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AFTER THE AIRINESS of the Cavill house, Daryl’s apartment felt cramped and dark. Wade didn’t mind the worn furniture and nearly bare shelves, which he dusted before putting away the food he’d bought, yet he couldn’t help contrasting the place to Adrienne’s comfortable home.
When he’d imagined bringing his son to live with him, he’d had a vague idea about them settling into a buddy-type relationship, the way he and Daryl had during his teen years, after Mom had left. The reality of a six-year-old boy was another matter entirely.
“Sorry about the food situation,” remarked his father. “Working two jobs, I don’t have time to cook.” The oil stains on Daryl’s hands testified to the weekdays he put in as a mechanic at Phil’s Garage, in addition to his duties as apartment manager.
“You eat mostly fast food?” That might explain his father’s thick waistline and sallow complexion.
“While you fix three-course meals?”
“I try out a recipe now and then.” Wade also stocked salad fixings. Still, he was hardly a model of healthy nutrition, he conceded as he arranged boxes of cereal and pasta along with canned food.
“Those for your kid?”
“I wasn’t planning to...” He stopped. Bringing Reggie here struck him as a bad idea, or at least an awkward one, yet the boy should meet his grandfather. “Listen, his birthday’s Tuesday. You interested in getting together?”
Conflicting emotions played across the deep-etched lines of Daryl’s face. “That’s a lot for the kid to take in, considering he’s only just met his father.”
“So?” Wade wasn’t sure why he pressed the issue, since he didn’t relish introducing his father to Adrienne at this touchy stage of their negotiations. But Reggie was part of two families. He’d been kept away from this side of his heritage too long.
“That woman drove you out of town.” Daryl’s lip curled.
“Vicki?” Wade said. “She’s dead.”
“Yeah, well, I lost my grandson and in a lot of ways my son. Now suddenly I’m supposed to turn into warm, cuddly Grandpa. I’m not sure I have it in me.”
Wade couldn’t argue. While he used to wish he and his father were closer, Daryl kept his emotional barriers raised. “You didn’t act like it was a big deal when I left.”
“I’m not saying it was a big deal.” His father opened the fridge and reached for a beer. His fingers curled, and he chose an orange soda instead.
“Okay. We won’t rush it with Reggie.”
“How about the old man?” That was Daryl’s way of referring to Grandpa Bruce. “I’m sure he’d love having a great-grandson. You never told him about the boy, did you?”
“No. You didn’t, either?”
“I figured it was your call.”
“He had a low enough opinion of me without adding unwed father to the list.” Although Wade and his grandfather had still been on speaking terms when Wade left Safe Harbor, their relationship had always been tinged with criticism and blame.
Despite above-average grades, Wade hadn’t been a good enough student to please Grandpa. The truth was, he’d been distracted by the turmoil at home. There’d been his parents’ divorce, his mother’s death and Daryl’s moody nature. Also, some late-night calls to pick up his father when Daryl was too inebriated to get behind the wheel.
When Bruce heard about one such rescue, he’d accused his grandson of enabling Daryl’s drinking. While that might have been true, a son owed his dad loyalty. Plus, by preventing Daryl from driving under the influence, Wade had kept his only remaining parent out of jail. So when Vicki’s pregnancy had come to light, Wade had assumed Grandpa would see that as yet another example of his weak character.
Thinking about his grandfather reminded him of Patty’s news. “How come you never mentioned that Grandpa sold Fact Hunter?”
Moving to the living room, Daryl sank onto the couch. “You guys were on the outs, so why bother?”
Wade followed him in. “Now that I’m here, he’s sure to find out about my son. I should tell him before he hears it somewhere else.”
“It’s up to you.”
“How’s his health?” In his mid-seventies, Bruce Hunter suffered from a bad cough due to years of smoking.
“Good enough for him to have a girlfriend.” Daryl’s finger tapped the TV remote. “He brings his car into the garage, and she picked him up once.”
“What’s she like?”
“Female.” He clicked on the TV and switched channels to watch a football game.
That ended that discussion. Wade went to fetch the laundry. The conversation had reminded him of how far he’d strayed from his family. Now that he was becoming a father in every sense of the word, it was time to mend fences.
Whether his grandfather was willing to bury the hatchet, however, remained to be seen.
Chapter Four
From the parking lot, Fact Hunter Investigations looked much as Wade remembered it, with a few modest upgrades. In the windows of the second-floor office, almond-colored blinds had replaced his grandfather’s gold curtains, while on the street-level door, the firm’s name had been stenciled in a more modern font. The entrance, which led directly to a staircase, was wedged between two other establishments: the Sexy Over Sixty Gym and, where an escrow office used to be, an electronics repair shop.
