Leave Me Love (9 page)

"DID SHE SAY
she was me? Did she say she was Catelyn Travis?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. I just remember she had nice tits and a nice ass and looked fancy rich and I couldn't picture why she'd be worrying about
that piece of shit car. She didn't seem the type, you know? Her purse was worth more than the car."

"That's true," I mumbled, trying to take in what he was saying.

Ash handed the man some money. "Thank you for your help."

The man took it and stuck it in his pocket. "That guy she was with, he didn't seem the type neither. Fancy dude with that rich kid look, ya know?"

I put my phone back in my purse. "She was with someone else?"

"Sure as shit. But he didn't come to the counter with her. He stayed behind. I didn't get none too good a look at him. Just saw he had nice clothes, blonde, big guy, but not fat. Like a guy who works out. He wore one of those fancy
striped suits, that's what I remember most. You don't see nobody wearing those unless they have lots of money."

We walked back to the car without speaking. Once Ash started the engine, I told him to go to our dorms. "I want to poke around in Bridgette's stuff. I don't understand why she wo
uld sign for my car without telling me. She knew I was leaving to do that the day she was kidnapped. None of this makes any sense."

I'd almost expected our room to be blocked off by police tape, but a crime hadn't been committed
there. I was able to walk in without a problem, but could tell they'd combed through the room. They never left anything where it belonged.

I didn't expect to find anything if the police had already searched the place, but I sat at her desk and went through the drawers, opening books to see if any papers were hidden in them,
checking for secret compartments, and feeling very much like a spy movie cliché. Ash checked under and behind the furniture, making himself as useful as he could in the small space.

They'd taken her computer and journal
—and probably anything else she'd written in. It only took twenty minutes of fruitless searching before I was ready to give up, but something behind one of her anatomy posters caught my eye.

A tiny sliver of paper stuck out from behind the one over her desk, and I pulled the pin out of the wall and took it down.

And the buzzing in my head started again.

Hanging in a baggie were several sheets of the exact embossed stationary used by the Midnight Murderer.

ASH CALLED MAXWELL
and he agreed to meet us at his office after hours. This time Ash joined us for the meeting, while I explained what we'd discovered about Bridgette. I showed him the stationary, which I hadn't touched except with tissue to preserve any fingerprints, and I showed him the pictures I'd taken before removing the paper. "I know it's not admissible as such, but it's something. It's definitely something."

He used a handkerchief to slip it into an envelope. "Why didn't you call Detective Gray? To preserve chain of custody?"

"Because he's already decided I'm guilty. We can't trust him to follow up on anything. But we should tell him where to find the guy who can identify Bridgette as the person who signed for my car. That has to mean something too, I just don't know what."

Ash held my hand, the feel of
his skin comforting and warm against my cold flesh.

Maxwell took notes and then looked up at us. "It's definitely suspicious. We'll look into it and see what we can do with this."

He then pulled out a shoebox from under his desk and handed it to me. "Catelyn, I found this and thought you should have it. You mom and I were close friends, and we often exchanged letters. We knew each other in law school, before we fell on opposite sides of the court room. They're… private letters, but maybe they can help you find the book she was working on."

I reached for the box, looking down at what amounted to a treasure trove of memories of my mom. My eyes filled with tears. "Thank you."

He plucked the top letter off the stack and opened it. "This one might be particularly useful," he said, pointing to a sheet of stationary with one line written on it.

In my mother's nea
t scroll it read:
The book is with Cat.

"DO YOU HAVE
any idea what the letter means?" asked Ash as he drove us home.

"No. None. I don't know anything about her book
now
, and I certainly didn't know anything back then when she wrote this." I'd read through some of the letters, which had been useless personal back-and-forths between her and Maxwell, but I planned on staying up all night reading through the rest. Maybe they held more clues—or any clues at all, really, since nothing I'd discovered had been particularly helpful thus far.

"There's one person who might know," I said, dialing Professor Cavin's number. After I explained what I found, he agreed to meet the next day.

