Back to You (4 page)

“Like you?” She wound the phone cord through her fingers.

“Desperately,” he admitted.

She smiled. “I’ll be there.” She grabbed a pen and wrote down his address. As she hung up the telephone, Nick walked in the door.

“Do you want to go to a party with me this Saturday night?”

“Whose?”

“Caleb Smith.”

His response was swift. “No thank you. Besides, I’m working all weekend. Even if I weren’t, my answer would still be the same.”

“What have you got against Caleb?”

“He’s a sleazy whore,” he answered easily. “But you go, and have a good time.” He turned abruptly and went back outside. The door slammed closed behind him.

Whether the tension between the two men had happened recently or Nick still held a grudge after twenty years, it was his own demon to deal with. When Nick had chosen another over her, she had compensated with Caleb, and would make no apologies for it, just as he had made no apologies for breaking her heart.

Chapter Four

On Saturday morning, Lynsey slipped out of the house early to make the hour-long drive to the supermall in the city of Mount Pleasant. She wanted to pick up a congratulatory gift to celebrate Caleb’s promotion, as well as an outfit to wear at his party that would knock the socks off any of Unity’s most eligible bachelors who might be in attendance. Lynsey Reznor was a woman who was determined to be a wife by the end of the year.

She found the dress at a small designer boutique, a grape-colored silk sheath that looked deceptively plain on its hanger, but once on, looked to be expertly cut exactly for her figure. She paired it with matching silk shoes. The outfit was pricey, but she wanted to make a first impression that would last beyond the night.

For Caleb, she chose a gold pen and had his initials engraved onto it while she waited.

It was afternoon when she returned to the empty house. She hadn’t seen much of Nick during the past week. She wondered if all the hours of work he put in were really overtime, or if he just hung out at the precinct in an attempt to spend the least amount of time around her as possible. He had been noticeably cool since she mentioned her intent to attend Caleb’s party. Well, she would be out of his house into her own home soon enough.

But it wasn’t only Nick who seemed to avoid her. Suzy had been keeping her distance as well. Every time Lynsey telephoned, the phone rang unanswered or Suzy was on her way out of the house at that very moment. She knew that Suzy was busy with Doug on the road a lot and her kids getting older and more demanding, but couldn’t she manage to squeeze in an hour with her best friend? It was so not how she envisioned her return to Unity. She had come back to be near her friends—friends who professed they would be her family, but now seemed to want to avoid her altogether.

***

Lynsey noticed when she pulled her car up to the house at 44 Hollyhock Road that Caleb lived only a few streets from where her new home was being built. They would practically be neighbors. As she got out of her car, the second thing she noticed was the sound of Sepultura’s “Ratamahatta” wafting out the open windows of the house. Just how annoyed were Caleb’s neighbors? Of course, with a house full of cops there was little sense in calling 911 about the noise.

She attempted to knock at the front door of the two-story, but the music was too loud. After two minutes, when it was obvious that no one had heard her, she tried the doorknob and found the door unlocked. When she opened it, a huge cloud of cigarette smoke spilled out onto the street.

The front door opened into a large, open-spaced living room filled with a cream-colored furniture and expensive electronics. The room heaved with people, and heads turned in her direction as she carefully weaved her way through the crowd to Caleb near the entrance of the kitchen.

When she saw him at The Lovin’ Oven, she had been impressed. But here in a tight T-shirt and jeans with biceps bulging and a flat belly that hinted at daily workouts, he surpassed her first impression.

When he saw her, he smiled broadly and engulfed her in his massive embrace. “I’m so glad you made it,” he said in her ear. “You’re absolutely gorgeous.”

She hugged him and stepped back.

“Everybody, this is Lynsey!” He yelled over the music. “Lynsey, this is…everybody. So, what can I get you to drink? Wine, beer, vodka, mojito?”

“Club soda with a twist.”

As he handed her the drink, several party guests looking to freshen their drinks pushed their way into the smallish, galley-style kitchen.