He recalled that the stairs were steep, with a freight elevator available for the handicapped. However, Grandpa used to say that most clients preferred to conduct business by phone and the internet or to have a detective pay an office or home visit.
Once, the prospect of entering that building as an employee had loomed like a prison sentence. He associated P.I. agencies with retired or partially disabled officers, not young men eager for the challenges of police work. Plus, the idea of being under his grandfather’s thumb would have been enough to send Wade fleeing even had he not already held the position in Pine Tree.
Now Bruce’s ownership was gone, and so was the job up north. Wade had emailed his résumé to Mike Aaron last night and to his surprise had received an immediate response inviting him to drop by for an interview. “Just phone first,” the new co-owner had written.
Wade’s hand went to his pocket, cupping the bulge of his mobile. And missing the weight of his service weapon.
He wasn’t ready to place the call. Instead, he put the car in gear and drove out of the lot, heading south toward the ocean.
Bruce Hunter’s condominium complex occupied bluffs above the harbor. Emerging from his sports coupe, Wade drew in a deep breath of salt air and tilted his face to the autumn sunlight. Seagulls mewed overhead, while below the bluffs traffic hummed along a highway. Less than a quarter mile farther south, boats bobbed at anchor in neat rows extending from a curving wharf. A few sails dotted the waters of the harbor.
He’d missed living near the ocean. While Pine Tree’s mountainous locale had provided a beautiful setting for hiking and exploring, this was Wade’s native habitat. All the same, he was far from certain of his welcome.
Dropping in unannounced might be tempting fate or, more likely, his grandfather’s temper. Wade might even catch the old man in an embarrassing position with this new girlfriend. Wouldn’t that be interesting?
Someone had propped open the gate. Amused to find Grandpa Bruce occupying a complex with such lax security, Wade followed a walkway to the old man’s two-story unit and pressed the bell.
No response. He tried again and still heard nothing stirring. Where would his grandfather be at 10:00 a.m. on a Monday? Wade couldn’t picture Grandpa hanging around a seniors’ center.
From behind a screen of bushes, the thump of rubber-soled shoes reached his ears. Bruce Hunter came into view, sweat darkening his California Angels T-shirt and athletic shorts hanging loose on the old man’s bony frame. Gray hair laced with black clung to his scalp.
He slowed his pace, studying Wade coolly. “Figured you’d drop by sooner or later.” His voice had a dry rasp.
“Daryl told you I was here?”
His grandfather took out his key. “Nope. This is a small town.”
Wade stepped aside, disappointed at losing the element of surprise. As usual, Bruce had the upper hand.
The door opened into a living room almost military in its neatness. The brown couch and tan carpet were freshly vacuumed, while the carved wooden cabinets and chest were buffed to a sheen. They had belonged to Wade’s grandmother, who’d brought them from Germany when she married.
Karlotta Hunter had been buried before he was born, so he knew little of her except that she’d met Bruce while he was stationed in her country and had died when their son was in college. The official story was that she’d awakened late at night, tripped on the staircase, fallen and hit her head. The unofficial story, from Daryl, was that due to her unhappy marriage, she’d taken to drink, which had contributed to the accident.
Alcoholism ran deep in this family. It had skipped Bruce, although he had his own compulsion: chain-smoking. Apparently he’d quit, though, since the place no longer reeked of tobacco.
Wade settled on a polite greeting. “You look well.”
“I look dirty and smell worse.” His grandfather started up the steps. “Help yourself to coffee. There’s no beer.”
At 10:00 a.m.? The old man was assuming the worst, but Wade didn’t bother to correct him. “Thanks.”
He took his coffee black in a souvenir mug from Catalina Island. From a day trip with the girlfriend, perhaps? Over the buffet in the dining room, Wade studied the array of framed photos, hoping for a glimpse of the new lady, but these were all familiar faces.
Grandma Karlotta had sad eyes and old-fashioned braids wrapped around her head. A young black-haired Bruce stood stiffly erect in his blue dress marine uniform. Daryl at about the same age sported a combat utility uniform, better known as camouflage. At his college graduation, Wade posed in mortarboard and gown. There was no picture of Wade’s mother.
Upstairs the shower ran for about a minute, followed by a brief fit of coughing. It ended quickly and sounded less alarming than in the old days.
Bruce descended within minutes, his pants and shirt pressed, his hair slick. “Guess you’ve got some news for me,” he said without preamble.
How much had he heard via the grapevine? “About my son?” Wade asked.
The old man’s nostrils flared. “The one you abandoned.”