Ash got a call then and, when he answered, he turned into someone colder than the man I knew. I only heard his side of the conversation, which was all one word answers. "Yes." "No." "Maybe." "Okay." "Fine." "Bye."

"Who was that?" I asked.

"My dad. It's my mom's birthday and she wants everyone to get together for a family dinner at her favorite local restaurant."

I waited for him to continue.

"I have no desire to spend the evening with my dad. Or my brother for that matter. But I love my mom and this is important to her."

Another pause. He pulled into a parking spot in front of his—our—house and we got out and let ourselves
in.

Finally, I broke the silence. "Are you going to go?"

He looked at me, his eyes conflicted. "Only if you join us. Besides, I think my family should meet you properly, as my girlfriend. And, hopefully someday, something more."

My heart thrummed at that
someday
, the implications that word held. "I'm happy to join you," I said, wondering if his family would be happy to see me, but finding I didn't care too much.

***

It's a tricky thing, navigating grief and fear and worry while undertaking the everyday chore of living. We were doing all we could to find out what had really happened to Bridgette, while also trying to live our lives as best we could. Birthdays happened, school and work needed tending to—though I'd once again taken a leave of absence from The Pleasure Palace, unable to deal with the inherent conflict in talking dirty to strangers with my boyfriend sitting next to me. It was one of the tricky areas of us living together that I'd have to sort out eventually.

That night I wore one of the dresses purchased during my shopping spree with Bridgette, the most modest dress I had that was still fancy enough for a Davenport dinner. It was blue, with long sheer sleeves that flared out and a low back that draped glittering crystals across my skin.

The diamond heart Ash had given me hung at my throat, sparkling like a million prisms in the light. I pulled my hair into a French twist and applied a light coating of makeup.

Ash whistled when I came down the stairs. "I worry that all the Davenport men will be
chomping at the bit to get a piece of you."

I kissed his lips, tasting his mint toothpaste and a hint of Cuban cigar. "Don't worry. I'm yours."

He smiled, his dimple deepening. "I love the sound of that, Catelyn."

We took the car and arrived last, much to the frustration of Mr. Davenport, who frowned and looked perpetually pissed off at the world in the way a rich CEO might look at middle age. He checked the
Rolex on his wrist and sighed. "It's about time, Ash," he said by way of greeting.

Ash made a point of checking his watch. "I'm just on time, Dad. Don't get your panties in a knot."

Mrs. Davenport stood and kissed her son on the check. "Oh, Ash, try not to antagonize your father. You know how hard work has been for him lately." She looked beautiful in an elegant maroon dress, her long dark hair loose around her elfin face. She looked easily ten or twenty years younger than her husband.

We sat and I smiled at everyone. Jon smiled back and said hi, asked about school and my health.

"Actually," said Ash, still lost in his own conversation, "I don't know anything about Dad's work."

I could tell the dinner was going to be tense. I tried to break the ice. "Happy Birthday, Mrs. Davenport." I handed her a small giftwrapped box. "Ash and I got this for you."

His dad raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize you two were so serious."

Ash
put a protective—or possessive?—arm around me. "We are. Catelyn has moved in with me."

Jon frowned
and hid it with a sip of his wine.

"Better protect your assets son, before you get in deeper. Gold
-diggers are a dime a dozen and will leave you with less than a dime."

My cheeks flushed red. "Excuse me?"

Mr. Davenport looked at me as if just noticing I was there. "No offense, young lady, but I know your background and what you're facing right now. It's all over the news. My son is quite a catch for you and would set you up for life."

Ash jumped to his feet
. Seeing the look of horror on his mother's face, I placed a cool hand on his arm. "Ash, your father is just worried about you. It's okay." I looked at Mr. Davenport. "I can assure you I'm not interested in your son for his wealth."

Mrs. Davenport cleared her throat. "Tell us about yourself, Catelyn. What do you do for a living?"

"I'm in law school at Harvard," I said.

His father smirked. "And how do you pay for that?"

"Scholarships," Ash answered for me. "She's a straight-A student and a research assistant for Professor Cavin."

"That can't be enough to cover tuition," Mr. Davenport said.