“Caleb, I’m going to mingle. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

“I’m counting on it.”

Lynsey surveyed the guests. In the sea of strangers, one familiar face stood out . She walked to the couch where he sat conversing with another man, and she hoped beyond hope he was who she thought he was. Although she would remember a name forever, she was never good with faces, and she wasn’t in the mood for a dose of embarrassment tonight.

“Hi, you’re Owen, aren’t you?” she asked.

His hair was pitch black and hung well past his collar, long and poker-straight. Looking up at her, he casually pushed his hair back from his face and a sudden dawn of recognition lit in his dark blue eyes. He stood. “Yes, I’m Owen. I remember you—you’re the little writer girl—Lynsey Reznor.”

When he smiled, she was stunned to see a row of gleaming platinum teeth. “It’s nice to see you again.” She hoped not to appear shocked by the changes in him. It had only been a little over a year since they had met at Kelly Lincoln’s funeral, yet Owen’s appearance had altered so much from the soft-spoken, seemingly straight-laced detective in a suit.

He turned back to his friend who was slumped on the couch and kicked him in the shin. “There’s a lady present, you could at least stand.”

The man lumbered to his feet and wobbled unsteadily, most likely the result of the twelve empty beer cans stacked in a pyramid on the table beside him. Owen was a tall man, an inch or two over six feet, but this guy was at least six inches taller.

“This is Logan Craig.” Owen pointed with his thumb.

“A man with two first names. It’s lovely to meet you,” Lynsey said politely.

“The same.” He grasped her hand and then flopped backward onto the couch.

Owen spoke up. “Actually, I’ve wanted to get in touch with you. I was going to email your publisher, but I thought they might think I’m some whack job looking to stalk you.”

“Oh, you could have just asked Nick Lincoln for my number. He and his sister always know how to contact me. But, I’m here now. I’m living in Unity again.”

“Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

She wondered what Owen wanted to speak with her about. “Sure.”

“Great, let’s go outside where there’s some peace and quiet.” He led her through the kitchen and out the back door with his hand at the small of her back.

When Owen closed the door, the noise level decreased dramatically. Lynsey inhaled a deep breath of the cool September evening air.

Caleb had a nice-sized back yard enclosed by six-foot high stockade fencing. Solar lighting dotted a path to a patio with a redwood table and matching chairs.

“It’s a lovely night,” she remarked and took a seat at the table. “So, what can I do for you, Owen?”

He took a seat beside her and let out a chuckle. “That’s a loaded question, but I’ll be a gentleman tonight. I want to tell you about an idea I have for a book. I would like you to be truthful and tell me if it has any merit.”

This was an interesting development, she thought, and took a sip of her club soda. “Okay, let’s talk about it.”

“About two years ago, I was working as a detective for the Mount Pleasant Police Department. I was dispatched to a homicide investigation at a posh hotel downtown. There had been a private party earlier that night for Stanley Bourne, hosted by his mother, Mitzi Shaler-Bourne.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of them—very high society, both the Shaler and Bourne families,” Lynsey interjected. “Wasn’t young Stanley going to run for some political post—City Council or something?”

“Correct. Well, when I arrived, there’s the corpse of a young woman named Cara Diamond slumped over a table with her head submerged in a huge—and I mean huge—crystal punch bowl filled with two-hundred dollar-a-bottle champagne and all these little flowers floating around her head.”

“What a way to go, death by champagne!” she exclaimed.

“One hundred guests, and no one saw a thing.”

Lynsey raised a brow. “Isn’t that how it always is?”

“It turns out that the woman was actually a high-class escort Stanley kept on the side. He had her set up in a penthouse apartment in Mount Pleasant, bought her a fancy car, and was paying all her bills from his trust fund. I suppose that he believed his mother and his wife knew nothing about his little arrangement with the whore.