How typical of him to state that as fact rather than a question. “No, I didn’t. His mother threatened to file false abuse charges. She was...troubled.” Wade saw no reason to go into detail. “I’ve been paying child support.”
Bruce’s scowl eased. “Glad to hear you aren’t a deadbeat.”
And I’d have appreciated your not assuming the worst. Wade hadn’t come here to fight, however. “I figured you might like to meet your great-grandson once I get visitation squared away with his aunt.”
“His aunt?” From the refrigerator, Bruce took out a glass bottle of orange juice. “You’re his father. Don’t be a weakling. Take your son and tell her to get lost.”
Wade hung on to his temper. “I’ll handle this my way.”
“Suit yourself.” Bruce poured juice into a glass. “Yeah, I’d like to meet the little guy, whenever this aunt snaps her fingers and gives you permission.”
“I’m here to make peace, but that isn’t going to happen if you keep insulting me.” Wade poured the remaining half of his coffee in the sink. It was decaf anyway.
Avoiding his gaze, his grandfather peered at a framed California Angels team photo on the wall. It bore half a dozen signatures from the players. “You tossed off a few insults of your own the last time we met.”
Had he? “Such as?”
“Called me a rent-a-cop, for one thing,” Bruce snarled.
“Sorry about that.” Wade had lashed out in the heat of the moment.
“Your apology is too late.” Resentment that must have been festering all this time blazed from his grandfather’s face. “I had to sell the agency I spent years building because my son’s a drunk and my grandson holds me in contempt.”
Behind the anger, Wade sensed the hurt. “I don’t hold you in contempt. And you never told me the future of the agency was on the line.”
“I shouldn’t have had to.”
“I’m not a mind reader,” Wade said. “Now I’d like to let bygones be bygones.”
“Why? Because you need a job?” Bruce fired back. “Guess you’re not too proud to be a rent-a-cop now.”
“Guess I’m not.”
That stopped his grandfather. “You’re applying there?”
“Already have,” Wade said.
They faced each other across the kitchen. If he’d thought it would do any good, Wade would have repeated that he hoped they could reconcile, but he should have known better. He’d tried to smooth things over before and it hadn’t worked then, either.
After their argument he’d sent his grandfather Christmas cards despite receiving none in return. Then last December his card had come back with Bruce’s address crossed out and the handwritten notation “Don’t know him and don’t want to.”
Some people liked to hold a grudge. Don’t be one of them, Wade told himself, and took the plunge. “I was thinking that you, me and Reggie could see a baseball game sometime.”
“Maybe.” If Bruce longed to meet the boy—which he probably did—he disguised it well. “Do me a favor, will you?”
“What’s that?”
“Since you wouldn’t stoop to work at the agency when I owned it, don’t insult me by doing it now just because you got fired.”
“Laid off,” Wade corrected.
“Whatever, as you young people like to say.”
“I’ll take it under consideration.” If he stayed here any longer, Wade might lose his temper the way he had during their last meeting. “See you around, Grandpa. Thanks for the coffee.”
“See you.” Bruce walked him to the front. From the corner of his eye, Wade saw his grandfather watching as he rounded the side of the building.
At Fact Hunter Investigations, Wade reflected, he had an excellent shot at a suitable position that would allow him to stay near Reggie. Despite the old man’s request, it seemed unlikely that passing it up would do any good. More likely, his grandpa would see compliance as a weakness.
You couldn’t please him, so why try? On his cell phone, Wade pressed Mike Aaron’s number.
* * *
SEATED IN THE attorney’s waiting room, Adrienne glanced irritably at her watch. Wade was ten minutes late, and she had to be home in an hour to meet Reggie’s school bus.
Doubts and speculation were driving her crazy. In her medical practice, she was accustomed to dealing with uncertainty. Patient outcomes couldn’t always be predicted, and in surgery she had to change tactics instantly if complications developed.
Yet she’d lain awake last night, struggling with the unknowns about Reggie’s father. Would he break his son’s heart by playing the doting daddy until he got bored? Or would he demand full custody, ignoring Reggie’s attachment to Adrienne? In either case, what about Reggie’s rights to the house and its contents?
The man was no knuckle-dragging Neanderthal, Adrienne conceded. But she’d grown up with a bipolar father whose mood swings had kept the household teetering on the brink between his warm, expansive side and his abrupt withdrawals. Her sister had been equally unpredictable. There was no telling how many sides Wade Hunter had or which would emerge today.
Then she saw him through the blinds, cutting across the parking lot. He was carrying... Were those flowers?
She barely had time to rise and smooth her powder-blue dress before he blew into the room on a crisp breeze. Wearing a dark suit, with a trace of early gray at the temples, he had a distinguished air offset by the apologetic gleam in his eyes.