"I do odd jobs, telemarketing and whatever work I can find on campus to make ends meet," I said. "Jon, how are you doing?"

Jon cleared his throat. "Good. Mostly good."

"How's that girl you're seeing?" asked Mrs. Davenport. "When are you going to bring her around?"

I didn't realize Jon had a girl in the picture, but was happy to hear it. Maybe it meant we could be friends without any more awkwardness.

"Have the police found any more leads in your friend’s kidnapping?" Mr. Davenport asked, unwilling to take part in any discussion not directed at me.

"I don't know," I said. "You'll have to ask them."

Mrs. Davenport patted my hand. "It must be so hard to have your best friend kidnapped like that. I'm so sorry, dear."

Mr. Davenport poured another glass of wine for himself and adjusted his suit. "Yes, we're sorry for your loss. Though it sounds like you might know more about what happened than you've been telling the police."

Blood boiled behind my eyes and I could taste copper in my mouth. Lights flashed around me, the buzzing and dizziness back.

I lurched from the chair and ran to the bathroom, making it just in time to vomit in the toilet.

A hand reached down to me, pulling back my hair. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart," Ash said. "My dad's an asshole."

"He thinks I killed my best friend," I said between heaves. "
Everyone thinks I killed Bridgette."

PROFESSOR CAVIN'S OFFICE
always felt comfortable, familiar, an anchor in midst of the storm my life had become. I sat there now, waiting for him to get our coffee at a new kiosk that had set up now that Lucky was gone.

Dead.
Now that Lucky was
dead.

I still had nightmares about it. Still thought about what it was like to take a life, but with Bridgette still missing and everything in my life falling apart, it seemed killing someone had fallen to the backburner of my attention, which even I knew was
messed up on many levels.

Cavin was out of breath when he arrived
, carrying two steaming cups of coffee. He handed me one and sat behind his desk. "Thank you," I said, sipping the hot liquid and enjoying the feel of it burning down my throat.

"You're very welcome
, dear. Now, what can I do for you?"

He'd already asked about the case against me, about Bridgette, and about my health. He'd also vetted my attorney and deemed him the best money could buy. But now I needed something more personal from him. I showed him one of the letters Maxwell had given me. "This talks about a place my mom went to write. Do you know where that was?"

It was a stretch that he'd know, but I was rewarded for my efforts when he nodded, his eyes getting the far off look he got when talking about her. "It was the cabin, the one in the photo I gave you. It's a few hours from here. She spent a lot of time there, writing, thinking, getting away from the hustle of life. Sometimes I'd join her and we'd read, study, write together. Sometimes she went alone."

I leaned in, eager for the first time in a long time. "Would you be willing to take me there?"

His eyes snapped back to me, his mind returning to the present. "Hmm, well, I suppose we could do that. It's just been so long... " His voice trailed off.

He seemed so sad, so mournful, that my resolve faded. "If it's too hard for you
, we don't have to."

"No, I will. I will. It's time to face the ghosts of my past, isn't it? Time to face them."

I left him in his thoughts and met up with Ash in the center of campus. He smiled when he saw me and I let him wrap me in his strong embrace, inhaling the smell of his leather jacket, his natural scent and a lingering hint of Cuban cigar I still hadn't actually seen him smoke. "One of these days you'll have to smoke one of those cigars with me," I said.

"Tonight then. We'll sit on the back porch, light a cigar and enjoy the smoke while watching the city lights blink on and off around us."

I kissed the dimple in his chin. "Sounds perfectly lovely." We started walking through the campus, heading to the car as I told him about my meeting with Cavin.

"When are you going?" he asked.

"I don't know. But I'll let you know when I hear from him."

As we turned the corner of one of the older buildings, we saw Jon heading toward us, books in his arms, ear buds distracting him with music. Before he saw us, I froze, noticing
that, unlike the college kids in jeans and t-shirts around us, Jon wore a suit. A fancy striped suit.

"Ash.
Could that be…?"

"The
fancy suit the guy with Bridgette was wearing."

"It could be a coincidence," I said without conviction.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward his brother.