my mother…

My mother.

I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping that would ease the tension gripping my muscles, my nerves, my…world. I waited a second. Nope. The breathing thing wasn’t working. I eyed my iced coffee and suddenly wished it was a bottle of vodka. That
might
help.

Renovations. On my cottage. My sweet little cottage. I loved every inch of its 800 square feet. Yes, it was tiny. Yes, it needed updating. But it didn’t need four bedrooms, three baths, and a balcony.

I blew out another breath, which might have sounded more like a monstrous huff to the couple sitting next to me. I apologized and stuffed the straw in my mouth.

The worst part of the renovation plans was that I didn’t really have a say in what happened to my home. I rented the cottage from Dovie…so if she had planned this whole thing with my mother then I could expect contractors to show up in a few days.

I’d better start packing.

I was so lost in miserable thoughts I didn’t hear the man approach until he started speaking.

“I was told to look for a blonde with curly hair who had a boot on her foot. The detective neglected to tell me how beautiful you are. Might I say that the cuts and bruises only add to your appeal?”

I glanced up into the sky-blue eyes of Trey Fisher.

He wore a fitted light-gray dress shirt tucked into tailored charcoal-gray dress pants. A black leather belt matched square-toed loafers. He looked every inch a professional, but his last comment zipped past acceptable and went straight to smarmy.

I frowned, wondering if he spoke to all women like this.

He held out a hand for a shake. “I’m Trey Fisher.”

As though I needed an introduction. I’d seen his face on my TV for years. First as a Bruins forward, then as a sportscaster. I set my cup on the table and stared at his hand. He thrust it a little closer.

Bracing myself, I reached out and shook. “I’m Lucy Valentine.”

His hand wasn’t as big and beefy as one would think for a former professional hockey player, but it was strong, his skin rough and callused.

I didn’t have any visions, for which I thanked my lucky stars. “Please sit,” I said, trying to pull my hand back.

He was having none of it. I met his gaze. It was challenging—and dare I say it—a bit predatory.

I yanked my hand away, and he sat down, smiling.

“Did you see anything?” he asked, using air quotes around the word “see.”

What on earth had Kira seen in him? Because I’d spent all of ten seconds with him and pegged him as a complete asshole.

Jackhole
, Aiden had called him.

That fit, too.

Well,
okay
. Trey was a handsome jackhole. I’d give him that. Somehow, his slightly-crooked nose only added to his good looks. With his thick wavy blond hair, wolfish gaze, and sexy beard scruff…he was easy on the eyes.

“Well?” he said, leaning in. “You’re a psychic, right?”