“Oh, women like Mitzi Shaler-Bourne know everything. To her, someone like Cara Diamond is just a form of relaxation for their men. Usually, these women pose no threat—they’re generally involved with several men at once who are buying them trinkets and keeping them in a plush lifestyle. Stanley probably had plenty more mistresses throughout his marriage, while his wife played tennis and gossiped every afternoon at the country club with her friends.

“Well, Cara Diamond was a bit different. It turns out that at the time of her death she was about three months pregnant. We gathered from her friends that she was pressuring Stanley to leave his wife and children and make a respectable woman out of her.

“Even if Stanley was insane long enough to divorce his wife, the Cara Diamonds of the world are never really accepted in his circles. His equals would have smiled in her face, and talked about what a whore she was behind her back.

“She became a potentially embarrassing liability for the Bourne family. What could be worse than a pregnant mistress who arrives in the middle of a family function with press photographers waiting to snap her picture? Stanley had to be livid!”

“More like his Mommy was. It turns out that it was Mitzi who shoved the hooker’s head in the punch bowl. I would love to take you to the hotel for dinner and show you the scene. It’s five star, so you can wear that dress.” He whistled under his breath.

She couldn’t help but laugh. Owen Mitchell was definitely someone she would like to get to know better, even if it was only as a friend. “Oh, I have lots of other dresses,” she teased.

“Anyway, Lynsey, dinner dates aside—but not to be forgotten—I took copious notes throughout the case. I think given the Bourne family’s reputation and place in society people would enjoy gloating over their fall from grace. If I’m grossly mistaken just tell me. I’m a big boy, I can take rejection. If you think it does have merit, would you consider working with me? I don’t have the know-how to do it alone.”

Well, she had to hand it to Owen, he certainly was frank and to the point when he wanted something. His idea was interesting, but with the screenplay looming in her near future, she didn’t really want to tackle any new projects so soon after her arrival in Unity. But the hopeful look in his eyes caused her to reconsider. “Has there been a recent conviction?”

“I just testified a week ago. The jury came back with a guilty verdict two days later. It’s still very hot.”

“Okay. I’ll need to go over all of your notes with you. If I think we can do it justice, we’ll write up a proposal together, and I’ll present it to my agent. Just understand, Owen, if my agent gives me the go ahead, this is a very long and complicated process. We’ll be spending a lot of time together. Do you have that kind of free time?”

“Free time I have, especially for something this important to me.”

That was what she wanted to hear, that he was committed to the project. “Okay, great, we’ll get together next week and get started.”

He placed his hand over his heart. “I have to admit, I was strangely nervous to speak with you about all that. I think my heart is finally in a normal rhythm again.”

“I never thought I was so intimidating.” She giggled merrily.

“Actually, you are,” he admitted. “You’re like Unity’s most famous citizen.”

“Ah, that’s sweet. I like your platinum grille, Owen.” She hoped to steer their conversation in a more personal direction.

“That’s an interesting story in itself. I’ll tell you about it someday if you want to know.”

“Tell me now. I’ve got time.”

“Okay, well about six months ago, I went along to serve a warrant on the mayor’s eighteen-year-old juvenile delinquent son. He was quite an entrepreneur—he had a complete working meth lab set up in his basement. Anyway, there was this huge scuffle with him and his friends, and I slipped in a puddle of chemicals that had been knocked over. While I was on the floor, the little bastard kicked me in the mouth with steel-toed boots. He knocked out my four front teeth.”

“Ouch.” She winced. “How awful for you.”

“Well, he was eighteen at the time—an adult in the eyes of the law—and his mommy the mayor couldn’t bear the thought of her little baby boy doing prison time, so she agreed to generously compensate me for my pain and dental bills. When I get tired of the platinum, she’ll pay to put some fancy bridgework in its place, and maybe a nice two-week vacation to Hawaii to recover. Of course, this is all under the guise of wanting to make amends.”

“So, did he go to prison?”

He pushed his long black hair off his face. “Not this time. He went to rehab for twenty-eight days. But I predict a long stretch in prison in his not too distant future.”